“We initially thought so, but our best later guess was that he was killed by what is so oxymoronically called friendly fire. Captain ghem Estif vanished while on a three-day leave. Normally this would have been put down to his being murdered by the guerillas or having deserted-desertions were a growing problem by then-but Rae insisted it could not be the second and there was no sign of the first. It was only much later-we had already reached Komarr, as I recall-that one of his son’s friends spoke privately with us, and we found out that the captain had taken a Barrayaran lover.”
She paused to sip soup; fourteen people refrained from interrupting, in unison.
She swallowed delicately and went on: “The captain had apparently penetrated enemy lines to the most dire and notorious nest of guerrillas on the planet in search of his young man. It is entirely unclear if he had found out the city was secretly slated to be destroyed by the ruling ghem-junta-of which General ghem Estif was not a part, so he could not have had the news that way-and was trying to get him out, or if it was just bad luck and bad timing. For all the ironic horror of his son’s immolation, Rae did seem to take some consolation in the assurance that it was not desertion.”
The four Barrayarans around the table were not, actually, quieter than the rest of the audience, Ivan thought-but maybe he was getting a worked demonstration of the difference between attentive and choked silence. The infamous nuclear destruction of the Vorkosigan’s District capital had been the act that had galvanized the war-torn and exhausted planet into its final push against the Occupation.
“My cousin Miles actually owns the site of Vorkosigan Vashnoi,” Ivan put in, affably. Pseudo-affably? Even he wasn’t sure. “It’s finally stopped glowing.”
“Has it,” said Lady ghem Estif, unruffled. “Well, salute the brave ghem-captain and his beloved for me, next time you fly over. I assume you do not land there.”
“No,” said Ivan. “Not even now.”
Lady Alys, with thirty years of diplomatic experience under her belt, looked as if she was discovering a whole new meaning for the term, conversation pit. But she made a valiant effort to recover. “Is that why you and the ghem-general took up Komarran citizenship?”
“I believe Rae’s motivations for that were more practical-he had been given access to a large block of planetary voting shares.”
Bribed, did that translate as?
“I did not actually apply for Komarran citizenship myself, merely claiming umbrella residency as a spouse,” Lady ghem Estif went on. “Later, when I lived with Udine and Shiv, the question of governmental loyalties was, mm, locally moot. I have actually managed to remain a stateless person for the better part of a century, which, I can tell you, is not something the Nexus generally makes easy to do.”
“Indeed,” said Illyan from the other end of the table, staring at her in fascination, “not.”
The next course arrived and the conversation broke apart, the female-dominated end of the table going on to Cetagandan genetic techniques as applied to Jacksonian outcrosses, with a side-order of current Barrayaran techno-obstetrical fashions, the other end to military history and its financing. Ivan was maddened by not quite being able to hear the details when Simon and Shiv began to compare-and-contrast, or possibly one-up, anecdotes of brigandage and covert ops in the Jackson’s Whole system, presumably heavily edited on both sides.
Ivan decided to let someone else explain the provenance of the mouth-melting maple ambrosia served for dessert, but to his relief no one inquired; Lady Alys’s description of it as ‘a traditional Barrayaran confection’ seemed to cover it. The menu item was likely inevitable, given the cook; Ma Kosti was collecting royalties on the recipe, Ivan understood.
Dinner ended without disaster, despite Lady ghem Estif’s little wobble into ancient angst. With the seniors setting the pace, it was clear the evening was not going to run late or turn raucous. Ivan followed when Simon drew Shiv off to his study, an unusual postprandial honor; he normally only permitted the most select guests into this private space, such as Gregor or Miles or Uncle Aral when he was on-world. The honor was underscored when Simon rummaged in his credenza and emerged with a bottle of the even more select brandy, the one from the Vorkosigan’s District so rare that it didn’t even have a label, being distributed solely as a gift from the Count’s own hand.
And two glasses. Simon studied Ivan with his most annoying blandness, and murmured, “I expect Lady Tej will be wanting your support out there, eh, Ivan?”
They eyed each other; Ivan tried not to let his gaze fix on the bottle gently dangling from Simon’s hand. “I’m very concerned for Tej’s future, sir.”
“I am aware, Ivan. It’s one of the things in the forefront of my mind.”
Ivan couldn’t say, out loud in front of his putative father-in-law watching this play with keen interest, Dammit, I need to be dealing with Shiv! Wait your turn! Nor, as Simon chivvied him firmly to the door and evicted him, Don’t forget! Just how many things could Simon keep in the forefront of his mind these days without losing track? The very soundproof, not to mention projectile-, plasma-, and poison gas-proof, door slid closed in front of Ivan’s nose, exiling him to the hallway.
Byerly wandered up, looking faintly frazzled. “Have you seen where Arqua and Illyan disappeared to?”
Ivan jerked his thumb at the study. “Private conclave, evidently. Discussing Vorkosigan brandy, and I’m not sure what else.”
Byerly stared at the blank door with curiosity second only to Ivan’s own. “Well…Illyan. Presumably he has things in hand.”
“I’m not so sure. You were closer to that end of the table than I was. Did you get the impression that Shiv was hustling Simon? I mean, subtly, of course.”
By shrugged. “Well, of course. Arqua has to be hustling every possibility he sees, right about now. Trying to get support for his House in exile, in the interest of making it not in exile. It was less clear”-By hesitated-“why Simon seemed to be hustling him back. Even more subtly, note. Unless it was just habit, I suppose.”
“That’s a disturbing thought. The two of them, hustling each other.”
“Yeah. It was…kind of like watching two women trying to make each other pregnant.”
Ivan contemplated this arresting, not to mention distracting, metaphor for a moment. “That’s done. Technologically. Even on Barrayar, these days.”
Byerly waved a dissociating hand. “You see what I mean, though.”
“Yeah.” Ivan nibbled his lip. “Are you outed, by the way?”
“By Rish? I’m not yet sure. Do you know if Tej has told her family anything?”
“About your line of work? Not a clue. No one has given me any time to talk with my wife for the past day.” Ivan hesitated. “She has talked with them about something.”
“Well, try to find out, will you? Both,” By added in afterthought.
Ivan growled. “Spying is supposed to be your job.”
“I’m trying,” By bit out.
“Hey. You’re the one who outed yourself, back on Komarr. Surprised the hell out of me at the time. Were you trying to impress the pretty python with your daring dual identity, or what?”
“ At the time, there were only the two of them, and I never imagined they’d ever get closer than five jumps to Vorbarr Sultana. It seemed a fair deal, and they seemed to agree. They weren’t going to blab to their enemies. Never pictured it lasting more than a couple of days before we went our separate ways. Or Rish having to choose me over her family, for God’s sake.”
Or Tej having to choose me over her family? Ivan had just time to think, before a door slid open down the hall, and By’s teeth snapped shut. Tall and cinnamon Pidge emerged from the guest lav, began to stride back toward the living room, spied the two of them lingering, and hove to with a smile. Snazzy heels on her shoes positioned her to look Ivan directly in the eye, and down on Byerly, very Baronette Sophia Arqua. Strange courtesy title, that. Ivan kept hearing it as bayonet, which…might not be so wrong.