Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Shiv Arqua’s gaze shifted around to at last snag on Byerly, standing behind Rish. A brow cocked. “And who is this?”

By, with covert reluctance, stepped forward. Rish cleared her throat. “Baron, Baronne, haut, may I present my, um, friend, Byerly Vorrutyer.”

Byerly managed a tolerably non‑croggled bow. “My pleasure, to be sure.” Aye, By was the trained professional liar.

Star, strolling up, sniffed. “ Um‑friend? So it would appear. Really, Rish, your taste in men. He has to be a natural.”

“Barrayaran Vor, certainly,” said Lady ghem Estif, with the air of an entomologist observing a familiar species of beetle.

“Though not a lord,” By put in, with a specious helpfulness.

“But a friend?” said the Baron to Rish. That edge was back. “Truly?”

Rish, put on the spot, shrugged. “Well…friendly. I’ll explain later, all right?”

By’s stance eased. The Baron’s suspicious glower seemed to slot him into a class by himself, provisionally. Very provisionally. Which wasn’t wrong.

“So were the news vids all lies?” said Tej. “There were pictures of your bodies.”

“Yes, that made it rather awkward for Prestene to report our escape, when we followed Star and the girls to Earth,” said the Baronne dryly.

“Ruby, Topaz‑Eric?” said Rish. “Is everything horrible made not so?”

“Yes and no,” the Baronne told her. “Ruby made it to Fell Station, we believe, and is under the protection of Baron Fell for the moment. Seppe is apparently with her, though fallen into contract‑debt to House Fell for his medical treatment.”

Ivan watched a tremble run through Tej’s body. She exhaled and ran the back of her wrist over her eyes.

“That was the yes,” said Rish. Her voice was growing quieter.

The Baronne nodded. “Topaz…did not get off the Station when we did. As far as we presently know, she remains hostage.”

“Eric‑?” said Tej. Her voice, too, had fallen low.

Shiv Arqua grew grim. “It’s hard to say. Prestene claims to have his body cryo‑preserved. How revivable he may be, we do not know.”

Tej swallowed. So did Ivan. Almost worse than death, that boundless uncertainty. In his experience.

Arqua grimaced. “Fool boy‑nothing he defended was worth his life, once you girls were away. He should have surrendered!”

“Perhaps he did,” murmured the Baronne, and her husband pressed his teeth together.

“Did you get out right after Star’s group, then?” asked Rish. Oddly wary, that question. Oddly hopeful.

The Baronne ran a hand through her short hair, almost dislodging the defiantly bright band across her forehead. “No. Not for some weeks. They shaved my head when they took me, among the other things they tried‑for all the good it did them.” Her eyes flashed in some dark triumph. “It will grow back. We will grow everything back, now we’ve rescued the pair of you.”

“Uh, we sort of rescued ourselves…” Tej pointed out tentatively. When no one responded to this, she turned and added, “But Grandmama, what happened to your hair, then?”

A muscle jumped in Lady ghem Estif’s fine jaw. “I sold it. Back on Earth.”

“All three meters of it,” confirmed Star. “At auction. It went for a fabulous sum, which we needed at that point. Far more money than I would have believed possible‑there are collectors, it turns out. And absolute provenance, since we allowed the winner to cut it himself.”

Emerald, at her shoulder, muttered, “I still think he had a fetish.” Pearl nodded ruefully.

The Baronne, her own dark hair regrown barely finger‑length beneath the red band, said nothing at all. The story under that silence…well, Ivan would doubtless get it later, too. No visible damage marred her skin, but it was not nearly so luminous as in the younger scans. Pallid, almost. These people are really tired.

“That was a pretty amazing sacrifice, for a haut woman,” Ivan offered, this seeming a less fraught topic. “I once met some of the ladies of the Star Creche itself, on Eta Ceta, some years ago. Their never‑cut hair was a major status‑marker.”

Lady ghem Estif’s expression went rather opaque. “It is long,” she stated, “since I left the Star Creche.” She hesitated, looking at Ivan more sharply. “Do the Consorts speak with Outlanders, now?”

“It was a special, um, event. What was your clan, that is, your haut constellation of origin, before you married the ghem general?”

“Rond.” Lady ghem Estif delivered the flat monosyllable without emotion. The Rond were one of the mid‑grade Cetagandan Constellations, though that was like saying ‘one of the mid‑grade billionaires.’ But she regarded Ivan with the faintest new spark of…less disapproval. As though he might be trainable, with the right program of exercises and rewards.

Byerly sucked on his lower lip, his expression baffled.

Officer Mahon and Pidge returned from the corner where they’d been talking in rapid under‑voices. Mahon’s lips were screwed up in something less than joy, but better than hostility. Pidge looked unsettlingly serene.