Captain Vorpatril's Alliance

Chapter Twelve

The rest of Ivan Xav’s thirty-fifth birthday passed quietly, although he did take Tej and Rish out to dinner at an intimate restaurant featuring Barrayaran regional cuisine, where he appeared to be well known by the staff. Rish drew stares and whispers as they entered, but no overt insults.

“I thought they didn’t like mutants, here,” murmured Tej.

“Byerly says my appearance goes so far beyond what Barrayarans usually think of as mutants that their categories break down,” said Rish. “Although he did warn me to stay out of grubber venues if I don’t have outriders. Except he didn’t say grubber, oh, what was that Barrayaran term…”

“Prole?” said Ivan. “Plebe?”

“Prole, that was it.”

“Yeah, probably good advice, till you know the territory better.”

To Tej’s surprise, they were guided to a five-person table with two seats already occupied. A solid, dark-haired man who looked to be in his forties, not handsome but striking—blade of a nose, penetrating nutmeg-brown eyes—stood up as they approached; a younger, athletic blond woman, taller than her partner, smiled across at them, clearly interested in but not shocked by Rish. This must not be a grubber venue.

“Happy birthday, Ivan,” said the man, shaking Ivan’s hand. “Congratulations on making it this far alive.”

“Yeah, really,” said Ivan Xav, returning the handshake and smiling in evident sincerity. “Tej, Rish, I’d like you to meet my friend Duv Galeni, and his wife Delia.”

The blond woman waved in a warm way; Galeni bowed Vor-like over Tej’s hand and murmured, “Lady Vorpatril,” and shook Rish’s, “Mademoiselle Rish.”

After they were all seated, studied the menus, had the Vorgarin District-style stroganoff recommended, and placed their orders, Tej asked, “How do you all know each other?” Because Galeni was no Barrayaran Vor, certainly; wrapped within that cultured voice Tej heard a faint Komarran accent.

“Delia, I’ve known all my life,” Ivan Xav explained. “Her father, Commodore Koudelka, worked for my uncle, back when. Aide-de-camp and secretary.”

Not unlike Ivan Xav’s job, this seemed to say. “Wait, was he the lieutenant who smuggled baby-you and your mother out of this city back when it was under siege?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Three more daughters, y’know. Where are they all, at the moment, Delia? Because I figured Tej could stand to meet some more Barrayaran women.”

The blonde replied, “Martya’s down in the Vorkosigan’s District with Enrique, working on one of Mark’s projects. Kareen’s on Escobar with Mark—I’m not sure when they’ll next be back. And Olivia’s out in the Vorrutyer’s District with Dono. Would Count Dono count, do you suppose?”

“No,” said Ivan Xav, then hesitated. “And anyway, that’s a lame pun.”

Delia grinned unrepentantly; Galeni hid a smile behind his hand.

“And you and Ivan Xav?” Tej inquired of Galeni.

“I don’t go as far back as Delia,” he replied easily. “I first met Ivan when I was senior military attaché at the Barrayaran Embassy on Earth, and Ivan, as a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant, was assigned as one of my assistants. About…has it really been ten years?”

“Eleven,” said Ivan Xav, a bit glumly.

“My word.” The crow’s-feet at the corners of Galeni’s eyes crinkled.

As the first course arrived, Galeni and Delia took it in turns to draw Tej and Rish out about their own travels. Rish was describing their time on Pol when Tej, overcome with a sense of Morozovian déjà vu, turned to Galeni and said suspiciously, “Wait. Are you another ImpSec man?”

“Well, yes, but I promise you I am off-duty, tonight,” he assured her.

His wife put in proudly, “Duv’s been head of ImpSec’s Komarran Affairs department for the past four years. He was one of the first Komarrans to enter the Imperial Service, as soon as it was opened to them.”

Commodore Galeni, it soon transpired. And another of the Legendary-Illyan’s old trainees. But he and Ivan Xav did appear to be friends in their own right, not watcher and watchee. Or not just watcher—as the conversation wended over a surprisingly wide range of topics, Tej had the distinct impression that both members of the couple were testing for the answer to the unspoken question Is she good enough for Our Ivan?

That was…kind of nice, actually, that Ivan Xav had such friends. Tej had enjoyed a string of carefully-vetted playmates, growing up, from among the children of her parents’ higher-level employees, but all were scattered now. Or worse, suborned to the new regime. When she tried to come up with a list of intimate friends, the sort who might ask, Is he good enough for Our Tej?, they all came out family, or at least some of the survivors—Jet, Rish, maybe Amiri. Also all scattered. She hoped Jet was still safe with Amiri.

Galeni’s presence did account for the absence of Byerly, she realized a bit belatedly; it would not do By’s town-clown cover good to be seen dining out with one of the senior officers of ImpSec.

When they arrived, roundaboutly, at the account of how Tej had met and married Ivan Xav, she was afraid it was going to be The Coz and The Gregor all over again, or at least, Galeni wheezed red-faced into his napkin to the point where his wife stopped giggling long enough to look at him in concern.

Galeni straightened up and caught his breath at last. “At least it sounds better than your last kidnapping.”

“I thought so,” Ivan Xav agreed ruefully.

“What?” said Tej.

Galeni hesitated, then said, “One of the more traumatic incidents of my till-then remarkably trauma-free sojourn on Earth. Ivan spent a very unpleasant afternoon kidnapped by, ah, a group of conspirators, who hid him in the pumping chamber of a tidal dam.”

“An afternoon?” muttered Ivan Xav. “Try a subjective year. Pitch-dark, y’know? I couldn’t have read a clock if I’d had one. Also cold, wet, cramped, and underground. Listening the whole time for the damned pump to start, and drown me, when the tide turned.”

Tej, picturing this, felt her throat tighten. “Sounds nasty.”

“Yeah,” said Ivan Xav.

“Among the several pressing reasons I was kissing my career goodbye about then, that came high on the list,” sighed Galeni. “To be handed Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril to look after, and then lose him…not good on my résumé, I assure you.”

“But he was rescued,” said Rish. “Obviously. By you, Commodore?”

“Captain, back then. Let’s say I helped. Fortunately for my résumé.”

“Is your claustrophobia better now?” Delia asked Ivan Xav, more in a tone of curiosity than concern.

Ivan Xav gritted his teeth. “I do not have claustrophobia. Thank you very much, Delia. There’s nothing irrational about it…About me.”

“But Miles said—”

“I have an allergy to total strangers trying to kill me, is all. One that Miles shares, I might point out.”

Delia’s lips twisted. “I don’t know, Ivan. I think Miles actually gets rather excited by that.”

“You may be right,” agreed Galeni.

“Do you suppose it’s the attention?” said Delia. “He does like to be at the center.”

Ivan Xav choked into his own napkin at this one, and was drawn away from his little moment of irate by uniting with this old friend in trading scurrilous observations about The Coz, none of which, Tej noticed, Galeni tried to gainsay.

At dessert, the commodore pulled a small, flat case from his jacket pocket and pushed it rather shyly toward her and Ivan Xav. It contained a book-disc, she saw. Ivan Xav eyed it warily. “What’s this, Duv?”

“Something of a combination birthday and wedding present. Well, perhaps more for Lady Tej than you. A new history of Barrayar since the Time of Isolation. Just released from the Imperial University Press this week, after some years in the preparation. Professora Vorthys is going to teach her modern history class with it, starting next fall.”

“How long is it?”

“Ninety chapters, roughly.”

“And how many did you write?”

Galeni cleared his throat. “About ten.”

“I didn’t know ImpSec gave homework,” said Tej faintly.

Galeni smiled wryly. “More of a hobby, in my case. But I do like to keep my hand in, when I can. As much as I can. I have several interesting papers written, waiting for their references to age out of their classified status.”

“I should explain,” said Ivan Xav, “when Duv said he quit school to go to the Imperial Military Academy, back when the Service was opened to Komarrans, he was a professor, not a student. History. He’s mostly over it, but sometimes he reverts. Is this thing”—he touched the case with a cautious finger—“written in high academic?”

“I can only speak for my own chapters, but Illyan beat the scholastic prolixity out of me back when I was first writing ImpSec analysis reports for him,” said Galeni. “Taught me the ImpSec ABC’s—accuracy, brevity, and clarity. Although he did say he was glad to get reports where he didn’t have to correct the grammar and spelling.”

Ivan Xav laughed. “I’ll just bet.”

Tej had just enough wits to accept the book-disc with suitable appreciation. This did not seem the time to explain that she wasn’t going to need to study Barrayaran anything, because she was skiving off to Escobar at the first opportunity. Ditto Delia’s offer to hook her up with the array of sisters, when the chances arose. She managed noncommittal thanks.

The Galenis excused themselves soon after dessert—a toddler and an infant evidently waited at home. A vid-cube of the absent offspring was shown about; Tej made suitable complimentary noises. As the couple passed out of the restaurant, Ivan Xav remarked, “No night life for him anymore, poor sod.” But undercut this by adding, “I expect that suits him to the ground.”

Ivan Xav didn’t have brothers, but at least it seemed he had brother-officers, Tej reflected. It was something.

It wasn’t till bedtime, when Ivan Xav was taking his turn in the bathroom and she and Rish were making up the couch, that Tej was able to snatch a private moment to decant the Byerly Report.

“So? Last night. How was it?”

Rish flicked over a sheet and smiled a maddeningly secret smile. “Interesting.”

Tej tossed her head. “That’s what people say about some dodgy dish that doesn’t quite work. Whitefish and raspberries.”

“Oh, this combination worked. Delectably.”

“So?”

Rish touched her lips, though whether to check her words or draw them out, Tej could not guess. “Byerly…I’ve never encountered anyone whose mouth and whose hands seemed to be telling two such different stories.”

“Do I have to shake you?”

Rish grinned, and made a rather Byerly-like wrist-flutter. “The mouth ripples on amusingly enough, though most of what comes out is camouflage and the rest is lies—not so much to me, though. But the hands…”

“Mm?”

“The hands are strangely shy, until suddenly they turn eloquent. And then their candor could make you weep. A woman might fall in love with the hands. Though only if the woman were nearly as foolish as my little even-sister—which, luckily, doesn’t seem to be possible.”

Tej threw a pillow at her.

The next day, the last of Ivan Xav’s leave, he spent ferrying them around to see a few locally-famous tourist sites, including a military history museum at Vorhartung Castle, the most looming of the old fortresses above the river that were, indeed, lit up colorfully at night. During this outing, he discovered that Tej and Rish not only didn’t drive ground vehicles, they couldn’t.

“We had sport grav-sleds, at this downside country villa my parents kept, but my older sibs usually hogged them,” Tej explained. “And in congested places, towns and cities like this”—she waved around—“even Dada used an armored groundcar with a dedicated driver and bodyguards. Outside the cities it’s all toll roads built and operated by assorted Houses, so you need a lot of money to get around.”

“Huh,” said Ivan Xav. “I bet I can fix that.”

His fix proved to be a private driver’s education service specializing in off-world tourists, whose personable instructor picked them up at the front of Ivan Xav’s building the next morning, after Ivan Xav went off to Ops for his day’s work.

“It’s an excellent choice to learn to drive in our beautiful Vorbarr Sultana,” the instructor informed them cheerfully. “After this, no other city on the planet will daunt you.”

Tej jumped into the challenge; Rish, claiming distressing sensory overload, opted out after a short trial that left her green, figuratively. In far fewer hours than Tej thought possible or even sane, she was issued a permit that allowed her to practice-drive under Ivan Xav’s supervision.

She only froze once, on their first evening’s outing, when trying to back the groundcar out of its parking space beneath the building. The pillar made such an ugly crunching noise…

“Don’t worry,” Ivan Xav told her jovially. “These groundcars are so crammed with safety features, you can hardly kill yourself even if you try. Why, I’ve had half-a-dozen crack-ups with barely a scratch. On me, that is. Harder on the groundcars, naturally. Except for that one time, but I was much younger then, so we don’t need to go into it.” He added after a moment, “Besides, this is the rental.”

Encouraged, Tej set her jaw and soldiered on. They arrived back an hour later without having cracked anything; not even, in her case, a smile, but that changed when she successfully piloted the beast back into its stall and powered down at last. “That wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be!”

“Oh, hey, you want scary—the best day I ever had with my Uncle Aral, who usually doesn’t have time for me in both senses of that phrase, but anyway, it was the first summer I had my lightflyer permit, and had gone down with Miles to their country place. Uncle Aral took me out, just me for a change, over the unpopulated hills and taught me what all you could really do with a lightflyer. He said it was in case I ever had to evade pursuit, but I think he was testing his new security fellows, who were along in the back seat. If he could make them scream, cry, or throw up, he won.”

“Er…did they? Did he?”

“Naw, they trusted him too much. I got a couple of the veterans to yelp, though.” He went on with unabated enthusiasm, “After you’re comfortable with groundcars, we’ll have to move you on into lightflyers. You need them to get around out in the more remote parts of the Districts, where the roads can get pretty rough. Too bad Uncle Aral is too old now to give you his special advanced course”—he pursed his lips—“probably. Anyway, he’s stuck on Sergyar viceroy-ing, which has disappointingly little to do with vice, he claims.”

The That Uncle Aral, Tej translated this. It was almost harder to imagine than The Gregor. “And your mother encouraged this…coaching?”

“Oh, sure. Of course, neither of us told her what we really did. Uncle Aral is nobody’s fool.”

Ivan Xav next discovered that neither Tej nor Rish, despite their sensory discrimination training, was more than a rudimentary cook. He claimed he was no master, but could survive in a kitchen, cooking a dinner at home for a change to prove it. He then hit on the bright idea of sending them both off to Ma Kosti for formal lessons, on the theory that she was underemployed and bored this week with most of the Vorkosigan household gone to Sergyar.

In appearance, Ma Kosti proved very much their first sample prole, short and dumpy and with a notably different accent and syntax than her employers, and she was at first visibly leery of Rish. This changed when Rish demonstrated her fine discriminatory abilities in taste and smell, plus less of a tendency than Tej to cut herself instead of the vegetables, and Rish was promptly adopted as a promising apprentice. Rish in turn recognized a fellow master-artist, if in a different medium. The days filled swiftly.

Two evenings out of three, Rish went off with Byerly, often not returning till the next day. “By’s place,” she remarked, “is surprisingly austere. He doesn’t bring his business back there much, as far as I can tell. Something of a refuge for him.” Tej handed her a pillow, and she punched it to fluff it up. “Not as austere as this couch, though. When am I going to get off this thing?”

Ivan Xav, passing by with a toothbrush in his mouth, removed it to say, “You know, I bet we could get you your own efficiency flat, right here in the building, if I try. Might have to wait for an opening. Or I could put myself on the waiting list for the next two- or three-bedroom unit that comes up. Call the moving service, we could shift digs in a day, no problem. Unless Byerly takes you off my hands.” Ivan Xav fluttered his fingers, to demonstrate their potential Rish-free state.

Rish sat up in her sheets and stared at him. “But we’re leaving.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“When are we leaving?” she asked.

“That’s kind of up to ImpSec. They haven’t called.”

“But they could. At any time.”

“Well…yeah…”

“So what about this divorce ceremony you two have to go through before we can lift off?”

Tej perched on the couch’s padded arm, and said, “Ivan Xav said it would only take ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but how long do you have to stand in line to get the ten minutes? Is there a waiting list for that, too?”

“And how does it really work?” said Tej, unwillingly prodded into wondering. “I mean, in detail?” He’d never said. But then, she hadn’t thought to ask. They’d been busy.

“Hm,” said Ivan Xav, sticking his toothbrush into his T-shirt pocket and sinking down into a chair. “The thing we have to do is fly up to the Vorpatril’s District on one of the days Falco is holding Count’s Court in person. He does that at least once a week, when he’s in the District, more if he has time. That’ll save a world of explanation. We go in, say Please, Falco, grant us a divorce, he says Right, you’re divorced. Done!, bangs his courtly spear butt, and we skitter out.”

“Don’t you need lawyers and things?” said Rish.

“Shouldn’t think so. You’re not suing me for support, are you?” Ivan Xav asked Tej.

She shook her head. “No, just for a ride to Escobar, which The Gregor is giving us anyway.”

“If it’s something this Count Falco only does once a week, for a whole District—how many people are in the Vorpatril’s District, anyway?” said Rish.

“I dunno. Millions?”

“How does one man play judge to millions of people?” asked Rish, astonished.

“He doesn’t, of course. He’s got a whole District justice department, with all kinds of sub-territorial divisions for cities and towns and right on down to the Village Speaker level. But he keeps a hand in for the political symbolism of it, and to sample what his people really have to say. Most counts do, even Uncle Aral when he’s home. Which isn’t very often, true.”

“Hadn’t you better check his schedule?” asked Rish, sounding a trifle exasperated. “In case ImpSec calls with our ride, oh, say, tomorrow morning?”

“Um. Yeah, maybe…” said Ivan Xav, and lumbered off reluctantly to his comconsole. He was gone for a long time.

When he came back, he looked sheepish. “In fact, Falco’s Count’s Court docket is packed for months out. If that fast courier opening comes up sooner, I’ll have to pull personal strings. Which I can do, but would rather avoid if I can. Because the thing about me owing a big favor to Falco is, he’ll collect. And grin while he’s doing it. But I put us on the court’s waiting list—they say they sometimes get last-minute openings, which they fill first-come, first-served.” He took a breath. “Your protection won’t be withdrawn till you’re safe on Escobar, anyway, regardless of when we do this divorce deal.”

Rish nodded. Tej felt…odd.

They were going to Escobar, in theory, to take up a new life under new identities. Lady Vorpatril was certainly a new identity, enjoying a safety that didn’t rely on obscurity…No. Stick to the plan. Without the plan, they had no anchor at all; it was the last lifeline her parents had thrown to her, as they went down with their House.

Worried that Tej might be a little homesick, Ivan stopped on the way back to his flat one afternoon and found a brand-new Great House set, with six player panels. If he’d had any doubt that Rish was Byerly’s assignment as well as his hobby, it was put to rest by By’s apparent willingness to devote several evenings in a row to a children’s game, if, admittedly, a fast-moving, complex, and strangely addictive one. It didn’t help that By took to it so well, he was soon giving the born Jacksonians real competition, leaving Ivan to bring up the rear time and time again.

But Ivan found Morozov’s other way of winning at Great House to carry over, too. As one friendly anecdote followed another, in the relaxation and triggering reminders of the old game, Ivan learned a great deal about Tej’s upbringing as a real Jacksonian Great House baron’s daughter, apparently much doted-upon by her powerful Dada. Ivan traded with a few tales out of school, himself. Only Byerly did not contribute to the exchange, although Ivan was sure he was sucking it all in. But they were in the middle of a round of Great House when Ivan finally learned the real relationship of the late Baronne, her children, and her Jewels.

“Even-sister and odd-sister?” said Tej. “We call each other that because we are, more-or-less. Half-siblings, at least. The Baronne used a lot of her own genome as a base to create the Jewels. Although not Dada’s, except for the Y chromosome for Onyx. In a way, Ruby was really the first, the Baronne’s prototype, so she claims to count as One, in a class by herself. Erik was the next first, and then Topaz, and Star, then Pearl, and then Pidge, and then Emerald, and then Amiri, and then Rish and then finally me, and right after me, Jet—Onyx, that is. Odds and evens, see? It became a sort of family joke.” She sighed in memory. “Only now we’re all scattered. And Erik…I wish we could get some word about Topaz. I won’t say it’s worse, not knowing if she’s alive or not. But it’s…not good.”

Ivan stared open-mouthed at Rish, who stared back in somewhat affronted dignity. “So you’re my sister-in-law?” He sat a moment, not so much in reflection as stunned—like an ox that had just met a mallet. “That sure explains a lot…”

Byerly didn’t help by laughing like a loon.

“You could take some other course,” said Ivan Xav a week later, when Tej’s ground-vehicle operation training had concluded in triumph, or at least not disaster, and left her with a certification giving her the freedom of the city—if she could, first, borrow a vehicle, and second, wedge through the traffic. Bubble-tube systems were being retrofitted in some areas, but the installation was evidently slow, plagued with problems. It sometimes seemed to Tej as if this entire planet was in process of being retrofitted.

“There are three major universities and over a dozen colleges and who knows how many tech schools in this town,” Ivan Xav went on. “They have courses for everything. Well, maybe not licensed practicing sexuality whats-its, but given the way the conservative crowd complains, that may be next. You’re smart. You could pick anything you liked.”

Tej contemplated this offer, both uneasy and enticed. “I always had tutors, before. I never chose my own, like, off a menu.”

“It might be a way for you to meet more people, too,” Ivan Xav speculated. “I should really introduce you to more than the Koudelka girls, come to think. All the women I know have women friends—to excess, sometimes.” He paused for thought. “There’s Tatya Vorbretten, though she’s up to her ears in infants right now, as bad as Ekaterin and Delia. Tattie Vorsmythe? She was always fun, despite her strange taste in men. Not sure who all Mamere could suggest, of the younger generation. She used to know lots of Vor maidens, daughters of her cronies, y’know, but they mostly seem to have gotten married and moved along.”

This mental search for names was interrupted when he went to answer his comconsole. When he came back, he looked stricken.

“Bad news?” asked Tej, sitting up on the couch and setting aside her reader.

“No, not…not really. It was the Clerk’s office at the Vorpatril District Court. Says they had a case fall off Falco’s docket for the first afternoon of next week, and did I want the slot? I, uh…said yes. Because God knows when there’ll be another, y’know?”

“Oh, excellent,” said Rish, wandering in from the kitchen with a fresh mug of tea in her hand in time to hear this. “One more chore out of the way.”

“Oh,” Tej echoed hollowly. “Yeah. Good.”

It was like some weird sort of honeymoon in reverse, Ivan thought. Taking a personal day’s leave from Ops left him facing a three-day weekend, not something to waste. So Ivan seized the chance to show Tej more of Barrayar while he could, outside of the hectic confines of the capital. Rish, upon finding that her witness was not required, elected to stay behind under the loose supervision of Byerly, and just how loose that might be, Ivan wasn’t asking, gift horses and all that. It left him with a great chance for a real get-away with Tej, just the two of them at last.

It was not the season for tourists in the northeastern coastal District traditionally held by the Vorpatril counts. As his lightflyer beat its way up the shoreline against a cold sea wind, Ivan explained to Tej, “People come up here from the south in the summer to escape the heat. Then go back down in the winter to find it again. If there’s time, maybe I could take you down to see the south coast, too.” Time. There wasn’t enough time. Yes, the marriage was supposed to have been temporary. But not bleeding instantaneous.

He took a detour over the rural territory, to give Tej an idea of the extent of it. A few areas of early snow, just inland, proved no novelty to her, as Jackson’s Whole was apparently temperate all the way to the equator, with large and barren polar regions. Happily, the snow covered up the last few biocide blights lingering from the Occupation. But a little way up the coast past the summer resort town of Bonsanklar, Good Saint Claire in one of the old tongues, lay a cozy little inn specializing in the Vor trade, fondly remembered from a few visits in Ivan’s youth. It was still there, perhaps a little shabbier, but just as cozy. He and Tej managed one walk on the pebbled beach before darkness drove them indoors; the next day it rained, but their end room boasted its own fireplace, food service, and no reason to go out. None at all.

Far too soon the next morning, they were back in his lightflyer, threading their way upriver to the Vorpatril District capital city of New Evias.

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to call him,” said Tej, peering anxiously ahead out the front canopy. “Count Vorpatril or Count Falco? And if only his heir is Lord Vorpatril, why are you Lord Vorpatril too, or are you?”

“All right, I’ll try to explain it. Again,” said Ivan. “There are the Counts and their heirs, political heirs. Count Vorwho, Lord Vorwho, Lord Firstname—the firstborn males—like Aral, Miles, and Sasha, all right?”

“That, I got.”

“Any other siblings of Lord Firstname, like Sasha’s twin Lady Helen, get to stick on a Lord or Lady in front of their names too, as a courtesy title. Whether they drool or not. But those titles aren’t inherited in the next generation. So we have a case like By, whose grandfather was a count, whose father was a younger son and so Lord Firstname, and then Byerly, who is just Vorrutyer, the Vor part standing in for any other honorific. So you’d never introduce him as Mister or Monsieur Vorrutyer, just as Vorrutyer. Although his wife, if he had one, would be Madame Vorrutyer, and his sister, before she married, was Mademoiselle Vorrutyer.”

“All right,” said Tej, more doubtfully.

“Then, just to confuse the tourists, there are a bunch more Lord Vorlastnames running around, like me, who have the title as a permanent inheritance even though we aren’t in line for any Districts. My grandfather, who was just a younger grandson of that generation’s Count Vorpatril and so didn’t even rate a Lord Firstname, was given his when he married Princess Sonia, as some sort of prize, I guess.”

“Oh,” said Tej, fainter but still valiant. “But…”

“Those are the correct formal titles. Then we come to casual conversation. Falco, or Aral, would be Falco or Aral to their close friends and cronies, wives, and what-not. But I’d never call ’em that; it would be Count Falco or Count Aral, sort of like Uncle Aral. Informal but not so familiar or intimate, y’see? And also useful when there are a bunch of people with the same last name in the conversation, to keep straight which is which. So my mother gets called Lady Alys a lot, because there’s another Lady Vorpatril in town, Falco’s daughter-in-law, as well as his Countess Vorpatril. Er, and you, now.”

“But…I’m not intimate with the same people you’re intimate with—so I can’t just copy you, can I?”

“Keep it simple,” advised Ivan. “Just call him Count Vorpatril or Sir, unless he tells you otherwise. And still call him Count Vorpatril when we’re actually in his court, because that’s very formal, see?” He added after a moment, “I sure plan to.”

The outskirts of New Evias hove into view, and Ivan had to give over his lightflyer’s control to the municipal traffic computer. New Evias was maybe one-tenth the size of Vorbarr Sultana, but perhaps for that very reason, more uniformly modernized. In any case, the control system brought them down neatly into one of the few empty circles painted atop the parking garage next to the assorted District offices of justice. The targeting was accurate to within, oh, twenty centimeters or so. Or thirty. Ivan rubbed his jaw, made sure Tej hadn’t bitten her tongue or anything in the hard landing, and escorted her out.

Count Falco Vorpatril sat in judgment, as had several equally stodgy ancestors before him, in one of the few remaining Time-of-Isolation public buildings still left standing in downtown New Evias. The structure’s musty legal smell seemed to be ageless. Tej, who had grown very silent, perked up at the dark woodwork and elaborate stone carving gracing the architecture. “Now, this really looks like Barrayar,” she said. Ivan was gratified.

In a second-floor corridor, they encountered, prematurely, the count himself, who seemed to be on his way back from lunch.

“Ivan, my boy!” Falco hailed them.

He was still white-haired, stout, jovial—like a sly Father Frost with a hidden agenda. Falco was nothing if not a political survivor, Conservative by inclination, Centrist by calculation. He wore the formal Vorpatril House uniform of dark blue and gold, which adapted itself to his contours much as he adapted himself to the political landscape. A clerk bearing an electronic case filer stamped with the Vorpatril crest dogged his steps, obsequiously. Falco eyed Tej in open appreciation as they stopped and he strolled up.

“Sir.” Ivan came to attention. “May I introduce my wife, Lady Tej?”

“Indeed, you may.” Count Falco shook Tej’s hand, aborting a vague attempt on her part at a curtsey. “I’ve heard about you, young lady.”

“How do you do, Count Vorpatril, sir,” said Tej. Loading it all in, just in case, Ivan guessed.

“Talk with Mamere, did you, sir?” Ivan hazarded.

“Quite an entertaining talk, yes.”

“Oh, good, that’ll save a shipload of time.” Ivan squeezed Tej’s hand. “See, didn’t I say it’ll be fine?” Tej smiled gratefully and squeezed back, huddling closer. Ivan slipped a supporting arm around her waist.

Falco smiled benignly. “Countess Vorpatril was very curious about your nuptials, Ivan,” he went on, tapping Ivan familiarly on the chest with one broad finger. “She’d like to hear about them from you, by preference. We will both be down to the capital later in the week, note, where you may find her at Vorpatril House at the usual hours. You are behindhand on your courtesy visit, head of the clan and all that.”

“It’s only a temporary marriage, sir, as I hope Mamere explained? To rescue Tej from some, um, legal complications on Komarr. Which worked fine, all right and tight—got her all fixed up, free of them. Now we just have to get her free of me, and she’ll be, um…free.”

The clerk touched his wristcom, indicating time issues, and Count Falco gave him an acknowledging wave. “Yes, yes, I know. Well, good luck to you both…”

Falco toddled off down the corridor to the back door of his chambers. Ivan led Tej in the opposite direction, where they found the waiting area. Another clerk took their names, and left them to wait.

Tej circled the room, eyeing the woodwork and the items decorating the walls, mostly historical artifacts and prints, then stood studying the big wall viewer displaying successive scans of New Evias and rural District scenes since the Time of Isolation.

Ivan, too, rose after a while, because sitting was becoming unbearable, and studied the woodwork, or pretended to. “I’m glad they didn’t just knock this old place down like most of the rest of it. Makes it feel like our past isn’t just something to be thrown on a scrap heap, now we’re all turning galactic, y’know?”

This brought a smile to Tej’s lips, one of the few in the past hours. “Is that what you Barrayarans think you’re doing?”

But before Ivan could figure out a reply, the clerk returned to say, “Captain and Lady Vorpatril? Your case is up next.”

The clerk led them down the hall to Falco’s hearings chamber. They stood aside to let a group, no, two groups of people exit, one set looking elated, the other downcast and grumpy. The wood-paneled room was surprisingly small, and, to Ivan’s relief, uncrowded: just Falco and his clerk sitting at a desk on a raised dais; a couple of desks toward the front, where a woman lawyer was gathering up what appeared to be stacks of yellowing physical documents dating back to the Time of Isolation, along with her electronic case book; some empty backless benches bolted to the floor; and, by the door, an elderly sergeant-at-arms in a Vorpatril District uniform. The sergeant received Ivan and Tej from the clerk, who departed again, presumably to deal with whoever next needed to wait, and directed them to the empty tables.

“Um, should be one of you at each of these,” he said doubtfully, “and your respective counsels.”

“I’ll be out of here in just a moment,” said the lawyer, stacking faster.

“We’re skipping the counsel,” said Ivan. “Don’t need it.”

“And we’d rather sit together,” said Tej. Ivan nodded, and they both slipped behind the empty desk. Ivan let his hand dangle down between their uncomfortable wooden chairs, and Tej slid hers into it. Her fingers felt cold and bloodless, not at all like her usual self.

Count Falco lifted his head from some low-voiced consultation with his recording clerk, then made a sign to the sergeant-at-arms, who turned to the room and announced formally: “Next case, Captain Lord Ivan Xav Vorpatril versus Lady…” The sergeant paused and looked down at a slip in his hand, his lips moving. They rounded in doubt; he finally settled on, “His wife, Lady Vorpatril.”

The lawyer, about to make her exit, instead turned around and slid onto one of the back benches, her chin lifting in arrested curiosity. Ivan decided to ignore her.

The recording clerk leaned over, grasped an ancient cavalry spear bearing a blue-and-gold pennant that leaned drunkenly against the table edge, tapped its butt loudly in its wooden rest, and intoned, “Your Count is listening. Complainants please step forward.”

Tej looked at Ivan in panic; Count Falco leaned forward and encouraged them to their feet with a little crooking of his hands. A charitable pointing of one thick finger indicated where they should stand. Ivan and Tej stood and shuffled to a spot beneath his countly eye, holding hands very tightly.

The clerk observed into his recorder, “Petition for the dissolution of a marriage number six-five-five-seven-eight, oaths originally taken”—he gave the date of that mad scramble in Ivan’s rental flat—“Solstice Dome, Komarr.”

Ivan wasn’t sure whether to think, Wait, was it only a month ago? or Is it a whole month already? It had not been like any other month of his acquaintance, anyway.

“So…” Falco laced his hands together and stared down at Ivan and Tej for a long, thoughtful moment. Ivan, rendered uneasy by the sheer geezerish Falco-ness of his expression, edged closer to Tej.

Falco leaned back in his chair. “So, Captain Vorpatril, Lady Vorpatril. On what grounds do you petition this court for release from your spoken oaths?”

Ivan blinked. “Grounds, sir?” he hazarded.

“What is, or are, the substances of your complaint or complaints against each other?”

“It was understood from the beginning to be a temporary deal.”

“Yet you took permanent oath all the same.”

“Er, yes, sir?”

“Do you happen to be able to remember what you said?”

“Yes?”

“Repeat it for the court, please?”

Ivan did so, stumbling less than he had the first time, and leaving out the of sound mind and body part because he was afraid the lady lawyer would laugh.

Falco turned to Tej. “Is that as you also remember it, Lady Vorpatril?”

“Yes, sir, Count Vorpatril.” She glanced at Ivan, and ventured, “So what are the usual grounds for divorce on Barrayar, Count Vorpatril, sir?”

Falco folded his arms on his desk, smiling toothily. “Well, let’s just run down the list, shall we? Did either of you, at the time of your marriage, bear a concealed mutation?”

Tej’s eyebrows rose, for a moment almost haughty. Or haut-like. “I was gene-cleaned at conception, certified free of over five thousand potential defects.”

“Mm, no doubt. And the Cetagandan element has undergone recent revision of precedent here, so that won’t count either. Besides, I believe Ivan knew of your ancestry?”

“Yes, sir, Count Vorpatril, sir.”

“Ivan?” Falco prodded.

“Huh?” Ivan started. “Oh, you know I’m fine, sir!”

“So we all have long hoped,” Falco murmured. “Well, that disposes of that issue. Next, adultery. Do either of you accuse the other of adultery?”

“There’s hardly been time, sir!” said Ivan indignantly.

“You would be amazed at the tales I have heard upon this dais. Lady Tej?”

“No, Count Vorpatril, sir.”

Falco paused. “Ah…or admit to it?”

They both shook their heads. Tej looked peeved. “Really!” she whispered to Ivan.

“Well, let’s see, what next. Desertion, obviously not. Nonsupport?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” said Tej.

“Does your spouse supply you with adequate food, clothing, shelter, medical care?”

“Oh—yes, sir! Abundantly. Vorbarra Sultana cuisine is just amazing! I’ve gained a kilo since we got here. Lady Vorpatril’s dresser helped me find the right clothes, Ivan’s flat is very nice, and medical issues, um, haven’t come up.”

“We’d cover it,” Ivan assured her. “Whatever it was. God forbid, of course.”

“And I see you, too, are looking quite healthy, Captain Vorpatril…hm, hm. What else do we have here.” Falco…made play, Ivan was sure, of consulting some notes. Does he do this performance for every divorce petition, or are we special?

“Abuse—physical, mental, emotional?”

“Sir?” said Tej, staring up in palpable confusion.

“Does your husband beat you?”

“No!”

“Do you beat him?”

“No!” said Ivan. “Good grief, sir!”

“Does he insult you?”

“Certainly not!” Their voices overlapped on that one.

“Does Ivan restrict your mobility, your choices, your access to your family or friends?”

“He got me a groundcar permit, I have more choices than I know what to do with, and my family”—Tej bit her lip—“is out of reach for other reasons. Sir.”

“Ah. Yes,” said Falco. “Pardon an old Barrayaran’s clumsiness.”

“Sir.” Tej, startled and clearly moved by this apology, returned an uncertain nod. “There’s Rish. She’s the closest thing to family I have left. She lives with us.”

“So, we must cross off abuse, as well. What about denial of marital rights?”

“Sir?” said Tej. “What does that mean, in Barrayaran?”

Falco smiled. “When was the last time you had sex?” he clarified.

“Oh! This morning, sir.” Tej thought for a moment, then volunteered, “It was really good.”

Two snickers sounded from the back of the room. Ivan did not deign to turn his head.

“And congratulations, Ivan,” Falco murmured under his breath.

You wily old bastard, why are you yanking us around like this? Ivan thought, but did not dare say it aloud.

“And so, what are we down to, here,” said Falco. “Hm, hm. Denial of children?”

Tej looked taken aback. “We’ve never discussed it.”

“It’s only a temporary marriage, sir,” Ivan said. “Children would be, er, rather permanent.”

“So we all hope and pray,” said Falco.

Tej twisted a strand of her hair in doubt. “Though I suppose if Ivan Xav wanted an egg donation, something could be arranged. My mother sold eggs, when she and my father were first married. To raise venture capital.”

Ivan rather thought all of the Barrayarans in the room blinked at this, even the ones behind him. He would not look around.

Falco recovered his balance and continued, “So, that one does not hold up, either. I’m afraid we’re reaching the bottom of my legal barrel here, Captain and Lady Vorpatril. Do either of you have anything else to offer?”

“But,” said Tej, in a confused voice, “it was the deal!”

“Yeah, there you go, sir!” said Ivan. “Breach-of-promise. That’s some kind of illegal, isn’t it?”

Falco’s bushy white eyebrows climbed. “Breach-of-promise, Ivan, is where an expectation of marriage is denied, not where an expectation of divorce is denied. Also, the complainant has to show palpable harm.” He looked them both over and just shook his head.

The clerk passed Falco a swiftly-scribbled note. He squinted, read it, and nodded. “Do either of you make any financial claims upon the other?”

“No,” said Tej, and “No,” said Ivan.

“Now, that is interesting. And nearly unique, if I may say so.” Falco sat back, sighing. At length, his tapping fingers stilled. He drew a breath. “It is the ruling of this Count’s Court that the respondents, Lord Ivan Xav Vorpatril and Lady Akuti Tejaswini Jyoti ghem Estif Arqua Vorpatril, have no grounds for the dissolution of their respective, freely spoken marital oaths. Your petition is denied. Case closed.”

The clerk reached over and banged the spear butt in its rest with two loud, echoing clacks.

Tej’s mouth had fallen open. Ivan was so stunned he could scarcely suck in air to sputter. “But, but, but…you can’t do that, sir!”

“Of course I can,” said Falco serenely. “That’s what I come here every session to do, in case you missed the turn, Ivan. Sit, listen to people, form and deliver judgments.” His smile stretched, endlessly it seemed. “I do this quite a lot, you know,” Falco confided to Tej. “Sometimes I begin to imagine I’ve heard it all, yet every once in a while there’s still some new surprise. Human beings are so endlessly variable.”

“But didn’t you say you’d talked to my mother?” said Ivan desperately.

“Oh, yes. At great length.” Falco leaned forward for the last time, his expression chilling down, and for a moment Ivan was conscious that he stood not before an elderly relative, but a count of Barrayar. “These are some words not from your mother. Do not ever again attempt to play fast and loose with solemn oaths in any jurisdiction of mine, Captain and Lady Vorpatril. If you should in the future acquire grounds for your petition, you may again bring it, but my court—which is very busy, I must point out, and has no time for frivolous suits—will not hear you again on the same matter in less than one-half year.”

“But,” moaned Ivan, still in shock. Even he wasn’t sure but what.

Falco made a finger-flicking gesture. “Out, Ivan. Good day, Lady Tej. Countess Vorpatril hopes to see you both at Vorpatril House in the near future.”

Count Falco jerked his head at the sergeant-at-arms, who came forward and grasped Ivan by the sleeve, towing him gently but inexorably toward the door. Tej followed, bewilderment in every line of her body. A mob of people waiting to enter shouldered impatiently past them as they cleared the doorframe and stood, directionless, in the corridor, and the sergeant-at-arms turned his attention to herding the newcomers toward their respective benches. The door closed on the babble, although it opened again in a moment to emit the lawyer, papers and files stacked in her arms.

She twisted around her stack and reached into her case to extract a card, which she handed to Ivan. “My number, Captain.”

Ivan took it in numb fingers. “Is this…if we want legal advice?”

“No, love. It’s for if you ever want a date.” She trod away up the hall, laughing. By the time she reached the far end of the corridor, the echoes had died, but then she glanced back and her un-lawyerly giggles burst forth once more as she turned down the stairwell.

Holding onto each other like two people drowning, Ivan and Tej staggered out of the archaic building and into watery early-winter sunlight. Apparently, still married.

At least I was right about one thing, Ivan thought. It did only take ten minutes.