notes: It's been almost six months since I said I was going to update. I'm so, so sorry. I haven't abandoned this work, though - and it's my main project at the moment. So it shouldn't be another six months before I update again.


PART 1: POISON

"Then I was cast from out my state;
Two fiends of darkness led my way;
They waked me early, watched me late,
My dread by night, my plague by day!
Oh! I was made their sport, their play,
Through many a stormy troubled year;
And how they used their passive prey
Is sad to tell:—but you shall hear."
~Frenzy, by George Crabbe


CHAPTER 1

The Winter Solstice Ball was held in the Imperial Palace's grandest hall. Fifty pillars marched on either side along its full length, supporting twin balconies that overlooked the white marble dance floor. Ten chandeliers, wrought with diamond and white gold, lit the hall with pale light, leaving the area beneath the balconies shrouded in darkness broken only by soft gold light from sconces affixed to the walls. Tables, laden with food and drink, sat end-to-end on the far end of the hall.

To Leia Organa, though, Crown Princess of Alderaan, it was the people who caught her gaze.

There were hundreds of sentients in the hall, all garbed in the finest cloths spun by working hands and adorned with the pricest jewels and gems found throughout the galaxy. There were as many colors as people: deep violets, rich maroons, brilliant blues, vibrant oranges, and more colors besides, many of which Leia had no name for. The air glittered with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and was filled with the twittering rumble of talk and laughter.

"There are so many people, Papá," Leia said, craning her head up to look at her father.

Bail Organa, Senator and Viceroy of Alderaan, was darkly handsome in rich blue velvet and slick black. He wore a loose robe over form-fitting tunic and pants trimmed in blue thread, and knee-high boots. He was a stark contrast to Leia's spring blue gown, the double skirts that hung around her knees as delicate as spider silk. On his brow he wore a silver circlet studded with flecks of diamond and sapphire.

Leaning down, Leia's father scooped her up into his arms. She grinned in delight, and flung her arms around his neck as he settled her onto his hip, turning so that she could survey the room again at her new vantage point.

"What do you think now?" he asked, pulling back so he could meet Leia's gaze.

"I still think there are a lot of people," Leia said matter-of-factly.

Her father laughed. "That there are," he said. He hugged her tightly. "But you don't have to be afraid. I'll be with you the whole time."

"I'm not afraid," Leia retorted, indignant. "There are just-"

"A lot of people," her father finished. He leaned in and kissed Leia on the cheek, then swung her back down to the floor. "Well, my little princess," he said, kneeling, "would you be so kind as to give me your first dance?"

Leia giggled, but nodded, and allowed her father to lead her out onto the dance floor. The streaked white marble was bright against Leia's blue slippers, and she pulled away from her father enough to walk along one of golden whorls.

The band, arrayed on the left-hand balcony, struck up a bouncing waltz. Leia's father took her hands in his, and stuck out his right foot. "Shall we?" he asked.

Leia, smiling broadly now, stepped up onto her father's toes. Holding each other's hands tightly between them, the two of them began to dance, weaving in and out of fine courtiers and sharply-dressed Imperial officers stepping smartly to the music.

When the dance was finished, Leia's father led her off of the dance floor and toward the food tables. He stopped at the drinks, and held up two fingers at the servant standing in attendance at the punch bowl. The servant, dressed in black embroidered with the Empire's insignia on the breast and lapel, ladled out the pale pink punch into two crystal glasses.

"Hold it with both hands," her father instructed Leia, handing her the first of the glasses.

Leia took a sip, and then looked up at her father in surprise. "This is good!" she said, and took another, larger drink. "Almost as good as the punch at home."

Her father smiled. "The Emperor has some of the best chefs and cooks in the galaxy." He winked at her. "Of course the punch is good."

With one hand on Leia's shoulder, he ushered her away from the drink table and toward a relatively empty space beneath the nearest balcony. The shadows opened and embraced them, the soft light throwing the angles of their faces into sharp lines and edges. Chairs and low-slung sofas sat along the walls, many of which were occupied by formless shapes hidden by the dim darkness.

Leia and her father stood silently for a moment, drinking their punch. Leia thought about the court finery, and about dancing, and about the palace. It had, when she first saw it, scared her-though she was loath to admit that fact, even to herself. The hulking shape of it, with its thousand spires reaching toward the starlit night sky, had been imposing and shocking. She had never seen the Imperial Palace before, and it had seemed to her that it was a beast waiting to open its sharp-toothed mouth and swallow her whole.

"I don't like this place," Leia had said, tugging on her father's hand to stop him. They had been walking down the cobblestone walkway, which lead from the roundabout where their driver had dropped them off, to the double doors leading into the Palace.

Her father had knelt beside her, signalling for Rebécca and Calthon, the two Honor Guards that had accompanied them to Coruscant, to halt as well.

"What about it don't you like?" her father had asked.

Leia's gaze had slid past him back to the palace, stretching high and higher behind him. She had shivered then, an unpleasant feeling crawling from the pit of her stomach into her mouth. It tasted like ash and copper.

"I don't know," Leia had said. "I just don't like it. I...I have a funny feeling."

A strange look had flickered in her father's eyes at that. Leia, in tune with her father's moods since before she could walk, looked at her father with mounting discomfort. "Papá?" she had asked. "Do we have to go?"

"I thought you were excited about going to the ball," her father had said.

"I was," Leia had said. "I am. I just...I have a funny feeling," she had said again.

Leaning forward, her father had placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "It will be okay," he had promised her. "Rebécca and Calthon will take good care of us."

Once more looking up at the palace, black and sharp against the sky, Leia had nodded. "Okay," she had said. She trusted her father above all else.

Thinking back on it now-about the spires like teeth, and the hulking shadow of the many towers, and the blackness of the walls-Leia shivered again. The funny feeling in her stomach churned, and Leia looked around, searching the people close to them for...something.

"Are you okay, Lelila?" her father asked.

"I just…" Leia trailed off, then huffed in annoyance. She couldn't explain the taste in her mouth, or the strange churning in her belly. All she knew was that she was looking for something.

There was movement behind her, and Leia whirled, heart pounding in her throat. But it was only Rebécca, dressed in her ceremonial armor, appearing between two courtiers in flowing gowns of yellow and chartreuse. Her face was stamped with a frown, but when she saw Leia looking at her it smoothed out into a reassuring smile. The hand gripping the hilt of her ceremonial sword, however, did not loosen.

"I beg your pardon, princesita," she said, looking at Leia, "but I need to speak with your father. My lord?" she said then, looking up at Leia's father and canting her head to one side. "If I may?"

"I'll only be a moment," her father promised Leia. Leia nodded, and her father motioned for Rebécca to lead the way.

Leia sipped at her punch, and watched the two nearby courtiers. They had drawn closer together, and were now standing with their heads huddled together. Leia wondered what they were gossipping about.

"Leia?" It was her father.

"Yes, Papá?" Leia asked, turning and looking up at him.

"I have to go talk to a few people," he said. He looked grim, and Leia could feel the sudden tension radiating off of him in waves.

"Are you okay?" Leia asked, suddenly concerned.

Her father smiled. "Everything's fine," he promised. "Something has just come up, and I need to talk to Aunt Mon."

Leia brightened. She loved Mon Mothma. When she was four, she had taken to calling her "Aunt Mon," and the name had stuck.

"Can I come with?" Leia asked.

Her father shook his head. "Not this time, Lelila," he said. "Though maybe you can go say hello to her later."

Leia deflated, but nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Rebécca will stay with you," her father said.

Leia's smile returned. "Okay," she said again, happier. Rebécca, like all the Honor Guard, called Leia "mi princesita"-"my princess"-, and had snuck her treats and carried her around the palace on their backs and shoulders. Rebécca had also helped Leia prank some of the court children. Leia adored her.

Her father straightened, leaned in to whisper something to Rebécca, and then, with one final smile at Leia, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"What do you think of the ball, mi princesita?" Rebécca asked, kneeling down so she was on Leia's level.

"There are a lot of people," Leia said. "But I like it. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Rebécca asked.

Leia shifted where she stood, feeling the soft, willowy cloth of her dress whisper around her knees. She gripped the punch glass tightly in her hands, and wondered if she should tell Rebécca about the funny feeling.

"Princesita?" Rebécca asked.

"I feel funny," Leia said finally, her voice barely audible over the music and murmur of the crowd.

"Funny how?" Rebécca asked. "Are you sick?"

Leia shook her head. "No," she said. "I feel like… I feel like somebody's watching me. Or is looking for me."

Rebécca frowned. "Is this person good?"

Leia shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "My tummy feels unhappy. And I feel...I feel yellow."

"Yellow?" Rebécca asked. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Leia said helplessly. "It's just, when I think about the feeling, I see yellow."

Rebécca frowned. Then she held out her hand. "I think maybe we should get you some food. Something to nibble on, at least. That may help your stomach."

Leia pondered whether to give Rebécca her hand-she was nine after all, and big enough to walk on her own. But then Leia felt again the yellow, and tasted the ash and copper in her mouth, and she decided that she wanted to feel Rebécca's safety. She put the punch glass she held in Rebécca's outstretched hand, then reached for Rebécca's other hand. Rebécca smiled.

"Come on, mi princesita," she said, taking Leia's hand and standing. "Let's go find something tasty."

They threaded their way through the crowd toward the refreshments. When they reached the tables, Rebécca handed Leia's now-empty punch glass off to a servant, then retrieved two small plates. She and Leia walked up and down the table, choosing delicacies at random. Leia left with a pastry filled with chocolate ganache, candied plums, and a delicate cookie that looked to have been spun of sugar; Rebécca had chosen two small quiches, one spinach and the other bacon and cheese, and a small slice of cake.

The two of them returned to their spot beneath the balcony. The two courtiers were gone, Leia noticed, their place empty for a moment, before a couple holding hands laughed their way into it.

Leia ate her cookie and two of the candied plums before asking, "Rebécca, where's Calthon?"

"He's looking into something for Madame Mothma," Rebécca said. She brushed her quiche-fovered fingers, clad in a kidskin glove, off against the thick cloth of her pants.

"Oh," Leia said, nibbling on her pastry. "Is everything okay?"

"Don't worry, princesita," Rebécca said, and then ate her second quiche in one bite. "Everything will be just fine."

"Okay," Leia said, and finished eating her pastry.

"Leia. Rebécca."

Leia turned around to see her father standing behind them. His face was stern, and the tension that Leia had sensed in him before he left was at least doubled. A small spark of fear raced down Leia's spine, to join the strange feeling in her stomach. The food, contrary to Rebécca's predictions, had done nothing to assuage it.

"Papá?" Leia asked. "What's wrong?"

"Come, Lelila," her father only said. "We have to go. Now." He reached down and took one of her hands, then pulled her towards the dance floor. Rebécca followed.

Halfway there, Leia's father abruptly changed directions. He jerked Leia's hand, pulled her close to him, and then all but pushed her through a tittering crowd of courtiers. The courtiers cried out in surprise and alarm, but her father ignored them.

"Papá," Leia protested, "you're hurting me."

Her father loosened his grip on her hand, but he did not slow, even when he bumped into an admiral. He tugged Leia after him, forcing Leia to half run to keep up with him.

She looked over her shoulder once, searching for Rebécca. She was still following them, confusion and alarm cleanly written on her face and in the hand holding tightly to her sword hilt. She kept apace easily, however, and offered Leia a reassuring smile when she saw Leia looking at her.

They pushed their way through another group of courtiers, then skirted a tight knot of Imperial officers. Leia bumped into a young woman approaching a third group of revelers, and dropped the empty plate she held. It fell to the floor with a clatter and crash.

"Leave it," her father ordered when Leia tried to turn around to retrieve it.

"But-"

"Leave it, Leia." She had never heard her father sound so stern.

She obeyed.

A door set into the wall crept up upon them unexpectedly. Her father pushed Leia towards it. He glanced over his shoulder, hiding the sight of the ballroom and the guests from view, then reached for the door sensor. The door opened silently, and Leia's father pushed her through it and out into the narrow servant's corridor beyond.

"Papá," Leia whined, trying to slow down. "What's going on?"

Her father turned and came back. Instead of kneeling in front of her, though, or even pausing to speak, her lifted her up into his arms and settled her on his hip.

"Not now, Leia," he said. "Right now we have to leave."

"But why?" Leia asked.

"Hush, Leia," her father said. "I'll explain everything later."

The servant's corridor ended in a short flight of stairs and a door. At a signal from her father, Rebécca hurried forward and opened it before them, stepping into the room on the other side, sword half-drawn from its sheath. Leia's father paused at the top of the steps, waiting, until Rebécca turned and gave the signal for all clear. Only then did her father descend the steps.

Leia looked back over her father's shoulder as they passed through the door. The top of the steps was shrouded with light, but as Leia looked, it seemed for a second that the light bent, stretched, and then was swallowed. Leia jumped, fingers tangling in her father's silken over robe, and looked again. She tasted copper, and ash, and felt her stomach churn with the memory of yellow, yellow, yellow…

The door slid shut behind them, and the sensation was gone.

They were in a kitchen, long and low-ceilinged and filled with counters and stoves and cabinets. Cooks and servers, scullery maids and attendants, chefs and servants crowded the hot, humid room, filling the air with shouts and demands and the occasional burst of laughter.

A server-a short, plump young girl with black hair and dark skin-squawked in surprise when Rebécca, Leia, and her father appeared, almost dropping the tray of scones she carried. She recovered quickly, but stood there open-mouthed as Rebécca and Leia's father hurried past her.

They garnered many such looks as they passed through the kitchen. Chefs stopped yelling, cooks stopped stirring, servers dropped what they were carrying, scullery maids ceased scrubbing. All stood shocked to see the royal family of Alderaan passing through their domain.

"Excuse me," Leia's father said, stopping at the far end of the kitchen and turning to a cook hovering over a pot of bubbling jam. "Can you tell us how to get to the nearby speeder hangar the fastest?"

The cook stared, then collected himself. "Yes, sir," he said. He pointed toward a door a dozen paces away. "Go through there, and follow the hall down to the junction. Take a left, go up the stairs, and then take a right. There's a door at the end of the hall that takes you out to the yard. Go across the yard, and you'll be at the hangar bay."

"My thanks," Leia's father said.

"Sure," said the boy. "I mean, of course. I mean, yes, sir. I mean-"

Leia's father stretched out a hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder, calming him. He smiled-and then he turned and left, striding purposefully toward the door the boy had indicated.

The rest of the trip to the hangar was a blur to Leia. She watched the walls, decorated with paintings and tapestries and frescoes, run past with gathering speed. The floor disappeared beneath her father's long, sure stride. The lights above them shed a watery light over the scene, casting wavering shadows behind them as they walked.

And then they were outside, the night sky opening above them and the clear air welcoming. There was a short lawn of close-cropped grass, and then a duracrete wall punctured by a single door.

"There," Leia's father said. "Come on, Rebécca."

They hurried forward, now all but running. Leia clung tightly to her father, hands clasped together beneath his left ear, head buried in the crook of his neck. He held her tightly to him, trying to keep her from jostling too much as he moved.

Rebécca reached the door first. She ran her hand over the sensor, only for nothing to happen. She said something soft, beneath her breath, and drew her sword. Raising the hilt above her head, she brought it down with a sweeping crunch. The sensor sprayed apart, raining cracked pieces of plasti onto the grass. Wires wept sparks out of the freshly made opening, but Rebécca did not hesitate as she reached in and ripped the whole lot out.

The door opened.

Leia looked back over the lawn towards the bright lights shining from the windows of the palace. The spires still hung threateningly overhead, but suddenly, though they felt just as dark, Leia was not as afraid as before.

Now there was something else she was afraid of-something that had appeared in the doorway they had just exited, something dark, and yellow, and tasting of ash and blood.

The hangar was bright compared to the night. Yellow floodlights were mounted on the walls, casting deep shadows in the corners and brilliant pathways in between. Speeders were parked in long lines from one end of the large room to the other.

"Which way?" Rebécca asked.

"I told Balaar to meet us at the foot of the ramp to the second level."

Rebécca nodded. "This way," she said, and took the lead.

Their footsteps echoed from duracrete ceiling to floor, hollow and ringing, until it sounded like a dozen and more men ran with them. Leia looked around her with wide eyes, taking in the white marks painted on the floor, the signs on the columns supporting the roof, the speeders parked in their zones. She did not speak, however; her mouth tasted like blood, and she was afraid that, if she talked, the blood would pour out of it and wash her father and Rebécca away.

There came the sound of an engine thrumming, and then a speeder appeared at the bottom of the ramp they had almost reached. It pulled to a smooth stop beside them, and Balaar, the driver, opened the passenger's door.

Without waiting for a command, Rebécca yanked open the back door. Leia's father swung her down, off his hip, and ushered her into the speeder, following close behind. Rebécca closed the door behind him, then climbed into the waiting passenger's seat.

"Get us home," Leia's father said through the partition separating the driver from the back. "Now."

"Yes, sir," Balaar said, and gunned the engine.

They sped out of the hangar and onto the broad avenue leading out through the palace gates. They slowed only for a second, while Balaar flashed the Organa family's badge for the guards standing at the outpost, and then they were gone and speeding out into the great city of Coruscant.

Leia's father closed the partition, cutting off the sight of Balaar's and Rebécca's heads. Then he turned to Leia sitting on the seat across from him, and fastened his safety belt.

"Leia," her father said, "I need for you to be very brave."

"Okay," Leia said, feeling afraid. She could still taste the blood, and the tone of her father's voice sent chills crawling up and down her back.

"Something very bad has happened." Her father took a deep, steadying breath. "The punch you drank was poisoned."

Leia went very still. She knew what that meant-both her father and her mother, before she had died, had been poisoned. It had never happened to her, but Leia had known, ever since she was old enough to understand such things, that it was a possibility. She knew that a great many terrible things were possible for royalty.

She was scared. The yellow and the taste of blood and ash seemed suddenly very far away. This was real, not figments of her thoughts and feelings.

"Why?" she asked in a very small voice.

"That's not important right now," her father said. He leaned forward and took her hands in both of his. "The important thing is that you're going to be okay. Okay?"

Leia nodded slowly.

"I promise," her father said. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Okay," Leia said, slow and soft but sure. She trusted her father.

More than anything, she trusted her father.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small vial. With shaking hands, he unscrewed the vial's lid, and then poured a small dose of shining black liquid into it. He held it up to the lights streaming past the windows, poured a little more into the lid, then poured a little back into the vial. He held it up again, and nodded.

"This will help slow the poison," he said, handing the lid to Leia. "Make sure you drink it all."

Leia nodded and, tilting the vial's lid to her lips, drank the potion in one gulp. It tasted bitter and dry. Leia gagged, but forced the liquid down.

There was a beat of silence. Two.

"When will I-" Leia began to ask-only to be interrupted by a sudden strike of nausea. She stopped talking abruptly and curled over her stomach. "Papá," she gasped. "It hurts."

"I know, Lelila," her father said. He leaned forward and took her hands in his once more. "It will be alright though."

Leia gasped again. Pain seared through her, from stomach to skull, like lightning and thunder and fire. She cried out, and grasped at the sleeves of her dress in a desperate attempt to ground herself against the agony coursing through her, creeping out into her fingers and knees and teeth.

"Papá," she said again.

And then he was there. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her free of the safety belt he unclipped, and dragging her into his lap.

"I've got you, Lelila," her father murmured. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Leia cried out and thrashed against the pain. It did not abate, only rolled through her in ever-strengthening waves. Her vision stole from black to red to black again, until all she could see was the lights flashing past the windows. Her head ached, her chest throbbed, her throat burned. Her world narrowed to each second as it dragged inexorably by, each one longer than the last.

Another spike of nausea came and went. Leia curled over onto one side and retched miserably, sending vomit splattering across the floor.

"I'm sorry, Papá," she groaned.

"Shhh," her father crooned. "It's alright. It can be cleaned."

The partition opened, and Rebécca's worried face appeared in the gap. "What's happening?" she asked.

"Just drive," Leia's father ordered sharply. Then, softer, "We have to get her home as quickly as possible."

Rebécca nodded and turned back, closing the partition behind her.

Leia groaned. It felt as if her very bones were on fire-as if needles were piercing her flesh, and were ripping her blood and muscle out through the pores of her skin. It hurt like acid, and like ice. It hurt like lightning.

"Please," Leia begged in a tiny, strangled voice, pulling herself back into her father's lap. She buried her face in his chest, clutching at his tunic with desperate hands. "Please, make it stop."

"I'm sorry, Lelila," her father said. He pressed a kiss into the top of her head and held her tighter. "I'm so sorry."

Leia cried, sobbed, screamed weakly, her face buried in her father's tunic, her hands grasping at him desperately. And her father, curled around her as tightly as he could, begged for her forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Leia," he murmured, rocking her gently as she cried out, thin and pitiful. "Please forgive me."

But Leia did not hear.


end notes: Hopefully it won't be another six months before I update again. (Though honestly, the better response I get from this chapter, the more likely it is I'll update soon. Not to bribe you or anything... (I'm totally trying to bribe you.))