Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Tej glanced at Ivan Xav, who nodded, so said “Sure! Thank you, Lady Alys.”

They followed the sedate groundcar in Ivan Xav’s two‑seater. Tej looked over her shoulder to see the municipal guardsmen taking down the lighted barriers and putting them away in their vehicle, returning the street to its normal morning traffic, which was growing notably busier. It was full dawn, now, and the city was awake, eager to get started on another brand‑new day. Looking forward, not back.

Thirty‑five funerals seemed too many. Yet none was not enough. Tej wondered, if Ivan Xav would help them to it, if she and Rish would feel any better for burning some hair in a little pan for Dada and the Baronne, and Erik. Maybe you had to be raised to this.

She turned to Ivan Xav. “What a morbid way to start your every birthday, when you were a child. I mean, most children get presents, and sweets, parties, maybe ponies here on Barrayar‑even we and the Jewels all did. Well, not ponies, not on a space station. But you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I had all that, too,” said Ivan Xav. “Later in the day. Quite ornate parties, for a few years, when the mothers in Mamere’s set were competing with each other. All that was damped down by my mid‑teens, when we kids were all more intent on moving into adulthood as fast as we could, God knows why.” He blinked reflectively. “Not that their teens are something most people would want to linger in.” And after another moment, “It felt like childhood came to a pretty abrupt halt when I started the Imperial Service Academy at age eighteen, but looking at some of the frighteningly dewy new‑minted ensigns they’re sending us these days, I’m not so sure. Maybe that was an illusion on our parts.”

And, after a much longer pause, while he negotiated a few corners and dodged incoming traffic: “Sure taught me the price of Vorpatrils mixing in politics, though. I didn’t understand much, but I had that down by the time I was eight. I mean‑other boys had fathers, most of ’em, even Miles had Uncle Aral, scary as he was‑I had a bronze plaque in the street that groundcars ran over. That made Mamere either sad or twitchy or bitchy by turns, but never happy.”

“Is‑was‑she always this, um?” Tej wasn’t sure how else to describe Lady Alys. Desperate for escape? “When you do this burning thing?”

His brows drew in. “No. She’d never told me some of those crazy details, before. Funny thing, that. I mean, she’s the one who had that damned plaque installed in the first place, right? Makes me wonder‑if she didn’t enjoy this, and I didn’t enjoy this, and my father, whatever he was or would have been, is decades past caring, why do we keep doing this? She didn’t have to wait for me to get married to stop. She could’ve stopped any time.”

“Some passing‑of‑the‑generations thing?” Tej hazarded.

“I guess.” Following Christos, Ivan Xav turned in at the garage under his mother’s building, and offered no more illumination.

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.”