The Admonishments, though traditional in form and content, had been subtly edited too, Miles noted. The comments on the Duty to Bear an Heir had been reworded so as not to imply any particular obligation to do so in ones own body using one's real womb, with all the inherent dangers that entailed. No question whose hand was at work there. As for the rest of them . . . Miles's imagined Quinn's suggestions of how to roll the parchment and in what part of the Admonisher's anatomy he might lodge it for storage thereafter, and how hard. Dr. Toscane, less vigorous in her vocabulary, only cast one or two beseeching looks at Countess Vorkosigan, to be reassured with a few covert palm-down don't-take-it-too-seriously-dear gestures. The rest of the time, fortunately, she was so occupied with smiling at Gregor smiling at her, the Admonishments slithered past without objection.
Miles stepped back, and the fiancees had their hands joined in the last gesture of the ceremony, or rather, each was permitted to grasp one of Lady Alys s hands, and at this well-chaperoned remove exchange their promissory pledges. And if you think this was a circus, just wait till the wedding at Midsummer. Then the ceremony was over, and the party started. Since everyone was feeling more or less snowed-in, the party went on, and on. . . .
Gregor had first claim on Miles's father, so Miles took himself off to one of the buffets. There he encountered Ivan, tall and splendid in his parade red-and-blues, filling a single plate.
"Hello, Lord Auditor Coz," said Ivan. "Where's your gold leash?"
"I get it back next week. I take my oath before the last joint session of the Counts and Ministers, before they break for Winterfair."
"The word is out, you know. All sorts of people have been asking me about your appointment."
"If it gets too thick, direct 'em to Vorhovis or Vorkalloner. Though not, I think, to Vorparadijs. Did you bring a dance partner I might borrow?"
Ivan grimaced, and looked around, and lowered his voice. "I tried to do one better. I asked Delia Koudelka to marry me."
Miles thought he already knew the lay of things, but this was, after all, Ivan. "I figured this stuff would be contagious. Congratulations!" he said with synthetic heartiness. "Your mother will be ecstatic."
"No."
"No? But she likes the Koudelka girls."
"Not that. Delia turned me down. The first time I ever proposed to a girl, and—squelch!" Ivan looked quite indignant.
"She didn't take you, Ivan! What a surprise."
Ivan, awakening to his tone of voice, eyed him suspiciously. "And all my mother said was, That's too bad, dear. I told you not to wait so long. And wandered away to see Illyan. I saw them a couple of minutes ago, hiding out in an alcove. Illyan was rubbing her neck. The woman's besotted."
"Well, so she did tell you. Hundreds of times. She knew the demographic odds."
"I figured there would always be room at the top. Delia says she's marrying Duv Galeni! The damned Komarran . . . um …"
"Competition?" suggested Miles, as Ivan groped for a noun.
"You knew!"
"I had a few clues. You'll enjoy your untroubled single existence, I'm sure. Your next decade will be just like your last, eh? And the next, and the next, and the next . . . happy and carefree."
"You're not doing any better," Ivan snapped.
"I … didn't expect to." Miles smiled grimly. That was perhaps enough Ivan-twitting, on this topic. "You'll just have to try again. Martya, maybe?"
Ivan growled.
"What, two rejections in—you didn't ask both sisters on the same day, did you, Ivan?"
"I panicked."
"So . . . who's Martya marrying?"
"Anyone but me, apparently."
"Really. So, um . . . did you see where the Koudelkas went?"
"The Commodore was here a bit ago. He's probably gone off with your da by now. I expect the girls will be up in the ballroom as soon as the music starts."
"Ah." Miles started to turn away, but then added absently, "Do you want a kitten?"
Ivan stared at him. "Why in God's name would I want a kitten?"
"It would brighten your bachelor digs, you know. A bit of life and movement, to keep you company on your long, lonely nights."
"Get stuffed, Lord Auditor Coz."
Miles grinned, popped an hors d'oeuvre in his mouth, and departed, munching thoughtfully.
He spotted the Koudelka clan in the ballroom, in a cluster on the far side. The three sisters were minus their fourth, Kareen, who was still on Beta Colony but who would, he'd been informed, be returning for the Imperial wedding at Midsummer. So would Lord Mark, presumably. Captain Galeni stood engaged in serious conversation with his prospective father-in-law the Commodore, Delia by his side in her favorite blue. Upon reflection, and some quiet campaigning from his fiancee, Galeni had decided not to resign his commission, to Miles's immense relief. Miles was staying out of ImpSec's internal business this week, but he'd had a whiff through Gregor of just how seriously Galeni was being considered for head of Komarran Affairs, and hoped to congratulate him soon.
Madame Koudelka looked on benignly. It made a nice tableau, and would do much toward repairing whatever damages still lingered to Galeni's reputation from Haroche's calculatedly clumsy arrest of him here a few weeks ago. With four sisters in all, Galeni was on his way to gaining an array of major Barrayaran clan connections by marriage. . . . Miles wondered if anyone had apprised Galeni yet that he stood in some danger of acquiring Miles's clone-brother Mark as his next brother-in-law. If not, Miles wanted to be there when somebody told him, just to savor the look on his face. Also, he wondered if kittens would make good wedding presents. . . .
A rich, raspy baritone voice over his shoulder said, "Congratulations on your promotion, sir."
Miles grinned dryly, and turned around to greet his father. "Which one, sir?"
"I admit," said Viceroy Count Aral Vorkosigan, "I was thinking of your Imperial Auditorship, but I understand from Gregor you slipped a captaincy in there somehow as well. You hadn't mentioned it. Congratulations on that, too, though . . . that has to be the most roundabout method of acquiring a set of blue tabs I've ever heard of."
"If you can't do what you want, do what you can. Or how you can. The captaincy . . . completed something, for me."
"I'm glad you survived long enough to finally grow into yourself. So, you're not losing your forward momentum with age, are you, boy?" The Count refrained from following this up with one of those we're-getting-so-old complaints mainly designed to invite the listener to offer a contradiction.
"I don't think so." Miles's eyes narrowed in a brief moment of introspection. His new calmness was still there, inside, but it did not feel at all weary. Quite the opposite. "It's just taking another direction. Vorhovis tells me I'm the youngest Imperial Auditor since the Time of Isolation. It's not a post you ever held, I understand."
"No. I missed that one, somehow. Your grandfather never held it, either. Nor your great-grandfather. In fact . . . I'll have to look it up, but I don't think any Count or Lord Vorkosigan has ever been an Auditor."
"I did. None has. I'm the first in the family," Miles informed him smugly. "I am unprecedented."
The Count smiled. "This is not news, Miles."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE