Like integrity, love of life was not a subject to be studied, it was a contagion to be caught. And you had to catch it from someone who had it. “Don’t you want to live?” he asked her.
“I … don’t know.”
“I do. I want to live. And believe me, I have considered the alternative deeply.”
“You are … a funny, little, ugly man. What can you get from life?”
“Everything. And I mean to get more.” I want, I want. Wealth, power, love. Victories, splendid, brilliant victories, shining reflected in the eyes of comrades. Someday, a wife, children. A herd of children, tall and healthy, to rock those who whispered Mutant! right back on their heels and over on their pointed heads. And I mean to have a brother.
Mark. Yeah. The surly little fellow that Baron Ryoval was, quite possibly, taking apart strand by strand right now. In Miles’s place. His nerves stretched to the screaming point, with no release. I’ve got to make time.
He finally persuaded Lilly Junior to go to sleep, wrapped up in the covers on Rowan’s side of the bed. Chivalrously, he took the chair. A couple of hours into the night and he was in agony. He tried the floor. It was cold. His chest ached. He dreaded the thought of waking with a cough. He finally crept into the bed on top of the covers, and curled up facing away from her. He was intensely conscious of her body. The reverse was obviously not so. His anxiety was the more enormous for being so formless. He didn’t have control of anything. Near morning, he at last warmed up enough to doze.
“Rowan, m’love,” he muttered muzzily, nuzzling into her scented hair and wrapping himself around her warm, long body. “M’lady.” A Barrayaran turn of phrase; he knew where that milady came from, at long last. She flinched; he recoiled. Consciousness returned. “Ak! Sorry.”
Lilly Junior sat up, shaking off his ugly-little-man grasp. Grope, actually. “I am not my lady!”
“Sorry, wrong referent. I think of Rowan as milady, inside my head. She is milady, and I’m her …” court fool “knight. I really am a soldier, you know. Despite being short.”
At the second knock on the door, he realized what had awakened him. “Breakfast. Quick! Into the bathroom. Rattle around in there. I swear we can keep this going another round.”
For once he did not try to engage the guards in conversation leading to bribery. Lilly Junior came back out when the door closed again behind the servant. She ate slowly, dubiously, as if she doubted her right to food. He watched her, increasingly fascinated. “Here. Have this other roll. You can put sugar on it, you know.”
“I’m not allowed to eat sugar.”
“You should have sugar.” He paused. “You should have everything. You should have friends. You should have … sisters. You should have education to the limits of your mind’s powers, and work to challenge your spirit. Work makes you bigger. More real. You eat it up, and grow. You should have love. A knight of your own. Much taller. You should have … ice cream.”
“I mustn’t get fat. My lady is my destiny.”
“Destiny! What do you know about destiny?” He rose, and began to pace, zig-zagging around bed and table. “I’m a frigging expert on destiny. Your lady is a false destiny, and do you know how I know? She takes everything, but she doesn’t give anything back.
“Real destiny takes everything—the last drop of blood, and strip out your veins to be sure—and gives it back doubled. Quadrupled. A thousand-fold! But you can’t give halves. You have to give it all. I know. I swear. I’ve come back from the dead to speak the truth to you. Real destiny gives you a mountain of life, and puts you on top of it.”
His conviction felt utterly megalomanic. He adored moments like this.
“You’re insane,” she said, staring at him warily.
“How would you know? You’ve never met a sane person in your life. Have you? Think about it.”
Her rising interest fell. “It’s no use. I’m a prisoner anyway. Where would I go?”
“Lilly Durona would take you in,” he said promptly. “The Durona Group is under House Fell’s protection, you know. If you could get to your grandmother, you’d be safe.”
Her brows drew down just like Rowan’s had, when she was knocking holes in his escape plans. “How?”
“They can’t leave us in here forever. Suppose …” he walked behind her, gathered up her hair, and held it in a messy wad on the back of her head. “I didn’t get the impression Vasa Luigi meant to keep Rowan past the point of need for secrecy. When I go, so should she. If they thought you were Rowan, I bet you could just walk right out.”
“What … would I say?”
“As little as possible. Hello, Dr. Durona, your ride is here. Pick up your bag, and go.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could try. If you fail, you’ll lose nothing. If you win, you’ll win everything. And—if you got away—you could tell people where I’ve gone. Who took me, and when. All it takes is a few minutes of nerve, and that’s free. We make it ourselves, out of ourselves. Nerve can’t be taken away from you like a purse or something. Hell, why am I telling you that? You escaped the Dendarii Mercenaries on nerve and wit alone.”
She looked utterly boggled. “I was doing it for my lady. I’ve never done anything for … for myself.”
He felt like crying, strung up to the point of pure nervous collapse. This was the sort of all-out exalted eloquence he usually reserved for persuading people to risk their lives, not save them. He leaned across to whisper demonically in her ear. “Do it for yourself. The universe will be around to collect its cut later.”
After breakfast, he tried to help her fix her hair Rowan-fashion. He was terrible at hair. Since Rowan was too, the final result was quite convincing, he fancied. They survived the delivery and removal of lunch.
He knew it wasn’t dinner when they didn’t knock before entering.
There were three guards, and a man in House livery. Two of the guards took him, wordlessly, and fastened his hands in front of him. He was grateful for that small favor. Behind his back would have been excruciating, after the first half-hour. They prodded him into the hall. No sign of Vasa and Lotus. Out looking for their lost clone, he hoped? He glanced back over his shoulder.
“Dr. Durona,” the House man nodded at Lilly Junior. “I am to be your driver. Where to?”
She brushed a loose wisp of hair from her eyes, picked up Rowan’s bag, stepped forward, and said, “Home.”
“Rowan,” Miles said. She turned.
“Take all, for it will all be taken back in time. That’s a grave truth.” He moistened dry lips. “Kiss me goodbye?”
She tilted her head, wheeled, bent. Pressed her lips to his, briefly. Followed the driver.
Well, it was enough to impress the guards. “How’d you rate that?” one inquired, amiably amused, as he was led in the opposite direction.
“I’m an acquired taste,” he informed them smugly.
“Cut the chat,” sighed the senior man.
He made two attempted breaks on the way to the groundcar; after the second, the biggest guard simply slung him over his shoulder, head-down, and threatened to drop him if he wriggled. They’d used enough force tackling him the second time that Miles didn’t think he was joking. They bundled him into the back of the vehicle between two of them.