Prologue
Emperor Gregor Vorbarra leaned his head on his hands and wondered if, with the children at last sleeping, he was allowed to cry himself. Sitting beside their cribs seemed the only place he had a chance to relax these days, and he was more tired than he could comprehend. Bizarrely, his recent trip to Jackson's Whole, now Aralyar Ceta, to co-preside over its bloodless invasion had been an almost blessed rest, care for the children necessarily delegated. But he was determined not to resemble his own father in any way he could imagine, and changing diapers, like rising to night-calls, seemed a necessary affirmation of his difference. And since his return the backlog of quotidian work, frictions in the new Joint Administration on Aralyar, and continuing, intense frame conversations with his Celestial cousin, as well as the tearing political and personal needs he felt to see his heirs happy and well established despite everything Barrayar could do to children, had simply flattened him.
Today had been a Meet-your-Future-Rulers day in Vorbarr Sultana, necessary and long-planned, but in the event profoundly exhausting—swamped by an eager public full of joyous goodwill but haunted by his fears of disaster and assassination. Quite irrational fears, really, these days. It was also the first of more such days than he could count because Alys, with the best intentions, was insisting on a full sixty-District Christening Tour that had every compelling Vor tradition and cogent political reason behind it, and that he simply could not face.
Prince Aral gurgled slightly and Gregor tensed, but the babe did not wake, nor Princess Kareen alongside him. Smiling at them, soothed by their breathing, he hauled himself upright and slipped out, nodding to the guards and waiting nursemaid before turning into his personal suite, hoping to find Laisa alone. She was there, smiling at him as he entered, but so was Miles, saying something about the almost completed Komarran soletta repairs that trailed away as he took in Gregor's exhaustion. Silently he got up, went to the sideboard, and as Gregor dropped onto the sofa beside Laisa brought him a glass of wine.
"You really are done in, aren't you?" The little man sat with a glass of his own and eyed his foster-brother with concern.
"Flat as the southern plains, Miles. Frame-calls eat into half my sleeptime, and the babies into the rest. And today has been horrible, for no real reason." He closed his eyes. "What are you doing here? And how can I tell Alys that I simply cannot do a full Christening Tour? All sixty Districts? It's insane."
"I know, and I've told Alys it's not on."
Gregor cranked open one eye. "Really? Good luck to you. My refusal counted for very little."
Miles snorted. "That's because no-one offered her either an alternative plan or a rationale for change." He gave an ironic bow. "Never fear, Sire, your Lord Auditor is on the case."
Both Gregor's eyes opened as he levered himself upright to glare at a grinning Miles.
"Don't fret, Gregor. The point is ninety percent less work for you, and ten percent different work, to make up for the rest."
"Different work?" His voice was extremely cautious and Miles grinned again, alarmingly, but so did Laisa. If Miles had sold her on whatever it was, all might yet be well.
"Yes. If you want it. But in any case, Alys wasn't thinking through the fact that the Imperium just got a whole lot bigger. Sooner or later you and Laisa will have to do state visits en famille to Komarr and Sergyar, perhaps Aralyar too, and Eta Ceta before very long, so sheer logistics says you can't do all sixty Districts here or the children will still be being paraded as newborns when they reach their majorities."
"Tell me something I don't know, Miles."
"In a minute. But first, what do you think of skipping every northern District capital except Vorbarr Sultana and using only these eleven venues plus two southern ones?"
Miles prodded a remote and the communit in the corner produced a holovid map of Barrayar's continents showing thirteen red dots. Wearily Gregor focused on the map, but as he took it in found his concentration sharpening. Besides Vorbarr Sultana, ringed by eight of the most populous Districts, the other ten northern lights were, he realised, very cleverly chosen—all older, smaller towns but large enough to support a full Imperial visit, predominantly in Districts with conservative Counts, and above all well-placed near multi-District boundaries, so that almost anyone, urban or rural, who wanted to attend the Christening Tour could do so within a day's return journey. As his political brain began to kick in his appreciation went up a notch, for all but two of Miles's choices were in Districts whose Counts had been especially insistent that a Christening Tour be undertaken in the proper manner—a demand Gregor felt in his bones it would wisest to honour. The other two were in the Vorsienne's and Vorharopoulos's Districts, drawing in the largest concentrations of French and Greek speakers.
"That's … very good, Miles. Thirteen, eh? Or twelve plus here. I think I could survive one a month for a year. If you can sell it to Alys."
Miles grinned again. "I already have. She didn't want to go to all the capitals any more than you did. She just couldn't see a politically aceptable way of avoiding it, but agrees this would work, especially if accompanied by a frank statement of the rationale in the announcement. Your subjects do understand your life just got busier, you know."
Gregor stared, then collapsed back into his seat. "Oof. Well, thank you, Miles. That is actually a tremendous relief." He eyed the map again, still glowing in the air. "You've given your own District short shrift, though." A thought struck him. "And what new work? You also mentioned something I don't know."
"Ah, that all goes together." Miles drummed his fingers on his thigh and Gregor's brain came back to alert. "You realise I'm in the same boat, albeit on a smaller scale? Aral Alexander and Helen Natalia seem to be better sleepers than the Prince and Princess, though what we'd do without the nursery staff I can't imagine—and you must let them deal with the night feeds and changes, Gregor dear. It's what they're for, not least so that you don't have to face the Staff, or the public, asleep on your feet." He peered knowingly. "And you've made your point twice over, you know." You aren't him, and never will be hung unspoken. Gregor grimaced and saw Miles make a mental note to have a word with the senior night nursery staff himself. Rightly, dammit. "In any case, the thing is that a District Christening Tour for Aral A. and Helen is very much on—and if you remember I once suggested to you that if our Christening Tour leg in the Dendarii could coincide with the actual nameday of Harra's and Lem's child by replicator …"
Gregor nodded slowly. "Yes, I do recall that. After your visit to Silvy Vale last Midsummer—no, the one before. Gods." He rubbed his eyes. "Their babe is due next month, isn't it? She. Is all well?"
"Yes, indeed. They are happily expecting a healthy, bouncing daughter, whom they have with bright eyes asked permission to call Ekaterin Palma."
Despite his weariness and remaining alarm Gregor whistled with surprise and pleasure. "Have they indeed? Harra doesn't do things by halves. Do they want haut Palma to stand as a friend-mother, then?" He grinned at the thought of the Rho Cetan Planetary Consort receiving such a request, but Miles's face was serious.
"They do, and she has agreed."
Gregor's eyebrows snapped up in consternation, but Laisa was still smiling at him so he let them subside. "Really? Where is the nameday to be held? and is Palma proposing to attend in person or by frame?"
"Silvy Vale, and in person, if you and Cousin Fletchir permit. Next Midsummer Day. I have also been honoured to be asked to stand as friend-father, and Ekaterin as friend-mother, with Palma. What is really interesting is their choice of witnesses, though; again, if you permit." Gregor quirked an eyebrow as Miles uncharacteristically hesitated. "The thing is, Gregor, they were almost too terrified to ask me if I thought it was acceptable, and fell over backwards insisting they sought no favours. But they want to ask you and Laisa." Suddenly he grinned. "All else aside, they liked you both when they met you at the invasion, and are simply brimming with feudal devotion. But Harra has also been listening very carefully to a number of people who were in the square at Vorkosigan Surleau that day, and she's been sponsoring Taura into her new job as postwoman as well as passing word along about guaranteed genetic health and replicators. Which has been made both easier and a good deal more complicated by the fact that her deeply astonished audiences saw her and Lem and Taura in your private party during the invasion broadcasts. But she says there's still too much suspicious head-shaking going on, and thinks it would be, um, helpful, perhaps critically so, if you could make a personal Dendarii appearance at some well-judged point. Her babe's nameday seems to her, rightly I think, the moment, but she wouldn't ask you to stand as friend-father or Laisa as friend-mother because she thinks it'd seem like cadging for future favours, so she and Lem evolved this."
Gregor considered a moment and eye-queried Laisa, who smiled brilliantly at him. "I think it's a fine idea, love. I'd like to see Silvy Vale and meet the Csuriks again, and I can't see a downside for you. But I'm sure there are Barrayaran complications. Miles, lay out the cons, would you? He's too tired to think."
"Of course. Sorry." Miles counted on his fingers. "First and foremost, bad precedent. Outside us"—his gesture indicated a family circle—"you're friend-father only to the Vorvolks' eldest, a strictly personal connection. And you don't do private witnessing at all. This could be seen to jeopardise your neutrality. Against that, how often is a Planetary Consort going to be involved in a backcountry nameday? Easy to refuse further invitations falling short, but you would then be binding yourself." He shrugged. "Though it occurs to me that Harra's and Lem's needs would be served just as well if you came as Count Vorbarra, to whom any subsequent request would then have to be addressed—the Emperor not having been there."
Gregor considered. "That works, I think. What else?"
Miles tapped another finger. "Second, pure domestic politics, because it'll be seen as a favour to me. Against that … I'm sorry, but sod 'em." Both Gregor and Ekatrerin suppressed snorts but Miles waved a hand. "No, really." The snorts escaped. "And third, you'll be endorsing Galactic Corruption of Old Barrayar, again. Against which, that's the whole point, so see two above. It is a political move, Gregor, unavoidably, but there's protection available on the precedent, and I really don't think the rest matters. It's just business as usual."
"Yes, alright. I don't disagree. And in any case, Miles, if haut Palma's to be there I don't think I can stand aloof. Fletchir would understand but not approve, and he's intrigued by my capacity as Count Vorbarra so I don't think he'll mind that. Besides, I find I too feel honoured to be asked, so, as you say … see two above."
Miles sighed relief. "Good. But there is a wrinkle, because the naming of Ekaterin Palma Csurik is not the only ceremony taking place in Silvy Vale that day. There is also Taura's marriage to Armsman Roic." Gregor whistled again and Miles grinned. "He asked her, going down on one knee, which she says made him very difficult to see, but when she found him again she said yes." Both Gregor and Laisa laughed at the image, but Miles continued briskly. "Ekaterin has stamped her foot, waived protocol, and insists on standing as Taura's second, to everyone's scandalised delight. Roic's second is his brother, who seems nice enough if somewhat bemused, but I'm used to that in relations. His parents and I will be standing on the points—as, by Taura's shy invitation, in the same frame-call as Harra, will haut Palma. You see their cunning plan? So they wondered if you would both join the first circle." Now he smiled. "Where you would be standing not only with Lem, Harra, and probably a newly named Ekaterin Palma, unless we can, heh, palma her off on the imperial nursemaids, but also with Simon, Alys, and the redoubtable Estelle—who is of course supplying the wedding-dress. Not to mention a couple of Dendarii sergeants Elli has promised to deliver in time, Pym, who was reduced to silence by the request, and Ma Kosti, who adores Taura because she really eats her food." The smile that had started with his horrible pun brimmed over. "Do say yes, Gregor. It'll be a famous day in the Dendarii."
Laisa laughed, and Gregor felt a wash of genuine amusement—make that bemusement. "Miles, how do you do it? That's, what? three high Vor, ten adult commoners of varying degree, and four galactics, one a planetary ruler. And us." He shook his head. "It's almost as good as Ekaterin's graduation party. Does haut Palma have the least idea what she's letting herself in for? And come to think of it, how does a lady-bubble fit on a star-point?"
Miles looked very smug. "We discussed that, with the notion that a star-point witness should not ideally be anonymous. She's agreed to stand with only a lace veil, if Rian agrees. And for once, Gregor, I didn't do anything I wasn't asked to do. A mere middleman, and that in courtesy. Mostly I suspect the Hand of Tsipis, who is involved up to his neck, but both Taura and Harra had frame-links to haut Palma's personal comm, though neither had used them before."
For a third time Gregor whistled. "Really? Interesting. I wonder if Fletchir knows that." He reached for Laisa's hand. "In any case, Miles, I wouldn't miss it for the world, so tell Harra and Taura we shall be honoured to be witnesses and are intrigued"—he smiled genuinely, sensing the tug of an idea—"to see what happens." The idea unfolded a little, then a lot. Oh … Yes! Miles peered at him suspiciously and he gratefully closed his eyes, the better to think it through.
