II

Preceding Gregor from the Adult Aircar into the centre of the clearing before the Raina Csurik School, then waiting in front of a hovering Pym and Gerard to hand out Ekaterin, Laisa, and finally Count Vorbarra, Miles was sharply aware of the hushed atmosphere. There seemed to be thousands of the Count-his-father's liegefolk crammed into the space and stretching back into the trees, watching every move with barely suppressed excitement. He ran a quick check and found everyone who ought to be there (including Nikki, who had declined the day's travails though not the party after them), saving only haut Palma. But gawping was hardly her style, and the ghem sentries who stood in what must be the Imperial Guard's version of—undress reds, belike—before a traditional but uncommonly large Dendarii shelter-tent indicated where she could be found. And presumably friend Gars as well. He was sure he'd never met either a haut or a human of that name, but a bell was ringing somewhere. In the slanting evening light he also saw that the ghem wore a version of the Imperial Array he'd never seen, zebra stripes splashed with green instead of the usual red, and his pulse quickened. Whoever warranted that must have either Celestial blood or high imperial trust. What is Gregor up to?

With everyone disembarked and walking amid Armsmen towards the school-porch where the Csuriks waited with Vorbarra and Vorkosigan nannies and their charges, the aircar lifted away behind them and the crowd flowed back into the space it had needed. Smiling greetings to Aunt Alys and Simon Illyan, who stood in the rank immediately before the porch with Nikki, Taura, Roic, Estelle, and Taura's two sergeant friends in grey Dendarii dress uniforms, they all mounted the central steps, shallow enough for children's ease, to stand facing a beaming Lem and Harra.

"My Lord and Lady Vorkosigan, Count and Countess Vorbarra. It is my rare honour and our great pleasure to welcome you all to Silvy Vale." As Speaker and Speaker's Wife they bowed and curtsied, and the crowd dipped solemnly with them, murmuring salutations, before Lem unexpectedly grinned. "Frankly, my Lords Count, we should wish to cheer you half the day, but we all know"—he rolled his eyes at Harra and the crowd laughed—"that there is much that must yet happen this evening and only 26 hours in a day. So we have agreed, my Lords and Ladies, that if you will permit we shall reserve our cheers for these beloved children, if you will introduce them to us."

Taken aback at just how smoothly Lem had managed that Miles managed one of his all-purpose ImpSec salutes, but before he could speak Gregor inclined his head to Lem and hijacked yet another Counts' Right. What on Barrayar is he doing?

"Speaker and Madame Csurik, I know Lord Vorkosigan should reply to you, as your Count's Voice, but before he does so I would ask that you bring forth to join us your own babe, whose naming I come to witness. The whole nature of this occasion, after all, is to assure us of the future, and in that future the mutual knowledge of our children must carry the day."

Lem looked nonplussed but Harra only smiled satis fied appreciation before nodding to Gregor and turning to catch the eye of a gangly boy hiding behind her, who slipped through the schoolroom door. "She's been fussing, my Lord Count, but will be happy to be included."

Gregor nodded back. "Good. Thank you, Madame. Lord Vorkosigan?" His eyes were gleeful and Miles felt his political brain shift into high alert. Ekaterin was also eyeing Gregor with a pensive expression.

"Sire." He left it at that and swung to face the crowd, gesturing behind him to the nursemaids holding no longer so little Aral A. and Helen Natalia. Among the nearer faces were many he recognised, including Zed Karal with his parents, the pack of skinny, menacing hill squirts who were Lem's brothers (full grown, now, but still reminding him irresistibly of ferrets), his mother, stooped but beaming her pride, and a little block of Hassadarians in feastday-best, Roic's parents and siblings, looking almost as surprised today as they must have been by his fiancée when they first met her. He would have given much to observe that scene, and was beginning to enjoy observing this one. Finishing his brief survey he raised a hand.

"Speaker and Madame Csurik, and all you good people of Silvy Vale, it is the great pleasure of Lady Vorkosigan and I to return once again at Midsummer, sharing your festivities and joy. It's becoming quite a tradition. I'm sorry we had to miss out last year, but we were on a belated honeymoon, on Terra, and busy besides, with the cleansing of Aralyar Ceta to arrange." He smiled, slowly dusting his hands and the crowd murmured laughter, Barrayaran appreciation of the revenge their Lord had taken streaked with unease at the connection between such huge events and the little man who stood before them. "But now we are here, and with guests of our own—just as I once threatened you, Zed—so as your Count's Voice and heir allow me to present to you now he who will in the fullness of time be the twelfth Count Vorkosigan, Lord Aral Alexander Vorkosigan, and his sister, Lady Helen Natasha."

The nursemaids handed Aral into his arms and Helen into Ekaterin's, and as they held the blinking babies for the crowd to see a raw cheer swelled, making the hair on Miles's neck bristle with the potency of its claim. No words were audible but if a future historian might say that this day formally established Lord Aral's claim on his liege-folk-to-be, one who was here in Silvy Vale would know it was more a case of the liege-folk claiming him. For all the additional hardships and insults the Vorkosigan's District had suffered through their mercurial Lords' capabiltities its people had acquired in their extended sufferings and improbable triumphs an immense Vorkosigan pride, and since Mad Yuri's Massacre more than seventy years ago had endured considerable uncertainty about their Count's succession. To know it safely established for two further generations was no small thing, and since the sudden Cetagandan alliance, with Miles at its heart, they had begun to feel that the greatness of Counts Piotr and Aral was despite everything running true after all. Miles stared down at Aral Alexander in his arms, across at Ekaterin and Helen Natasha, and out again at the still boisterous crowd. And there are still days when I can't quite believe it myself. Shifting his grip he raised a hand and the noise began to subside.

"Thank you all. Truly, our fealty is strong, and our mutual pledge renewed once again. The future beckons. But this fine Lord and Lady are not the only future that is here today. Count Vorbarra?"

As he turned to Gregor he saw that the flaps of haut Palma's tent had been thrown back; what was visible of the interior seemed as purely Cetagandan as the tent's exterior was Dendarii. Interesting. She stood watching them from within, free of any bubble-chair and dressed in her usual shimmering robes with a glittering white veil. At her shoulder, an elegant silhouette in the dim interior, stood a tall man in what looked like very rich if casual attire. Gars, presumably. The hair on Miles's neck prickled again and he noticed that the ghem-guards were notably more alert, eyes quartering the crowd in professional patterns. Then to his utter astonishment one of them looked squarely at him and winked. What—? But before he could process implications he really couldn't believe he noticed another figure beside Gars, rubbing against the haut's leg, and even in the tent's dimness there could be no mistaking the grey-and-tabby shape of ImpSec, supposedly secure at Vorkosigan Surleau. That cat will take up with anyone, dammit … Abruptly he remembered what bell it was that the name 'Gars' was ringing, and realised he had to believe the implications of the wink after all. Beside him Gregor coughed almost inaudibly and after a second's inspection of his foster-brother winked at him too before murmuring "Very quick indeed, Miles. But babies first."

Glaring slightly but deeply intrigued and feeling the beginnings of real amusement tinged with alarm—make that real alarm tinged with amusement—Miles stood to one side with Ekaterin to let Gregor and Laisa forward. The protocols of being Count Vorbarra made this a little complicated, and despite Lem's sterling performance (eased no doubt by having met Gregor before) Silvy Vale was not yet quite the loyal village of Vorkosigan Surleau, with its solid core of veterans, to take imperial fictions in their stride. But Gregor knew exactly what he was about.

"Loyal liege-folk of my true father, my wife and I are here today with our children only as Count and Countess Vorbarra. If it were otherwise there would be more protocol in this lovely clearing than there are people, so much may and must go unspoken. But that does not mean it will go unseen, nor in any way misunderstood."

He beckoned both to the nursemaids holding the Prince and Princess and to Harra, now holding a shawl-wrapped bundle, but when all reached him it was to Harra he turned, holding out his arms to take little Ekaterin Palma as he nodded to the nursemaid to give Prince Aral to Harra. Smiling at him she took the babe, as Laisa took Princess Kareen, and let him guide her to a place between them. The silence was profound, and Miles heard Ekaterin beside him breathe delighted approval of the symbolism Gregor had so simply contrived. His own admiration bubbled.

"My heirs, Prince Aral Michael Vorbarra and Princess Kareen Cordelia Vorbarra. May their lives honour all whose names they bear." At his gesture Harra and Laisa briefly held up the babes, and the crowd growled a satisfaction distinct from the way they had welcomed a Vorkosigan heir but no less possessive or sharp with bitter experience. They were all Vorbarra, as Vorkosigan, loyalists, for fiercely practical as well as feudally emotional reasons, and Gregor pounced on their relief at healthy imperial progeny. He held up a surprised but willing baby. "And one you already know of their generation, Ekaterin Palma Csurik to be, who will grow with them into adult health, enjoying peace and free of old fears, for I will that it be so."

Count Vorbarra or no, and however civilian, the crowd knew an imperial command when it heard one at close range. They were also, Miles thought with approval, perfectly willing to obey but he wasn't surprised that some at least had needed to hear words said, and Gregor had obliged them. A ripple of bows and curtsies washed through them with the sussuration of 'Sire', and Gregor smiled at them all as he handed little Ekaterin Palma to an imperial nursemaid, signalling others to relieve Laisa and Harra and both Vorkosigans of their own burdens.

"Now, as Speaker Csurik said, there is much still to happen this day, and while I know you have been surpassingly busy here, we have been to Vorkosigan Surleau, Seligrad, and Pierrotin Village in the High Vale. So perhaps you will forgive us, and greet our children in their nursemaids' care, while Lord and Lady Vorkosigan show my wife and I this school's famous picture-wall."

That brough nods of pleasure and the oiled routine of Armsmen and nursemaids swung into action, absorbing an additional baby with ease. Beautiful wooden cribs were set out along the porch, each with an attendant maid and Armsmen before and behind, and the crowd began to move as those who wanted to come closer did so, forming a line to pass before the porch; those with business still to complete—including Taura, Roic, and the sergeants—set off to be about it. Gathering him, Ekaterin, and Laisa by eye, and gesturing to Alys and Simon, Gregor pulled them all with him towards the senior schoolroom, where a still grinning Lem held open the door. As he passed in behind Ekaterin Miles shot a look at Gregor and drew breath to pose a disingenuously mild query but found himself stopped by a raised hand as Gregor sat himself at a front-row desk and settled back to contemplate the pictures above the board on the wall behind the teacher's stand.

Sighing, Miles settled back to wait and saw both Aunt Alys and Simon, entering behind Nikki, grin at him. They had, he assumed, seen the picture-wall already, and from Aunt Alys's evident satisfaction she clearly approved Harra's use of the gifts she had facilitated—the astonishing mid-wedding images of him and Ekaterin, and of Gregor and Laisa, that Harra had hung with the required portraits of Count and Emperor, and the extra one she had hung the day the school opened, of Ensign Lord Vorkosigan, who had once judged her mother for her daughter's murder. When Harra herself slipped in behind them Lem closed the door, and they all waited until Gregor sighed with pleasure and turned his head to give Harra one of those personal-yet-imperial smiles that did strange things to one's confidence.

"You'll understand, I imagine, Harra, that I'm usually underwhelmed by images of myself, but these really are very good." His gaze flickered around them. "And after long years when I saw no way forward I have found not only a wife but a sister, and my brother has found us all a deeper peace than we would have dreamed possible when those pictures were taken. So it is right that in the heart of the Vorkosigan's District the twining truth of Vorbarras and Vorkosigans be known." Miles couldn't deny it, and didn't want to, but his alarm and amusement both deepened. Gregor rested a hand on his chin. "What I really want to know, Harra, is how you have found sight of Taura there"—he gestured to the image of Miles's and Ekaterin's wedding, where Taura was unmistakable behind Ekaterin, as her second –"to affect sight of her here." He gestured to the Vale outside. "There may be no more important place on Barrayar right now than Silvy Vale, for reasons you well appreciate even if you'd never claim any credit, so tell me, please, how it has been."

Harra nodded, seeming far less surprised than anyone else by Gregor's plain speaking. "Nothing to cause real fret, my Lord, for which Taura herself is mostly to thank, though seeing her with you in that broadcast has certainly been a good talking point." She considered a moment, an unflustered gathering of thoughts that Miles saw Gregor appreciate. "The picture here certainly began acceptance, and Taura's tales of Lord Vorkosigan and all her mercenary adventures were honey to half the adults as well as all the children." He winced and noted Gregor's flicker of a smile. Who knew what fearful compound of him the Vale would make of Taura's stories? It was inevitable, but all the same. "But it's Taura's own presence, her patience and kindness and, well, her understanding of being stared at that's really won over hearts." Harra's gaze swung to Miles and her whisper was intimate. "I understand well why you and she are friends, my Lord"

Miles nodded back, ignoring the surprise that flickered on several faces around the room. "Just so. And her job is working out?"

"Oh yes, wonderfully." Harra laughed and everyone felt eased. "You should see Taura charging for a mile up the slopes. She's not even out of breath when she presents the letters and parcels, and she's very clever with how she smiles around her fangs. The women don't know what's hit them and the men are simply riveted that she's wedding Roic. His brave history in Hassadar and meeting Taura the way he did saving Her Ladyship is all just icing on the cake. So you needn't worry, my Lord."

Gregor intervened before Miles could continue. "And with your babe? Haut Palma's work, and presence?"

Harra considered again, then grimaced slightly. "Among the men, a quarter muttering to themselves, a half talking more-or-less sensibly to one another, and a quarter who already know they're far more grateful than embarrassed." Miles saw Aunt Alys's eyes widen slightly in appreciation. "Among the women nine-tenths practical and immediate seizure of anything making haut Palma's promise. Any wife or grand mother wants whole babies, and one here in the mountains might deal with Baba Yaga herself if she offered a guarantee." She grinned more openly. "Which is, I suppose, what we're doing. Take a long spoon to sup with Baba Yaga, they say around here, but our spoons grow shorter by the day, thanks to my Lord's generosity with replicators, and haut Palma doing—what did the doc call it?—fast-tracking of people round here. Everyone's already seen more results than little Ekaterin, they've heard your command just now, and they've found for themselves today that ghem can be civil as guests. They'd heard it from Vorkosigan Surleau two years ago, but it's good to know for oneself." Suddenly she blushed a little. "And I've a speech to give myself, later."

"Excellent. Thank you, Harra. And I look forward very much to that speech." Gregor glanced sharply at Miles, who subsided again, and at last began to wonder why exactly Gregor wanted him to contain himself. "I'm especially glad to hear your Cetagandan guests have been properly respectful, though I thought they would be. And haut Palma's guest, haut Gars? Have you met him?"

Miles would have sworn Harra's eyes twinkled. "I have, my Lord. A very polite man. He explained that he needed to see Count Vorbarra about his work, and had limited time, so he hoped we didn't mind his being here." Count Vorbarra about his work? His political ear twitched. Why on Cetaganda would—

"And what did you reply?"

Unexpectedly Lem answered Gregor, inclining his head respectfully. "That any friend of yours was welcome here, my Lord, and he in his humility more than most." Oooh! Miles saw Gregor's well-concealed wince, and inwardly chortled with Dendarii glee. Lem must have seen it too, for he grinned at his emperor. "Also, that it was always an honour and a boon to return and requite hospitality." He paused. "Then we presented him with a pitcher of maple mead."

Miles felt his anticipation rocket. Maple mead did many things to man; what might it do to haut? Gregor winced again, more visibly, but also smiled despite himself. "Fair enough, Speaker Csurik. Did haut Gars reply?"

"Only to thank us, very graciously, and say that in courtesy he felt he should withdraw until you arrived, my Lord." Lem's face became thought ful. "I think haut Palma is not quite used to being out of her bubble, for she … well, snorted would cover it. Twice. I wondered if she realised I heard her, and if haut Gars was making the same calculation."

Gregor's attention was suddenly palpable. "He may well have been. Your mind is as sharp as your voice is clear, Speaker." Lem bowed, visibly pleased. "Now, Miles, you had a question?"

Catching the barely suppressed smiles on the faces of Aunt Alys and Simon Miles realised belatedly that he and—he checked with a fleeting glance of enquiry—Ekaterin were the last ones to know about haut Gars. Gregor has counted coup, dammit. Oh well, it was his turn. "One or two." Million. "But I was just thinking that Cetagandan security can't have had such access to the Dendarii for almost a century, now. Gran'da must be at high revs."

Flush in his fraternal triumph Gregor wasn't going to concede a blush, but he paused slightly before smiling sweetly at Miles. "True, but I'm only following your lead, you know."

"Undoubtedly. So all I shall ask is to be present when you inform Da about this … visitation?"

Gregor winced a third time, in appreciation. "We both know he won't mind, but you have me there. And yes, visitation is the word. Or maybe holiday." He straightened. "I owe you an apology, Ekaterin, for the surprise, but fooling Miles tends to mean having to fool you too. I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist."

For once Ekaterin looked uncertain. "I'm not entirely sure I follow, Gregor, but I don't feel owed an apology yet."

"No? Then wait and see what happens. It'll be … interesting."

Miles blinked. Interesting? Rhymes with 'emperor', right?