Forward Momentum -- Chapter 10 (b)

[bracketyjack]

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Walking onto the terrace beside Laisa Ekaterin was wondering whether lack of nervous­ness was some strange effect of being given a medal, or if her capacity for self-doubt had simply been so overloaded it had short-circuited.

Perhaps neither, but the palpable goodwill she had felt so strongly in the village, radiating at her and Nikki like sunlight, or its underlying corollary, the decision she and Miles had made about their children-to-be and the fierce regard that produced from Aral and Cordelia. Not that her parents-in-law hadn’t been unflaggingly kind and courteous since the heart-stopping moment in the public gallery of Vorhartung Castle when she felt a polite tap on her shoulder and turned to realise that she had just proposed to Miles-and been accepted-not only in the middle of a full session of the Council of Counts, but in front of his Viceregal parents.

Or perhaps you are a brave and competent woman who has found happiness and security, eh?

Even that bold mental voice didn’t worry her any more, she noticed. With Pym’s help she smoothly distributed kin and guests to their places-a variation of yesterday’s dinner-seating with the Viceroy next to Laisa, the Vicereine beside Gregor-and signalled service to begin. Only a year ago she had been entirely confused by Miles’s casual determination that she should somehow escalate from hobby-gardening to planetary ecology, or possibly terra­forming, but as security layers peeled back and she began to understand what he had spent the last ten years doing she ceased to find his casual expansiveness so alarming. And if he was going to graduate from merely changing worlds to changing the long-term political security arrangements of the Nexus, she though she might after all manage rather well with a Barrayaran district. She could start this summer with the pleasant but less than imaginative gardens here and the interesting, extensive grounds where Vorlynkin and Allegre had lately been riding, and work outwards.

The conversation was easy and general until Jack Chandler, happily munching his way through an exquisite Ma Kosti salad with nuts, apple, and warm, crumbly fragments of local cheese, noticed the ribbons draped around her aunt’s neck and her own and the shiny stars hanging from them. He peered across the table.

“Those look most distinguished, my Lady, Professora. They are Imperial Stars, aren’t they? Are congratulations in order?”

Gregor replied, raising his apple-juice in a toast to her and her aunt. “They are, Doctor. An unfortunate incident last year saw Lady Vorkosi­gan and Madame Professora Vorthys endangered-but thanks to their courageous actions, only to the rapid disgruntlement and arrest of their endangerers.”

Ekaterin wasn’t sure that word existed but Gregor made it sound as if it should. As the toast was drunk Allegre and Vorlynkin offered their own congratulations. Vorlynkin’s voice sounded strained and Miles twitched amusement, spicing the genuine admiration in his eyes as he held her own. Oh. That still flummoxed her, she discovered, but in an oddly reassuring way, like Gregor’s gaze. Chandler pursed his lips in a silent whistle and inclined his head to her and Aunt Helen.

“Most relieved congratulations, then. I see I must be careful never to underestimate Barrayaran women.” He nodded also to Aunt Alys, then Cordelia. “Nor Betan ones”-he smiled respectfully-“if even half the things I read are true.”

Her mother-in-law laughed.  “I’m sure they’re not.”

“But, forgive me, my Lady, you did in fact end the War of Vordarian’s Pretendership by stealing into the usurped Imperial Residence, decapitating the Pretender, and making off with his head?”

“Yes, I must admit to that. I did not, however, do the decapitating myself, and my real concern was finding Miles and keeping him safe.”

Chandler swallowed the last of his salad. “Admirable as those qualifications are, my Lady, I’m not sure they do much qualifying.” Laisa and all the Barrayarans except Nikki grinned or smiled; he was staring at the Vicereine. “You were also a captain and astrocartographer in the Betan Survey, I believe?”

Salad bowls and sideplates were swept away, to be replaced by arrays of cold and smoked meats, vegetable proteins, hoummus, bread still warm from the oven, and an array of spiced chutneys and pickles in aromatic oils. After serving herself a healthy sample Cordelia looked again at Chandler.

“The Betan Survey I cheerfully acknowledge, Doctor. But why all this admiration now?” She seemed genuinely enquiring. Can she not know?

Chandler regarded the Vicereine steadily. “Because, my Lady, thirty-odd years ago you took on Barrayar and have survived both the experience and the changes you and your husband wrought. Just now I find yours a most compelling story.”

Both Gregor and Laisa, listening in, laughed aloud. “Now that I can understand, Doctor Chandler.” Laisa smiled impishly at the Vicereine. “Barrayar can be a most unnerving planet for an immigrant, and I am, like you, an avid collector of inspirational tales about the last Lady Vorkosigan as Regent-Consort.” Her voice became thoughtful. “It seems to have been taking decisive unilateral action on her own behalf, without regard for engrained proprieties, that really impressed the Vor, but I have had difficulty finding any equivalent, however slight.”

Cordelia smiled but her eyes were shadowed. “Unilateral, decisive, and violent-you mustn’t forget that.”

“Heh.” Her father-in-law reached across the table to grasp his wife’s hand a moment, and though she knew they had been married thirty-two years Ekaterin could see the therapeutic effect of his touch. “I remember clearly, dear Captain, how furious you were when you realised all that frozen courtesy the high Vor started showing you was profound respect. I don’t think I knew you were still cross about it.”

“Oh.” Cordelia smiled at her husband but waved a hand holding a piece of bread in frustration. “Killing’s easy. It’s babies that are hard.” Ekaterin saw Miles wince, and caught her husband’s eye to send him a return dose of reassurance. “I only told Bothari to cut off Vordarian’s head when the silly man started blethering about fighting on for ever, no matter what. He had no brains in it anyway, and I was sick to death of that ridiculous war threatening everyone’s life.”

Nine Barrayarans, a Komarran, and a Terran looked at Cordelia with raised eyebrows. Even Nikki echoed the gesture, giving his face an oddly adult cast. Only her father-in-law seemed unsurprised at how Barrayar­an his famously Betan wife could be. To Ekaterin’s pleasure Nikki broke the silence, putting down his knife and fork and speaking carefully.

“Is that really why you did it, Grandma Cordelia?” It seemed to be Nikki’s day for claiming his new adult relatives’ first names by bestowing titles. His new grandma looked at him with pleased surprise.

“It really was, Nikki dear. If Vordarian had lived through that shambles he would have had to be executed anyway, but he actually died of stupidity, not treason.” She looked in surprise at the piece of bread in her hand and began to eat it.

“Huh.” Nikki turned to Miles. “Is that like what you meant, sir, about your Gran’da turning to Emperor Ezar”-a sideways glance at Gregor-“out of a need for fealty rather than for revenge?”

Ekaterin, almost distracted by a chutney that must have fermented honey in it, felt a surge of pride at her son’s blossoming intelligence, not only remembering Gregor’s phrase but improving it. A need for fealty. The words spun in her mind as she watched Miles and Gregor stare at one another with surprising intensity for a second before Miles swung his gaze back to his stepson.

“Do you know, Nikki, I think it is.” Miles turned to his mother. “At dinner last night we were speaking of motives, and I contended that even if some very wrong or shameful action were unavoidable, because security considerations could not permit otherwise, it still mattered why one chose to do it. Nikki opened the discussion by posing a question arising from the actions of Captain Vortalon, of whom we heard earlier.” For the first time he looked directly at his father. “It’s a question I imagine you appreciate, sir. My own example was Gran’da’s reaction to Mad Yuri’s Massacre, which can look like simple revenge but was, at least, also a consequence of his need to take new oath to Ezar, and for oaths to remain binding after Mad Yuri shattered one.”

“That is a very subtle distinction, Miles dear.” Cordelia’s voice was guarded.

“Is it? I think in certain kinds of extreme circumstance it becomes as subtle as life and death. When, say, dishonour and survival are equally compelled.” Ekaterin watched Miles let his gaze drift apologetically to Illyan as Gregor’s gaze at him became sharp with warning. “Alas, I speak from personal experience. Of my own dishonours the worst was far more serious for its motives and revelations than intrinsic substance. And I have seen too many dishonours of others, in covert ops and latterly …. this strange Auditorial capacity I have been trying to understand.”

Though Miles had not looked at her nor gestured at all, Ekaterin knew most people in the room, including her concerned parents-in-law and even Gregor and Laisa, had with that last remark (and its calculated, dramatic hesitation) assumed Miles was thinking of her late husband Tien’s petty treason and utterly foolish, dishonoured as well as dis­honouring death. Cordelia, she thought, would also recall the sordid dénouement of her daughter-in-law’s first marriage, her decision to leave Tien on the night he later died and acute difficulty in bringing herself to take a marriage-oath again. She had told her mother-in-law of those intimate things in the same heart-to-heart that garnered her a first-hand version of Vordarian’s decapitation, and she knew Cordelia had understood.

Ekaterin also knew it was all an irrestible, Milesian distraction, wrenching to itself any possible thought suggesting a quite different set of meanings in her husband’s words; and she found she did not mind in the least his shameless use of confidence tricks to stall and divert. She knew now what game he played and why, and if part of her was still shrilling shocked disapproval of more or less everything she now under­stood, the rest of her, in a comfortable majority, had decided not to care. Her eyes met Gregor’s, usually so calm but at this moment tur­bulent with worry, and willed him her contented knowledge of Miles and his ways. The idea of such communication struck her rational mind as absurd, but she had seen something so like it displayed around Gregor and by her parents-in-law she could not doubt its possibility. Miles and Captain Tuomonen, she remembered, had to fast-penta-brightened eyes had it too when she was interrogated on Komarr after Tien’s death. So she stared back at Gregor as his always unsettling, now unsettled gaze bored into her, holding in her mind’s eye a clearly visualised arch built from voussoirs of logic and the keystone of her happiness. More than an arch-a bridge carrying them forward. And saw turbulence replaced by concen­tration, calculation, and revelation. To her eyes, as to Miles’s and Laisa’s if they were looking, but not she thought anyone else’s, even Cordelia’s and especially not Aral’s, Gregor’s secret alarm simply evaporated. His usual imperial gaze, able to see right through to one’s spine and yet strangely to hearten, shifted so strongly to pure hearten­ing she almost bowed where she sat with his weight of gratitude. Then as they reached for food to begin eating again and had to stifle a mutual grin, her father-in-law leaned forward. Ekaterin had to concentrate briefly on breathing as well as chewing, but Aral’s smile was wry.

“Dishonours in the field are common enough, son, though perhaps trickier in irregular ops. Combat has always been the grave of honour as well as its cradle. But I can see an Auditorial perspective would be different.” He shrugged. “I’ll have to think about the Count-my-father. I see your case about him, but as to my own …” Ekaterin’s eyes met Gregor’s again as Aral turned to the further end of table. “Well, do you know, Nikki, I wasn’t much older than you are now when my mother and brother were killed by Mad Yuri’s death-squads. And two years after that I found myself conscripted for an execution, when Ezar made me put Yuri to death with many cuts.”

So that story was true. Ekaterin saw Aunt Helen’s historical ears prick. Aral again reached out to take his wife’s hand momently, this time, Ekaterin thought, to take comfort. At least it was Mad Yuri’s Massacre not Escobar he seemed to be thinking of. And how close is one story to the other? Conscripted for an execution? Nikki’s eyes were huge as he watched his … Gran’da Aral, probably, by now. A glance suggested her uncle and aunt were innocent of the subtexts flickering here, with Nikki and Chandler, Allegre and Vorlynkin. Alys and Simon of course were not, faces tight with concern. When her gaze crossed Laisa’s she saw hints of similar concern, despite what they had both heard the night before. Cordelia’s face was unreadable as her husband continued.

“It was certainly called revenge, by Ezar himself, but his motives had nothing to do with honour and everything to do with getting what he wanted. As always. But my motives …  well, I can’t say I was innocent of desiring bloody revenge. How could I be, when I had lost my little sister and seen my mother and brother die? But with hindsight I would say my most powerful compulsion that day was desire to conform, to do what seemed clearly expected of me by Ezar. I never knew if the Count-my-father expected it too, or simply wouldn’t gainsay his Emperor in such a matter. He never spoke of it afterwards.” Aral looked at his son with a grim smile. “How then, Miles, when not only the singular, compelled action but also all motives reek equally of dishonour?”

“When our hearts fail us, sir, they fail us once for all. While we survive, there can be no irrecoverable dishonour.”

“How so? Once lost is lost still.” The rasp was strong in Aral’s voice, and Ekaterin was sure he had Escobar in mind, but whatever other self-analysis he offered he would no more speak of that in front of Gregor than, than … strike a liegeman. Miles knew it. His voice hummed with passion beneath cool civility.

“Only if honour is a groat or a bauble. Otherwise it must be acquired or spent in thinking and doing, and can no more be permanently lost to the living than breath or food.”

“And your conclusion, sir?”

“You just go on. As all must. Life recovers-even in Vorkosigan Vashnoi.” Ekaterin knew Piotr had left the irradiated badlands specific­ally to Miles, and pondered, as he did, the meaning of that gift. Now she wondered what glassy crater and poisoned hinterland meant to Aral, who would remember, just, the old District capital as it had stood. Was that why Miles …? “That’s all, sir. We are used to thinking, we Vor, that ends justify means. And overwhelmingly they do; but that is the lesson of rule, not its guiding light.”

“Huh. You have that right.” Gregor’s heartfelt voice was rewarded by Aral’s smile as his eyes flickered with concern-the exact reciprocal, Ekaterin realised, of Gregor’s.

“Indeed. Dear Captain”-Aral took Cordelia’s hand yet again-“what do you think? Your experience of Piotr was more bitter than mine. Does Miles have a point?”

The smile his wife gave him was private and blazing. “You know he does, Aral dear. Poor Sergeant Bothari taught all three of us that, long ago. And I don’t think my experience of your remarkable father was more bitter than yours, only more concentrated in his age and vulnerable to the narrowness of his pride.” She tapped fingers on the table, looking round the company. “I’m sorry, Ekaterin dear. This has become a very elliptical conversation for most of us. It’s a poor showing at your table.” She half-frowned at Miles. “But as Simon once pointed out to me, oaths, unlike debts, are not necessarily obviated by death, and some Vorkosigan dead hold us to theirs; as Ezar does to his, of which there were many.” But you were never sworn to Ezar. Or so her mother-in-law had told her in that heart-to-heart. Cordelia’s gaze rested on Illyan before moving to Gregor. “We began this-I did, anyway-with the proposition that killing is easy and babies hard. I think the only things that really matter are that both can be honorable, in their times, and we are presently taking the hard route.” She turned to Chandler. “You were asking, Doctor, for help in distinguishing the true among stories about me. And Barrayar, perhaps.”

“I was, my Lady.”

“Then let me give you two examples as guidance. It is commonly written, here and on Beta, that I killed Vice-Admiral Ges Vorrutyer in his cabin on the flagship of the Barrayaran fleet at Escobar. It is not true. And once again, while I saw Vorrutyer’s death, it was actually Sergeant Bothari who did the honours. I said this at the time, and since Bothari’s death to anyone who asks, but story-tellers take no notice at all.” Cordelia laced her fingers on the table in front of her. “Conversely, no work I have ever seen so much as hints I was once responsible for the death by nerve-disrupter of another Barrayaran mutineer, whose name I never knew. But that is true, or Aral and I would not be here.”

Her father-in-law’s brow creased briefly at this, then cleared. “In that engine-room.” It wasn’t a question. Which engine-room, and where?

“Yes.” Ekaterin wanted to hear that story from the horse’s mouth. A part of her brain began to assess odds of Cordelia telling her if asked directly by a broody daughter-in-law. Looking round the watching faces, she thought she and Miles could dine out on a positive result for some while. Even Chandler had to be curious but was after bigger quarry.

“A falsehood reported and a truth ignored. What conclusion do you draw, my Lady?”

Cordelia grinned, warmly enough that Ekaterin felt reassurance ripple through the company. All was well enough. “Besides the needs for healthy scepticism and an open mind? Only this, Doctor-that neither report nor ignorance matters a damn, only lives and deaths. I would not be known for either killing, but for what I have done with the time and opportunities those deaths afforded me.” This time it was Cordelia who briefly reached across the table to clasp her husband’s hand. “What Aral calls honour, I call grace.” She grinned again and wrinkled her nose at Aunt Helen. “There’s a line for your family biography, Helen.” Her aunt grinned back, uncertainly. “By which I mean, Doctor, that while stories about me sometimes remember to point out I am a theist, I have yet to hear one that turns a profit on the datum.”

“Huh.” Aral, Miles, Illyan, and Gregor made identical noises in chorus, but only Aral continued. “So Ezar was right, eh, dear Captain?” He turned to the company. “When Cordelia was first presented to Emperor Ezar, more or less on his deathbed, he told her he had always thought theists more ruthless than atheists-a view drawn from him by her notion that great gifts are great tests.”

Illyan sat forward. “The gift in question being the regency?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Illyan grunted again and straightened, holding her father-in-law’s gaze for a moment. “I always wanted to ask this, Aral, and never could find the moment. But now, if you’ll forgive me, Gregor … Ezar’s great gift must have seemed something of a poisoned chalice, at the time. Negri said as much to me, once. He also said Cordelia persuaded you to it. Is that true?”

The Viceroy shrugged, gaze wary as he took in Gregor’s neutral look. “True enough. There were many factors. I can’t say I didn’t want it-the power of rule is a strong lure, and I knew I had a chance to use it well. But if Cordelia had flatly refused to countenance it, I think Ezar would for once have lost at his great game.” The long look between her parents-in-law was unreadable to Ekaterin beyond layers of abiding love. “As to it being a poisoned chalice, Simon-“

“That is exactly what it was.” Gregor gave a fractional bow to Aral as he crisply interrupted him, neutrality gone. “No pretence about that is needed here, Aral, nor should it be anywhere. Perhaps all rule is a poisoned chalice. I think the Professora’s history books would tell us so. But that particular chalice had many poisons, old and new.” He looked around. Ekaterin held her breath. “Some of you could put a name to the worst of them. To those who cannot”-he nodded to Chandler, then Nikki-“I make no apology for leaving all unspoken. They are bygones.”

Well, that is a clear command. Ekaterin breathed relief. Gravely Gregor raised a glass of apple-juice to Aral, inspecting it as he did so.

“I cannot say, my Lord Viceroy, that in or from your hands the chalice became filled with wine of blessedness. But I received it from you, and drank. I am still here. And I am happy.” He did not look at Laisa but Ekaterin felt reassurance flow between them, as between her parents-in-law a moment earlier. As it begins to flow between Miles and I. She wanted to dwell on the thought, but Gregor was still speaking. “Any poisons I bear today I inherited for myself. And they have long been neutralised by three generations of Vorkosigans, with a lifetime of Alys’s and Simon’s help. ”He looked in turn at Viceroy and Vicereine, Miles, Alys, Illyan, and herself. “Thank you all. For everything. Now-” his voice became brisker and Ekaterin saw Miles signal Pym to clear glasses and serve coffee. “We have preparations to make in the next hours. The fullest display is called for in clothing, certainly. And there are a few matters we should consider with our coffee.”

While cups and aromatic pots began to appear, Ekaterin saw Miles catch Nikki’s eye. Damping resignation he nodded to his stepfather, made farewells as gracious as the night before but enlivened by kisses for his Aunts Helen and Laisa and Grandma Cordelia as well as her, and slipped out. After pouring coffee Pym and the staff withdrew, leaving the party with only a Vorbarra Armsman stolidly guarding the door.

“First things first.” Gregor’s voice was still brisk. “Miles, will you please take us through whom we expect to form the Cetagandan party.”

“Of course, Sire. Beyond Their Imperial Majesties the hauts Fletchir Giaja and Rian Degtiar, Handmaiden of the Star Crèche, who of course correspond to you and Laisa, ghem-General Dag Benin informs me there will be”-he began to count fingers-“himself, corresponding to Guy, and the governor of Rho Ceta and his Planetary Consort, corresponding to my parents. He is the haut Raniton Degtiar, a cousin of the Empress; most of you will have seen if not met him at Gregor’s and Laisa’s wedding. General Benin also. She is the haut Palma Robine, and as I recall unusually vivacious for a haut.”

“You’ve met her?” The sharpness in Aunt Helen’s voice showed her surprise. Miles smiled apologetically.

“Very briefly, Helen. About ten years ago, but unlike the governors, who are for security reasons limited to five-year terms, Planetary Consorts are for life. The haut Pel Navarr, Planetary Consort of Eta Ceta, who also came to Gregor’s wedding as Giaja’s personal envoy, is in addition to those capacities, um, executive secretary, I suppose, of the Star Crèche, and will also be present. Benin and I agreed she might correspond to Aunt Alys.” He grinned at his aunt, then Illyan. “You posed a problem, Simon, as Benin’s predecessor, the unlamented General Naru, made way by being executed for very high treason. I hope you won’t be offended that you will correspond to Benin’s most senior deputy, one General Ferrant Coram. Dag said Coram’s the man who holds the fort when he has to go off-planet, and suggested if he was now going to have to expect to do more travelling it would be good to have Coram with us from the beginning. He also said the man has a strong interest in Barrayar, though he didn’t say what, and is in general a thoughtful student of military and counter-intelligence history.”

Illyan smiled ironically, a glint in his eye. “I will of course be honoured, Miles. To what Cetagandan shall you correspond?”

Miles grinned again. “What lovely grammar you have, Simon. I was coming to that.” He turned to Vorlynkin. “As you know, Yuri, their Staff hasn’t the same structure as ours. The top man is still formally ghem-Admiral Har, but he’s not really in harness. So Benin suggested ghem-Admiral Halir Lhosh, very much in harness, available on Eta Ceta just now, and their most senior man to have avoided any taint of defeat at the Hegen Hub. He is tipped by Benin as Har’s successor in due course, and is apparently a student of Barrayaran space-tactics with particular admiration for you, sir.” Miles nodded to his father. “Lhosh’s wife is the haut Lady Imana d’Lhosh, awarded him more than twenty years ago, and perhaps a relation of Pel Navarr’s. As Lady d’Har used to, and probably still does, Lady d’Lhosh serves as an important go-between for the Celestial Garden and the highest military ghem-lords, so she will also be present, corresponding for the nonce to Helen.” He gave a nod to her aunt. “It isn’t very exact, I’m afraid, and for you, Georg, as the Cetagandans really don’t have anything even remotely like Lords Auditor, we went with your engineering eminence. Your opposite will be ghem-Artificer General Vanos Kariam, who is responsible for the very impressive state of their force-field technologies.”

Chandler was nodding and clearly knew the name. Uncle Georg whistled. “Kariam, eh? I’m flattered.”

“Which leaves Dr Chandler, Ekaterin, and I. Benin agreed Jack is supernumary, in his role here and as a Terran, so he has no correspond­ent Cetagandan. So far as Ekaterin and I are concerned, Benin said he would consult higher authority. Yesterday he told me that his Celestial Master was content Lord Auditor and Lady Vorkosigan should stand as Dr Chandler’s Barrayaran sponsors, also without correspondents.”

Illyan laughed. “The Emperor of Cetaganda thinks you and Ekaterin unique, eh? What a sensible man he must be.”

Miles inspected this and left well alone. Gregor smiled fractionally and proceeded. “So. Besides the Emperor and Empress, that’s two Planetary Consorts and a governor, all haut, as is Lady d’Lhosh, and the three ghem-officers plus Benin. Protocols of address?”

Miles blinked. “You’re asking me?” He shrugged eloquently. “What you and Giaja call one another you must work out your imperial selves. There’s no precedent anywhere in at least a millennium and none what­ever in either imperium. For the rest of us you are of course all Your Imperial Majesties; they are also most formally Their Celestial Majes­t­ies. At need you might be imperial and they celestial. For direct address to Giaja the vocative below Your Imperial Majesty is Celestial Lord, but if any conversation develops sir will do for the rest of them, with ma’am for the haut ladies. For the rest we’ll all have to play it by ear.”

“Hmm.” Gregor’s hand was on his chin. “I am assuming, Miles, the Empress and planetary consorts will maintain their force-bubbles. The haut Pel did when presented to me last year. But if I understand correctly, Lady d’Lhosh will have lost that privilege with her marriage.”

“That is true-and almost all experience says you are also right about the others remaining screened.”

“Almost all, Miles?” Gregor’s voice had metal in it.

Her husband’s gaze found hers and flickered a wink before returning to the Emperor. “Yes. Haut women, even Rian Degtiar, will drop their force-shields in private, when it matters. Some of you know one of my odder Cetagandan experiences a decade ago was seeing all the planetary consorts together.” Ekaterin saw her aunt twitch with renewed surprise, but not her uncle, whom she knew had read Miles’s ImpSec file, including his (supposedly) full narrative of late events on Eta Ceta. She herself knew only the barest outline, but when she had asked Miles about haut women he told her of his experience in what he called in an ironic tone the Star Chamber. She remembered staring helplessly as the story unfolded. “And when Ekaterin and I met Pel at your wedding she ghosted into view for a second.” When Gregor’s eyebrows snapped upwards, Miles went on hastily. “A sort of haut courtesy, I think, because I’d seen her unmasked before. And I think it possible, in courtesy, that the Empress will feel obliged to appear to you and Laisa, and therefore the rest of us-in which case I would expect Palma and Pel to follow suit. If they do … well, it would be a very positive sign, which just might mean they’ll do it anyway as a gesture of … trust in mutual goodwill.”

Gregor’s indignation had been swallowed by concentration as Miles spoke. Around the table Ekaterin could see minds processing the thought. Dr Chandler, she thought, spoke for many of the Barrayarans, though he perhaps didn’t realise their collective gratitude.

“Lord Vorkosigan, I have never seen a haut woman. What should I expect?” An excellent question, but could words do any good? With a lurch in her stomach Ekaterin realised that Miles had turned to her.

“What did you see, love, when you saw haut Pel?”

Every eye was on her. She sat straighter and drew a breath. To her surprise words came easily. “An ageless face, of extraordinary beauty. All semblance of youth with an instant impression of long experience. Ironic humour in her gaze. Penetrating, deep blue eyes. Translucent skin. Astonishing straw-blond hair, very long, elaborately coiled and braided, some falling about her like a curtain. Long in body and leg. A rose-pink gown that was very simple, but hung beautifully though she was sitting.” Ekaterin deliberately looked at all the men in turn. “She was a living work of very high sexual art. In her case at least the rumoured effects of seeing the haut are true. They are sufficiently stunning to-stun.” She looked at all the women, Helen, Cordelia, Laisa, and Alys. “This was at the imperial wedding. I was newly engaged, very happy, wearing the most expensive, best-cut dress I’d ever owned and full war-paint. The haut Pel made me feel very young and horribly dowdy.” She met Miles’s reassuring gaze. “For a moment I could not understand how Miles could look at me with admiration when he could see this … vision. The Star Crèche in session must be a dazzling thing.”

Vorlynkin blew out a breath. “Well, that is a warning to hear, my Lady. We must brace ourselves. But you say, Miles, if the haut ladies do unmask, it’ll be a good sign?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Gregor also nodded sharply. “Very well. Thank you, Ekaterin. Does anyone have other questions?”

Allegre sat forward. “Do you know if Giaja will have Imperial Guardsman present, Miles?”

“He will not, by Benin’s agreement and personal word. Nor, by mine, will we have either Armsmen or ImpSec people inside the study. And remember, Guy, both frames are tuned to allow only visible light and sound, as Jack promised you yesterday.”

“Very good.”

Allegre sat back, nodding to Chandler, and Gregor looked around again. Ekaterin had the impression when his gaze passed over Cordelia’s of a fleeting, complex exchange. A foster-maternal enquiry about the Emperor’s state of mind, she guessed.

“Then there is only one more thing before we part to prepare our­selves. When the frame-link opens Miles and General Benin have arrang­ed they will exchange courtesies, reconfirming for both sides all is as agreed. Giaja and I must then begin, and I assume that after”-a ghost of a smile showed in his lips-“my celestial cousins, my wife, and I have adequately greeted one another there will be introductions all round. Thereafter things will be fluid, but I shall ask Miles to outline the, ah, grand plan. And negotiations may well be between Giaja and Miles as much as my celestial cousin and I. My Lord Auditor?” He sat back as Miles leaned forward.

“Sire.”

The renewal of titular protocol was a reassurance to Allegre and Vorlynkin, Ekaterin saw, after this alarming grant of imperial authority to Miles; perhaps also to a surprised Alys and sardonically smiling Illyan. But the faces of her parents-in-law were serene, while her aunt and uncle were nodding. It had been Miles’s show all along.

“Two things.” Miles held up his hands. “First, I believe and Benin agrees, Giaja is willing to meet Gregor partly because the request came from me. A decade ago I had opportunity to do Ceta­ganda a service in Barrayar’s interest. Giaja saw fit to tie off the loose end I represented with an Order of Merit, a gaudy decoration in his gift and a severe embarras­sment to me.” Smiles were visibly suppressed. Miles twitched. “As I spent a good many hours reassuring Simon and ever so many others it was an expedient answer to an occasional problem. But it nevertheless gives me a claim of honour on Giaja; more so as I also served the honour of the Star Crèche.” He shrugged at the bemused looks he was getting. “All this may give me something to work with if opportunity arises. But the second thing matters much more. Critically so.”

Concentration around the table became intense.

“Yesterday I described a hook for the Star Crèche. My greatest doubt is of securing their agreement to any genetic consultancy. For the haut this, far more than anything military or political, as we would see it, is a potential deal-breaker. The circumstances of my first meeting with Giaja allowed me to learn that in private argument about policy planetary consorts deal with him as equals and address him by bare first name.”

“Truly?” Vorlynkin was plainly astonished.

“Truly, Yuri. But even Benin may not know that, nor other ghem present despite their rank, so whatever unity they show us we will be negotiating with two Cetagandan entities. Giaja called them the empire and the haut. He is the only true link between these halves, the key­stone of their dual imperium, and that may be to our advantage.” His fingers drummed on the table and he smiled apologetically round the company. “But I have a fallback position I believe we should be prepared to accept. Pel once told me, you see, haut ladies work only in human material. Ghem-ladies, however, work with animal and plant genes, and are very good at it indeed. Ghem-lady assistance with botanical and zoological problems would be a significant boon. And, after all, if we can make a beginning, perhaps we can later make progress.”

Miles had fallen subtly into persuasive rather than informative mode. Ekaterin sensed heads beginning to nod at his reasonable minimalism. But Illyan’s eyes were mirror-bright, and unsurprised when Miles snapped his own growing narrative spell with a sudden, soft handclap.

“If I choose what seems a strange course in this, please remember the critical point is that any agreement by Rian Degtiar to make even botanical ghem-assistance available to us will not be a minor concession. It will be the public imprimatur of the Star Crèche, in as much as there is such a thing, and that controls the haut.”

“Are you sure of all this, Miles?” Vorlynkin did not look happy.

“I am, Yuri. Giaja rules the empire of the haut, which is necessary for the safety of the Star Crèche. But the Star Crèche governs the haut.”

Her aunt’s eyes were wide as she absorbed this analysis. Opposite Vorlynkin, Allegre stirred. “You are saying, Miles, that Giaja must agree, of course, but Degtiar has a veto.”

“More than a veto. But yes.”

“And though you didn’t say so, one reading of your Cetagandan report ten years ago would be that Degtiar owes her current position to you.”

This, Ekaterin saw, produced widespread surprise. Clearly not all those who had read Miles’s report had made such an interpretation. She herself had never heard the suggestion made but found with rich amusement she had assumed as much ever since Miles first mentioned to her his hopeless youthful infatuation with a woman who had since become an Empress. He makes everybody grow. On the heels of this came the idea that it was a form of compensation for his own stunted body, then that in truth he did only what his mother and father did. Before she could pursue either insight, Miles shook his head.

“No, Guy. At most re-confirmation for rather brilliantly handling an unprecedented problem. She was the haut Lisbet’s pro tem successor as Handmaiden before I ever met her.” His face grew thoughtful. “Actually, what is interesting is that Giaja didn’t see Rian’s use of a Barrayaran agent as at fault. I realised after a while that for him embarrassing me with an Order of Merit was just a side benefit. Giaja’s real purpose was revealed in his one discourtesy to me, the night before. When he dismissed poor Vorreedi and Ivan-and Benin-he said, in exactly these words, Haut Rian, you may keep your Barrayaran creature.” [1] As shock rippled Miles waved a hand. “No, no, that’s what he meant it to do, and what I thought. So the medal business the next day took me by surprise. But think about it. He said it in front of Benin. And to Benin it said the same thing as the medal next day. It endorsed Rian’s actions, emphatically and in haut terms publicly-even though Benin knew very well she had admitted a male outlander to the precincts of the Star Crèche.” He paused reflectively. “Come to think of it, Dag must have worked out Pel got me aboard that flagship of theirs in her bubble, so he probably thinks they did that before, as well.”

After a moment Ekaterin saw Miles awake to the fascinated eyes resting on him from every seat. Tension climbed in him.

“And did they, dear?” Her own voice, cool and amused, surprised her. He tightbeamed grateful respect.

“Once. For covert ops force-bubbles are an absurdly flagrant opportunity.”

Illyan gave the strangest laugh. Gregor’s eyes narrowed, not only, Ekaterin thought, with amusement. “You really must provide an appendix to that Cetagandan Report of yours, Miles. Soon. And Simon shall review it for grammar.” Gregor was, after all, the elder of the foster-brothers. “My Lords, Ladies, gentlemen. Is there anything more that must come now? Aral? Then we await the event. Miles?”

At the opposite end of the table from her Miles caught her eye and stood; she rose with him. “The frame-call is scheduled for 16:30 our time. We are using the study as before. Please be in the hall outside by 16:25. Ladies’ maids and Armsmen experienced in valeting will be waiting outside your rooms.” He paused in surprise. “Aunt Alys?”

Alys did not feel Miles’s need to stand, but her voice was imperious. “Miles dear, I would like to advance your timing. Will everyone please assemble at 16:00, in full array. You as well, Gregor. Cetaganda has the most refined sumptuary culture in the Nexus and certain adjustments to our Barrayaran couture may go a long way. Medals are plainly important here, in several cases worn with full House blacks.”

She frowned at Miles with some severity, but as she looked around the company gave Chandler the faintest wink. Ekaterin was reminded of Pym’s early morning report that Chandler, Alys, and Illyan had been left by the mass-exodus last night to a lengthy têtes-à-tête. Which reminded her she must find out when exactly Pym did such mundane things as sleeping. But Alys swiftly recaptured her attention.

“Had Ekaterin or I had sufficient notice of this event we might have managed something spectacular. As it is, we have done what we can with ladies’ garb, and as Lady Vorob’yev points out, even Cetagandans love a uniform because it relieves one of responsibility for personal sartorial display.” Miles, Ekaterin saw with a rich sense of fun, was standing bolt upright with surprise. His mind did work admirably fast, but then Mia Maz Vorob’yev had told her and Alys she’d met a young Miles on Eta Ceta, considerably enlivening the later stages of her court­ship by the Barrayaran Ambassador. Both Allegre and, interestingly, Illyan were also giving Alys surprised and calculating looks. Ekaterin caught her mother-in-law’s eye and stifled a laugh as Alys concluded. “But there will doubtless be some fine tuning to do, so 16:00 sharp, please.”

Now she stood, even Gregor and Laisa half-a-beat behind. Miles, the only one besides herself safe because already standing, smiled in pure appreciation of his marvellous aunt. Swinging out from his place he threw Ekaterin one of his lazy, infinitely subtle and oddly informative half-salutes, this one sending her a step backward and sideways to Illyan’s side as Miles came round the table to stop by his aunt and offer her his arm.

“As you say, my Lady. Will you lead with me?”

[1]      Cetaganda, Ch. 15.