• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The older woman shook her head. “He’s still alive,” she stated, quietly but with implacable conviction.

For a moment Jaina was at a complete loss for words. She stepped aside so that Leia could confront at least one of the grim realities before her.

For a long moment the woman stood, gazing at the still, white-draped form of her youngest child. Her eyes welling with unshed tears, she reached out a shaking hand to fold down the drape covering Anakin’s face. One droplet traced a wet path down her cheek and she brushed it away, blinking hard. Han, his own eyes glistening, came to her side and took her hand. But when she looked up at Jaina, blinking back tears, Leia’s voice was steady.

“Was it hard?”

Jaina glanced at the bier. “Let’s just say he didn’t make it easy for them.”

“He wouldn’t,” Leia said with a faint, sad smile. “But I was asking about you. I was among the Yuuzhan Vong briefly, so I have some idea of what you might have faced—what Jacen might still be facing. But I survived, and so did you. And so will Jacen. We have to believe that.”

Leia gazed at her fallen son for a long moment. Softly, she stroked his cheek, then bent to kiss his forehead. At last, she turned and began to walk ahead. Her husband and daughter exchanged a helpless glance and then fell into place on either side.

“About Jacen,” Han ventured, his voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to believe it, either, but … There’s got to be a way to make sure. Maybe Luke could—”

“No,” Leia said firmly. “He couldn’t. Jacen is alive. I know it. I just can’t explain why I know it, or how.”

“We all felt Jacen’s presence,” Jaina said. She added carefully, “It seemed like … a farewell.”

“I felt that, too. But there’s a difference between closing down and winking out. I felt Anakin’s death. Not Jacen’s.”

“Neither did I, and I’m his twin.” She took a deep breath. “Mom, I think you need to consider the possibility that you might be in denial. A mother’s intuition is a powerful thing, but so are the instincts of half a dozen fully trained Jedi.”

“Don’t start in on your mother,” Han cautioned. “Not again, and especially not now.”

Jaina sent him an incredulous stare.

“Don’t look at me like I just kicked an Ewok,” Han said. “I’ve heard about some of the comments you’ve made, about her not working at being a Jedi, not being there as a mother.” He stabbed a finger in her direction. “No more.”

For several moments, father and daughter faced each other wearing identical expressions of outrage. Then Jaina bobbed her head in a curt nod.

“All right, maybe I’ve said some things in the past couple of years that I’m not proud of. But would you want to be judged on the three or four worst comments you’ve made since this war started?”

Han’s silence was more eloquent than words.

“Don’t judge me for a few stupid remarks,” she repeated softly. She and Leia locked stares. “Somehow, I doubt that Mom does.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “I was younger than you when I joined the Senate. Almost immediately I started using my position to cover my work with the Rebellion. Bail Organa tried to dissuade me. I called him a coward.”

“Well, there you go,” Jaina said, as if that settled everything.

Han’s gaze shifted from his wife to his daughter. Never had the resemblance between them been stronger than at this moment. He shook his head in bemusement. “And here I thought I was outnumbered by the Vong,” he muttered.

Jaina enfolded him in a quick, hard hug. “Take care of Mom,” she whispered.

Han held her off at arm’s length and glanced toward the group of solemn young Jedi gathering around Anakin’s bier. “You’re not staying?”

“I’ve said my good-byes.” Jaina pulled free, exchanged another look with her mother, then strode off without a backward glance.

It was pure instinct that sent Han after her. Leia stopped him abruptly, one hand on his chest.

“She’s your daughter,” Leia reminded him. “She has to deal with loss in her own way and in her own time.”

Han considered this. The expression