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“If you suspect your maquillage has been tampered with, you should stop glaring at it and alert Simon immediately.”
Alys was sitting on Cordelia's bed, her posture perfect and her voice bland. “I'm sure he will be thrilled,” she added lightly, and crossed her legs at the ankle. “We haven't had an assassination attempt since that fiasco with the harpsichordist.”
“There's nothing wrong with my makeup,” Cordelia said, mostly to reassure the nervous girl who was helping her apply it. Once Cordelia's eyebrows were perfected, Alys dismissed the girl firmly and stood between Cordelia and the floor-length mirror. As always, they were well-coordinated: Cordelia looked deceptively elegant in cream and gold, and Alys was a vision of grace wrapped in blue and shimmery silver.
Cordelia had hoped to be allowed to witness the intimidating process of Lady Vorpatril preparing for an event, but it hadn't happened. Even in their rented residence and with borrowed staff, Alys kept to her routine of efficient discretion. It was concession enough that she came to see Cordelia - perhaps Alys was lonely.
“It's been years since I had to tell you to stop slouching,” she said briskly, and straightened one of Cordelia's enamel hair combs. “Are you ill or just sulking?”
“I'm fine. Everything is just fine.”
“Are you worrying about Miles?”
Miles was at home with two broken ankles, a fractured hip, and a newfound passion for old Earth theatre.
“Miles is fine." Cordelia shrugged and shook the self-pity out of her bones. "Are you worried about Ivan? I take no responsibility for any Shakespearean brainwashing he might undergo during his stay at Vorkosigan House.” The last she'd heard, Miles was playing Mercutio from his bed, and had every intention of convincing his cousin to play Romeo. And Benvolio. It's not my fault he has that oafish Montague look about him, Ma.
“Ivan had every opportunity to come with me,” Alys sniffed.
Ivan had chosen to stay with a bed-bound Miles and Bothari and Piotr, rather than agreeing to come see the Southern Continent with his mother. It was in equal measure sweet and worrying, in Cordelia's opinion. But it was good to know the boys were close - Miles would need all the backup he could have, when he started pre-academy in the fall.
“I'll be glad to be home,” Cordelia admitted at last, leaning gently against Alys's shoulder. “It has been a long tour.”
Komarr had been exhausting, politically and spiritually. They'd maneuvered their way through righteous rage and wrongful accusations, subtle barbs and open insults. After that, the South Continent and its issues seemed – petty. Cordelia had never meant to become a junkie for crises.
“I think I'm bored,” she told Alys, wonderingly. “I never used to get bored before.”
“Your child has infected you with his ways. Very bad form.”
“But Miles gets bored so very exquisitely, and it always leads to new discoveries. I'm just - restless. And really exhausted by the crowds.”
Alys nodded, and gave her a rare hug. “We're going home soon,” she said. “Now go get Vorkosigan or we'll end up more than fashionably late.”
Aral was sitting on his bed and staring at his hands.
He was as imposing as ever with his silver-shot hair and impeccable dress greens. But Cordelia could see the signs of unhappy exhaustion around his eyes, and at the corner of his mouth. She wanted very much to shove him back on the bed and skip out on this dinner.
Instead, she pulled him to his feet and wrapped him into a silent and undignified hug. Since Komarr, she had been particularly careful to keep touching him, for his comfort and her own.
“Have you gained any new information on our host?” she asked, after Aral cleared his throat, signaling that he was ready to leave. He offered his arm and they began their descent to the groundcar.
“It's hard to tell,” Aral murmured. “When we met, he was so damn formal, and I don't know if it's country manners or if he hates my guts. You haven't heard anything?”
Cordelia shook her head. “He has very few connections to the Vorvolks we know. And he has no family here, except his ward - and he keeps her under lock and key.”
“Literally?”
“As far as we've been able to tell, yes. All Alys has been able to find out from the neighbours is that she's ill. And, by all accounts, Vorvolk is definitely one of those bachelors – the kind that take special care not to exchange any meaningful conversation with a woman lest they end up contaminated. I certainly haven't been able to talk to him beyond courtesies.”
“And you should consider yourself lucky,” Aral sighed, once they were safely settled on the back seat. He touched her knee idly. “The opinions he does have are both repellent and repetitive.”
“But every rumour agreed he has wonderful cellars.”
“I am sure Da would contest that.”
Aral rubbed his forehead and Cordelia leaned on him. They stayed silent for a while, Aral drawing slow circles across her hip. He yawned and slumped against her.
“Forgive me. Tell me, are you satisfied with the success of your replicator campaign?”
“Well, I laid out all my arguments, and passed on my best anecdotes. It's up to the local women to spread the word now. That part, at least, was easier on Komarr.” Really, Alys had done most of the work lately. Southern Vor seemed to have a particularly detached kind of conservatism that she didn't really know how to approach.
“So you don't have any strategic plans for this dinner?”
“Nope, not tonight.” She shrugged. “I'm attending this event in a strictly ornamental capacity.”
He took one of her hands and kissed it, a gesture that still sent heat to her spine.
“I am sure you will find some kind of entertainment.”
Aral smiled, but tensed up when they arrived. He opened the door for her, and whispered, "Once more unto the breach, dear Captain, once more.” They marched in, hand in hand.
Dinner was exquisitely prepared, but Cordelia was stranded between two Vorvayne cousins who both decided to impress her with their knowledge of outdated capital gossip. She fled before dessert was served, pleading a headache; it was, she reasoned, a less scandalous way to exit the conversation than telling them both to shut up and grow up.
The garden was ill-lit and ill-tended; not the right kind of place for a High Vor lady. She rehearsed the explanation she’d give if anyone found her there – botany is one of my passions, I haven’t had enough time to study the flora of this continent - and wondered lazily if there was a way to kidnap either Alys or Aral for a walk. Simon, of course, would hate entering wild terrain that he hadn’t bugged personally.
“- just take the stunner, Quen.” A woman was speaking in the dark, with a low urgency that made Cordelia hold her breath.
“You need it more,” said a man. “And I can’t just stun the Regent, I’d get executed.”
“And I can?”
Taking her shoes off, Cordelia crept closer, wishing she’d chosen a darker ensemble. She crouched behind shrubbery and listened.
“If it’s self-defense - ”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said the woman.
There was a pause and Cordelia made sure to breathe carefully. “I’m sorry,” the man said, voice low. “I should have - I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Too late now,” she said, “so let’s just – get through this.”
“Aska, I –“
“I have to go get ready, and so do you. Keep the stunner.”
Cordelia listened to the rustle of the retreating figures. A conspiracy! A desperate-sounding conspiracy. She composed herself and headed to find Simon, but she was stopped by an urgent voice saying, “Milady?”
It was the male conspirator – a young man, she saw, pale and short, with thick eyeglasses and auburn hair.
“Hello!” she said, with a placating smile. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said tersely. “Have you – been enjoying the garden?”
“Oh, absolutely!” she simpered. “It’s beautiful and so calm – I’m afraid I got quite lost in my thoughts.” She considered adding a giggle, for full effect, but thought better of it.
The young man had relaxed visibly at the implication that he hadn’t been overheard. He offered her his arm.
“Milady. Might I show you around the gardens? My name is Quentin Zajec, I am Lord Vorvolk’s secretary.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said. “Yes, thank you.”
She felt curiously calm. It seemed unwise to walk into the dark with someone who was planning to stun her husband – but she could overpower him easily, she thought. And perhaps it was better that she could interrogate him with her own methods first.
“I hope you enjoyed the dinner,” he said. His voice was pleasant and his accent polished.
“It was a little overwhelming,” she said, rather honestly. “But all the courses were wonderful.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said. “My lord had me manage the minutiae of the party. I’m afraid I overestimated the band.”
“Well, they’re very good at what they know,” Cordelia grinned. The band had played the same three ballads all evening, with varying degrees of mournfulness.
Zajec huffed in agreement.
“I miss –“ he said, and stopped. “I hope I’m not being too forward,” he said carefully. “But I spent a semester on Beta Colony. And I really do miss the art.”
“Mm?” Cordelia said, encouraging.
“And the – well, everything. But I loved the music. Some of it was very – frank – but there was rage and cleverness, and the variety, I loved it.”
“Beta does encourage a diversity of genres,” Cordelia said, improvising wildly, “but I like that Barrayaran music is unabashedly emotional, regardless of genre. And I’ve developed a fondness for ballads and their mysteries. I feel like back h – on Beta, the outspokenness of lyrics sometimes cheapens the full effect. Some concepts are great enough to render one speechless.”
It wasn’t her opinion – in general, Cordelia believed that great things were worth talking about – but a lot could be learned about a man when you disagreed with him. He seemed contemplative.
“Perhaps it’s different when you grew up here,” he said. “We are so used to talking in euphemisms, it doesn’t seem particularly mysterious, or artistic.”
Cordelia nodded. He had led her back to the manor, and disentangled from her.
“Milady,” he said, and avoided her gaze. “I would like to ask you – something about Beta Colony. If – would you do me the honor – might we retreat to the library?”
She bit her lip. This was the right time to disengage from Zajec – with force, if he made it necessary - and report the conversation to Simon. Who would then very discreetly descend upon the two young people, and perhaps do unnecessary damage.
Cordelia knew she was being reckless, but she said, “Of course! Lead on.”
To her surprise, they sat on a loveseat in the library. It was too familiar for Barrayaran propriety. What was the boy doing?
“Can we do an information swap?” she asked. “I have some questions about your home too.”
He nodded hesitantly.
“Ladies first,” she said sweetly. “Who is Lord Vorvolk’s ward?”
Zajec paled and Cordelia knew her hunch had been true.
“She is so very mysterious,” Cordelia cooed. “I would have expected the lord to introduce her to us.”
“She – Lady Astrid – is very ill. She keeps to bed.”
“Oh no!” Cordelia leaned towards him. “Is it treatable?”
“It – I don’t know. Milady. I am merely Lord Vorvolk’s secretary.” It was plainly a lie, but she let it go.
“Your turn.”
“About Beta Colony – is it very difficult to get citizenship?”
“Not too difficult, especially if you have a local citizen to vouch for you. Have you made friends during your semester?”
“I – yes. I haven’t been able to keep in touch, but I think they’d still... Some good friends, yes. And all citizens have constitutional rights?”
“Yes.” The right to information, education, housing, health... “What made you come home? From your semester?”
“I, I was needed. M’mother died.”
Cordelia nodded, slowly. “My condolences,” she said.
“Milady – “ Zajec checked the clock on the wall and sighed. “Milady, do you miss anything about Beta Colony?”
“Of course, many things. Proper access to information, decent environmental policies, sensible architecture...”
“And – personally?” He wasn’t looking at her but sat nearer. “Beta Colony is much more, erm, free.”
“You mean sexually,” she said, fascinated. Zajec was looking away, but nodded.
“Do you have any questions about orientation,” she asked, “or sexual health?”
“N-no. Milady. I meant – I was going to say. That if there is anything you miss. I would be – it would be my honor to provide any services. That you might need.”
Cordelia snickered. Zajec looked at her mournfully and she couldn’t resist giggling into her palm again.
“I apologise for the awkwardness,” he muttered. “It was just a semester, but I gathered a lot of experience.“
“Thank you for the offer, but – “
His wristcom chimed and Zajec wrapped her in an awkward embrace and kissed her. It was unexpected and Cordelia was frozen in place. She prepared to knock him away, but he broke contact first and whispered ‘sorry’. His face was ashen.
Cordelia looked around. Aral was standing in the door, with Vorvolk at his side.
She thought it through at lightning speed, and stood up. She grabbed Zajec’s hand and said “It’s not what it looks like!” staring Aral deeply in the eyes. “I swear, this is nothing like that time with - with Clement. Or Vorcassio!”
Aral’s lips twitched. “You strumpet,” he said flatly, a question.
“Oh, please,” she said. “Please don’t cause a scene, not where everyone’s watching.”
“A scene!” Aral supplied, getting into his role. “You should have thought of that before you decided to cheat on me! Who is this boy?”
“His name is Zajec and I love him!”
Zajec stood frozen in her grip. Did he understand the bluff or did he think her crazy? “He understands me like nobody else does.”
Aral stepped slightly closer, and Cordelia stole a moment to study Vorvolk’s expression. He looked hungry, and overjoyed. So that was it.
“You cannot do this to me!” Aral said gravely, returning her to the scene.
“Oh, Aral, please, we can’t do this in public! Let me just explain.” She closed her eyes, the go-on motion they used in bed when they couldn’t talk for whatever reason. Aral nodded minutely.
“So come to the groundcar. Then you can... explain.” He stalked out and Cordelia marched after him, dragging a petrified Zajec alongside her.
Aral asked the driver to leave, and stretched out on the back seat. Cordelia pushed Zajec in and sat on Aral’s lap.
“That was just right,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Vorcassio, dear Captain?”
She shrugged, and kissed his forehead. Then she turned to Zajec, who was watching the exchange avidly, and said, “Explain.”
“I don’t – Milady, I don’t know.”
“I know,” she supplied. “You are in some kind of trouble. Vorvolk decided you should try to seduce me – or, worse, seduce me in the Barrayaran sense.”
“What.” Aral tensed underneath her.
“It’s fine, the boy is harmless,” she assured him. “In fact, please give me that stunner,” she said. “This conversation doesn’t really need hidden weapons to make it more interesting.”
Zajec obeyed, unnerved beyond all conversation.
“So please explain the ending of this particular ballad. We get caught by my husband, he causes an awful scene, exeunt the Butcher and his prey.” She squeezed Aral’s shoulder reassuringly. “What happens then?”
“Lady Astrid. Seduces him. Seduces the Regent.”
Cordelia blinked. Aral shifted underneath her.
“Why?”
“Because Lord Vorvolk won’t pay for her medication unless we do what he says!” Zajec slumped back. It seemed the admission liftedthe confused tension from his shoulders.
“But why?”Cordelia prompted. “What is Vorvolk trying to achieve? Does he have an agenda?”
“Not – not really,” Zajec said. “He just wanted to cause a scandal and to have leverage over the Regent. He’s just an irrelevant old man, Milady, and he wanted some kind of power.”
Cordelia nodded.
“It is a very juvenile scheme,” she murmured in Aral’s ear.
“But one that could have worked, in a different life,” Aral whispered back, and she kissed him, heedless of their witness. It wasn’t the right time to ascertain how much Aral had been hurt by poisoned memories.
“Does Vorvolk have any allies?” She asked. “Is there another part of this?”
“I don’t think so, Milady,” Zajec said. “He might be planning something else, but he doesn’t have any help.”
She nodded. “We won’t alert Simon, yet,” she said to Aral. “Can you bring Lady Aska to the groundcar?”
Aral nodded. “I will try not to distress her excessively.”
Cordelia closed her eyes and thought it through.
“Milady,” Zajec said. “Aska – Lady Astrid – she was innocent in this. Please take that into account.”
“You were both innocent, so far as I can tell,” she said. Zajec ducked his head. “What is she to you? Are you lovers?”
“No. She – “ he huffed a laugh. “Well, I suppose it can’t hurt her reputation now. She’s m’sister.”
“Oh.”
“We never – I knew she was born after my father had died. But we didn’t really know about Lord Vorvolk until Mama died. He came to our house, offering to adopt her. I – Aska was young, and I thought it was a good idea. She could have married well, and we – I had spent too much money on getting to Beta Colony.”
“Did she think it was a good idea?”
“She did. She wanted to travel as well, and we didn’t know about – well, she turned ill a few months later, and then we both became indebted to Vorvolk, because we couldn’t afford her medication. He was happy to have company, at first, but he always said he was a poor man, and Aska was costing him all his savings. I don’t think that’s true, but we always tried to make ourselves useful. But then he heard of your tour, and he had this idea. And we didn’t know how to stop him. We couldn’t risk – she needs those meds.”
Cordelia nodded and let silence settle on the groundcar. It was a sad tale, and a common one, with several different kinds of endings. At least she was able to control it this time.
Aral returned, followed by a light-haired girl who was terse and dressed in an old man’s idea of what was seductive. Cordelia felt a moment’s intense sympathy and smiled in encouragement. The girl settled in the car, and Aral stayed outside. She seemed less terrified than Zajec had been, but Cordelia could see her pallor and a faint tremor in her fine hands.
“Lady Astrid,” she said. “I’ve heard you like to travel.”
Simon stood by her side. She could tell he was enjoying the role of the silent shadow. Alys would demand that he replay the conversation for her later, word for word.
Vorvolk was shocked to see her. I’m not that easy to get rid of, she thought, and gave him her sharpest smile.
“Milady,” he bowed stiffly. “And – Mr. Illyan.” He swallowed. He was tall and lean, with sharp features that implied he’d been very handsome, a few decades ago.
“Where is your ward?” Cordelia asked and watched for any signs of remorse. As far as Vorvolk knew, Aral had taken Astrid away to debauch her.
“She is very ill, Milady,” Vorvolk said, smooth as silk. “I am sure she is in her chambers.”
Well, maybe one more chance.
“And where is the recording?”
“Recording?” His expression remained bland.
“When you set up the tableaux with your secretary, you must have planned to record it. Will you give it back to me?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Milady,” he said, slightly hoarse but even.
“So.” Cordelia shook her head. “You planned to embarrass your Regent, or to blackmail him.” Or to record him committing murder – she wondered if Vorvolk knew the old gossips. But it didn’t matter. “Tell me how this is anything other than treason.”
Simon tilted his head – a puppyish gesture that he still managed to make threatening.
“I doubt it is any different from what usually goes on in the capital,” Vorvolk said, slowly. “I apologise for – misjudging.”
“That’s insufficient,” Cordelia said. “Your loyalty has been found wanting.”
Vorvolk waited, calm as a spider.
“Simon, you must have some nice boys in need of a vacation. Lord Vorvolk will house them – give them his full hospitality, including his excellent cellars – and they will make sure no nasty insinuation about Aral or myself escapes this house.”
“Yes, Milady,” Simon said, and bowed very slightly at her.
Vorvolk nodded, stiff. “It is my pleasure to serve the Imperium with my humble estate,” he said, lightly mocking. But an attack on his purse was not enough; Cordelia wanted to make him well and truly irrelevant.
“The Imperium will grant a great honor on your ward,” she said, and watched with disgust as he seemed surprised for the first time – thinking of courtesans, she knew.
“Lady Astrid will act as my personal envoy to Beta Colony,” she said. “The Imperium will cover the costs of her travels. Mr Quentin Zajec is to be her assistant. They are carrying documents of a delicate nature.”
“I don’t – “ Vorvolk said.
“They will be given the option of staying there. You have been very generous - ” she smiled, sweet and venomous. “but I don’t think you will have to worry about housing them anymore.”
Vorvolk stared, blank-faced.
“She is free to contact you if she wishes,” Cordelia said. “But you won’t have her address, and you will never have power over her again. Now, you can only get what she wishes to give you.”
She shook his head, when he said nothing. Cordelia left him, and Simon followed.
“Delicate documents?” Simon asked.
“Vids, letters, and Miles’s first attempts at epic verse.” She shrugged. “Mom will love Astrid, and she’ll make sure they both find their place.”
Simon grinned. “You still owe me a precise account of what happened here,” he said. “I don’t appreciate scandals that I don’t know about.”
“Neither does Alys,” Cordelia grinned. “Get me that tape, and I’ll tell you both on the way home.”
In the reception room, Aral was politicking - the party had gone on, oblivious to the machinations of the host. Smiling sweetly, Cordelia stepped into his circle of listeners. He sent her a quicksilver grin and came to the end of his point about compost taxes. "Please excuse me," he said, bowing gravely to his audience, "I promised my wife this dance."
He led her to the middle of the dance floor, and she relaxed against his chest as the band began another rendition of the same waltz.
"Are you okay?" he whispered into her hair.
"Always," she answered. “You?”
“Yes, dear Captain.”
They let the music guide them for a while, and then she led him outside. They settled down on his coat, and watched the half-familiar constellations.