"Gregor is very pleased with your work on this one," Illyan remarked.
"I'll bet. He was livid about the Princess Olivia hijacking, in his own understated way. An unarmed ship, all those poor dead passengers — God, what a nightmare."
Roic listened a bit wistfully to all this. He thought he might have done more this past month when m'lord was buzzing in and out on the high-profile case, but Pym hadn't assigned him to the duty. Granted, someone had to stand night guard for Vorkosigan House. Week after week…
"But enough of this nasty business" — m'lord caught Madame Vorsoisson's grateful glance—"let's turn to more cheerful affairs. Why don't you finish opening that next package, love?"
Madame Vorsoisson turned back to the crowded table and the task everyone's arrival had interrupted. "Here's the card. Oh. Admiral Quinn, again?"
M'lord took it, brows rising. "What, no limerick this time? How disappointing."
"Perhaps this one is to make up for — Oh, my. I imagine so. And all the way from Earth!" From a small box, she drew a short, triple strand of matched pearls and held them up to her throat. "Choker-style… oh, how pretty." Momentarily, she let the iridescent spheres line up upon her neck, touching the two ends of the clasp in back.
"Would you like me to fasten it?" her bridegroom offered.
"Just for a moment…" She bent her head, and m'lord. reached up and fiddled with the catch at her nape. She walked to the mirror over the room's unlit fireplace, turning to watch the exquisite ornament catch the light, and gave m'lord a quizzical smile. "I believe they would go perfectly with what I'm wearing the day after tomorrow. Don't you think, Lady Alys?"
Lady Alys tilted her head in sartorial judgment. "Why, yes, indeed."
M'lord bowed at this endorsement by the highest authority. The look he exchanged with his bride was less decipherable to Roic, but he seemed very pleased, even relieved. Sergeant Taura, watching the byplay, frowned in unease.
Madame Vorsoisson removed the strands and laid them back in their velvet-lined box, where they glowed softly. "I believe we should let your guests freshen up before dinner, Miles."
"Oh, yes. Except I need to borrow Simon for a moment. Will you excuse us? There will be drinks in the library again when you are all ready. Someone let Arde know. Where is Arde?"
"Nikki captured him and carried him off," said Madame Vorsoisson. "I should probably go rescue the poor man."
M'lord and Illyan withdrew to the library. Lady Alys escorted Taura away, presumably for one last tutorial on Barrayaran etiquette before the impending formal dinner with Count and Countess Vorkosigan. Taura glanced back at the bride, still frowning. Roic watched the giant woman out with some regret, distracted by the sudden speculation of what it would be like to patrol a Hassadar alley with her.
"M'lady — Madame Vorsoisson, that is," Roic began as she started to turn away.
"Not for much longer." She smiled, turning back.
"What's with… that is, how old is Sergeant Taura? Do you know?"
"Around twenty-six standard, I believe."
A little younger than Roic, actually. It felt unfair that the galactic woman should seem so much more… complicated. "Then why is her hair turning gray? If she's bioengineered, I wouldn't have thought they'd muff up such details."
Madame Vorsoisson made a little gesture of apology. "I believe that is a private matter for her, which is not mine to discuss."
"Oh." Roic's brow wrinkled in bafflement. "Where'd she come from? Where did m'lord meet her?"
"On one of his old covert ops missions, he tells me. He rescued her from a particularly vile bioengineering facility on the planet of Jackson's Whole. They were trying to develop a super-soldier. Having escaped enslavement, she became an especially valued colleague on his ops team." She added after a contemplative moment, "And sometime-lover. Also especially valued, I understand."
Roic felt suddenly very… rural. Backcountry. Not up to speed on the sophisticated, galactic-tinged Vor life of the capital. "Er… he told you? And — and you're all right with that?" He wondered if meeting Sergeant Taura had rattled her more than she'd let on.
"It was before my time, Roic." Her smile crimped a little. "I actually wasn't sure if he was confessing or bragging, but now that I've seen her, I rather think he was bragging."
"But — but how would… I mean, she's so tall, and he's, urn…"
Now her eyes narrowed with laughter at him, although her lips remained demure. "He didn't supply me with that much detail, Roic. It wouldn't have been gentlemanly."
"To you? No, I guess not."
"To her."
"Oh. Oh. Um, yeah."
"For what it's worth, I have heard him remark that a height differential matters much less when two people are lying down. I find I must agree." With a smile he really didn't dare try to interpret, she moved off in search of Nikki.
A scant hour later, Roic was surprised when Pym gave him a heads-up on his wrist com to bring m'lord's groundcar around. He parked it under the porte cochere and entered the black-and-white paved hall to find m'lord assisting Madame Vorsoisson on with her wraps.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" m'lord asked her anxiously. "I'd like to go with you, see you get home and in all right."
Madame Vorsoisson pressed a hand to her forehead. Her face was pale and damp, almost greenish. "No. No. Roic will get me there. Go back to your guests. They've come so far, and you'll only be getting to see them for such a short time. I'm sorry to be such a drip. Give my abject apologies to the count and countess."
"If you don't feel well, you don't feel well. Don't apologize. Do you think you're coming down with something? I could send our personal physician round."
"I don't know. I hope not, not now! It mostly seems to be a headache." She bit her lip. "I don't think I have a fever."
He reached up to touch her brow; she winced. "No, you're not hot. But you're all clammy." He hesitated, then asked more quietly, "Nerves, d'you think?"
She hesitated, too. "I don't know."
"I have all the wedding logistics under control, you know. All you have to do is show up."
Her smile was pained. "And not fall over."
He was silent a little longer this time. "You know, if you decide that you really can't go through with it, you can call a halt. Any time. Right up to the last. Hope you won't, of course. But I need you to know you could."
"What, with everyone from the emperor and the empress on down coming? I think not."
"I'd cover it, if I had to." He swallowed. "I know you said you wanted a small wedding, but I didn't realize you meant tiny. I'm sorry."
She blew out her breath in something like exasperation. "Mles, I love you dearly, but if I'm going to start throwing up, I'd really prefer to be home first."
"Oh. Yes. Roic, if you please?" He motioned to his armsman.
Roic took Madame Vorsoisson's arm, which was trembling.
"I'll send Nikki home safely with one of the armsmen after dessert, or after he wears Arde out. I'll call your house and let them know you're coming," m'lord called after her.
She waved in acknowledgment; Roic helped her into the rear compartment and closed the canopy. Her shadowed form sat bent, head clutched in her hands.
M'lord chewed on his knuckle and stared in distress as the house doors swung shut upon him.