Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Not even waste
is inviolate.
The day misspent,
the love misplaced,
has inside it
the seed of redemption.
Nothing is exempt
from resurrection.
It is tiresome
how the grass
re-ripens, greening
all along the punched
and mucked horizon
once the bison
have moved on,
leaning into hunger
and hard luck.
-- Kay Ryan, "Waste"

The Imperial Wedding was a mere five days away when Ekaterin had a startling epiphany.

It happened while trailing along behind Countess Vorkosigan, Lady Vorpatril, and Madame Koudelka-Galeni in one of Vorbarr Sultana's most exclusive florists, in a part of the city where Ekaterin had never set foot until six months ago. The air was heavy with the almost sick-sweet smell of the flowers, and Ekaterin suddenly realized, between one step and the next, what had been going on right under her nose for weeks now, maybe even months. The sudden increase in invitations to events at the Imperial Residence, the wedding assignments, the special shopping excursions with the Countess and Lady Vorpatril – everything she had taken as gestures of good-will and proffered friendship, had in fact been part of a scheme to groom her to be Ivan Vorpatril's wife.

Her first thought was, How in the world did I not see it sooner?

Her second was wiped out by a flood of blind panic. It must have shown on her face because the Countess, who had been holding up a bouquet of calla lilies for Ekaterin's approval, gave her an odd look and said, "Or not. Perhaps orchids then?"

"Orchids," Ekaterin managed. "Yes."

It wasn't that it was completely unexpected. Ivan had been making it clear for months now what his intentions were. He'd bought a house. A very nice house, ten minutes from Nikki's school. With bedrooms to spare and a room that got gorgeous sunlight and could be easily converted into a greenhouse. He had taken Ekaterin on a tour through its empty, echoing rooms and stood in front of the hearth, looking more nervous than she'd ever seen him. She had thought, for one terrible moment, that he was about to propose and then she'd have to say no, and that would be awful – because she didn't mean no, not you, not ever, she just meant I love my life right now, and that's still new to me.

But he hadn't asked her then, he'd just wanted her approval, and she had been able to give him that with no reservations.

But for his mother to know . . . Dear God, who else knew?

Ekaterin pressed a hand to her mouth, chagrinned and a little irritated with herself. They'd been seeing each other for months – eating dinner in little romantic cafes, walking through the municipal botanical gardens at night, and apparently confounding everyone who had ever met Ivan Vorpatril. He'd never said, but Ekaterin suspected he enjoyed that bit.

He'd opened his life to her and drawn her up into the dizzily rarefied atmosphere of his social circle. And she would never forget the way he had smiled when she'd screwed up her courage to return the favor and invited him to accompany her to Nikki's school play.

She knew what he had been thinking all along, and in retrospect it was obvious what everyone else must be thinking right along with him. The only interested party whose thoughts remained murky to her was herself. Ekaterin bit her lip. She knew avoidance when she saw it, and all things considered, it would have to stop.

She managed not to stutter and fumble her way through the afternoon, but just barely. Fortunately, everyone was sufficiently distracted that it didn't seem to matter much. They dropped her at her aunt and uncle's house several hours later, so she could dress for the party later that night at Vorkosigan House in honor of Miles's special off-planet guests. They had arrived downside that afternoon while she had been scrutinizing floral arrangements and having a quiet panic attack.

Ekaterin found Nikki in the kitchen, assembling an enormous sandwich. "You know," she said, watching him with bemusement, "they are going to have food at the party tonight." She began arranging the bouquet she had been unable to resist at the shop in her favorite blue-tinged crystal vase.

"S'not for three hours," Nikki said through a mouthful of vat turkey and cheese.

"True," she said, unable to argue with this fact. "Did you pick up your suit from the cleaner's on the way home?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And you're going with Aunt Helena and Uncle Harold, you said, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing.

Ekaterin nodded, feeling, as she often did, a pang of guilt for the changes that had occurred in Nikki's life since she'd begun seeing Ivan. Six months ago, being seen on the newsvid by all his friends would have thrilled him; now it was something to avoid. She lingered over the bouquet, picking needlessly at a perfect rose bud. "Nikki," she said after a moment.

"Uh oh," he said. "What? I didn't do it."

She smiled briefly. "No, no. I was just . . . do you like Lord Ivan?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mother . . ."

"I'm serious, Nikki."

"Yeah, I guess. He's okay."

It was not a ringing endorsement, but she didn't know what she had expected. She must have looked disappointed because after a moment Nikki relented and said, "I like him." There was a long, rather loaded pause, and then he asked, "Do you like him?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "I do. But, you know, there's two of us." She reached over – up, actually – and briefly rested her hand on his dark hair, as she had done when she'd still been taller than him. To her surprise, he didn't immediately shrug away – but after a moment he took a huge bite out of his sandwich, which seemed to signal the end of the conversation. Satisfied, she set her bouquet in the window, where the vase would catch the morning light.

Ekaterin dressed that night in a dark red gown with silver embroidery. The dress, along with several others, had been a gift from Lady Vorpatril, and it was far more Vorishly feminine than anything she had ever owned before. She had been almost embarrassed by it at first, until she had realized that, with the wedding quickly approaching, she would be attending more formal dinners and parties than her two good dresses could withstand. Lady Alys had proffered the gifts wrapped in the suggestion that Ekaterin accept them as part of her fee for her work on the Imperial gardens. Ekaterin had allowed this probable sop to her pride without comment, and accepted the dresses with slightly uncomfortable gratitude. Now, though, she had to wonder if she hadn't missed another meaning entirely.

She added a diamond necklace and earrings that Countess Vorkosigan had loaned her for the spate of wedding week functions, and eyed herself critically.

"Lady Ekaterin Vorpatril," she murmured to herself, testing it out on her tongue, and frowned. She and Ivan were going to need to have a very serious talk soon.

Her aunt and uncle had left with Nikki by the time Ivan arrived. He helped her arrange her dress in his groundcar – arranged it for her, really, since she had no idea how to manage such clothes – and settled in beside her. "No Nikki?" he asked.

"He went with my aunt and uncle."

"Ah," he said. He looked at her for a moment, and then surprised her with a kiss. She stiffened briefly, remembering the conversation she'd meant to have with him, but then she just relaxed against him. He was, she had to admit, a wonderful kisser, his hand a steady pressure on the back of her neck, just below the clasp of her necklace, his mouth warm and gentle on hers. His other hand twined their fingers together.

After a moment, though, she pulled away and said, "Ivan."

"What?" he asked. Then, in a tone rather reminiscent of Nikki's that afternoon, "What is it?"

She bit her lip. "Did you know your mother thinks we're getting married?"

"Ah," he said, and turned so he was facing forward again, though he didn't let go of her hand. "Yes. I did know that. How long have you known that?"

"Just since this afternoon," she said. "Tell me, when was this decision made? Because I don't remember being consulted."

"It wasn't," he said quickly. "Of course not."

She extracted her hand from his, gently but firmly. "Then why all the . . . social instruction?"

"I don't know what –"

"Don't lie to me, Ivan. Don't you ever lie to me."

He was silent for a time. She let him stew. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I didn't actually say anything to her, you understand, but she's noticed . . . things." He smiled briefly. "The house gave me away." He took a deep breath. "I didn't think you objected so strongly."

"What I object to is being groomed to be your wife with no one stopping to ask if that's even what I want! I'm not going to be your mother, Ivan."

"Oh God, I hope not."

"I'm not going to be your social director. I'm not good at that sort of thing. This" – she gestured at her dress and her jewelry – "this isn't me. I grub around in gardens all day. I smell like compost half the time. And that's not going to change."

"I don't want it to," Ivan said quickly. She gave him a sharp look. "Really."

"Then why didn't you stop your mother? Or at least warn me?"

"I . . . I . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Well, I do."

"I see that now."

"Don't take that tone, like you're trying to calm me down." Her voice was strangely high-pitched, she realized. She swallowed, turned away to look out the window.

Ivan was silent for a moment. "I didn't think . . . I mean, I'm sorry. But I thought we had an understanding."

"What understanding? Have you asked me anything?"

"No, but I bought a house."

"Right. You bought a house and your mother bought me a few dresses, and no one ever asked me!"

"Lord Ivan," the driver said suddenly, and Ekaterin realized that they had arrived at Vorkosigan House. She took a deep breath, pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and waited until Ivan had climbed out and offered her his hand. She made sure her skirts were properly in place and slipped her arm through the crook of Ivan's elbow. She hoped her smile wasn't too terribly fixed, not that anyone was paying her much attention these days, with Miles and the Emperor to focus on.

A short walk through the gauntlet of holovid recorders and then they were inside, in the black and white tiled hall. An ImpSec agent confirmed their identities and Armsman Roic took her wrap and showed them into the ballroom, where everyone had gathered for pre-dinner drinks. She slipped her arm from Ivan's as they entered. She felt more than heard him sigh, and experienced a flash of guilt that she as quickly quashed. She had ended too many arguments with Tien too quickly out of guilt.

Tonight was to be an intimate party, Ekaterin had been informed, close friends and family only, the last such gathering before the spectacle of the wedding. Still, Ekaterin was reminded, glancing around, just how many friends and relatives Miles had. She recognized most of them – there were the Koudelkas, standing with Miles's parents and Miles's Betan grandmother, to whom Ekaterin had been introduced when she'd arrived the previous week. And there were her aunt and uncle – and Nikki, who, Ekaterin saw with some surprise, was not hovering over the table of appetizers, but rather talking to a man wearing a gray and white uniform. Plus the usual crowd of Progressive Party Counts and their heirs. There were at least fifty people altogether. So much for intimate.

The galactic guests in whose honor the party was being held were gathered around Miles, who was fairly crackling with energy tonight. He looked himself again, Ekaterin decided, eyeing him critically, if perhaps still a few pounds thinner than before the events of six months ago. The Emperor stood unobtrusively at his fiancé's shoulder, smiling in his usual quiet, understated way and letting Miles do all the talking.

"Ah, Ekaterin, Ivan, there you are!" Miles said, catching sight of them and waving them over. There followed a bewildering flurry of introductions, complete with military ranking: the Bothari-Jeseks and their two children, whose arrival the Countess had been anticipating for weeks now; a Commodore Tung and his wife, come all the way from Earth; Bel Thorne, who had come from some place Ekaterin had never even heard of, and who confused her for a moment until she heard its flat Betan accent in its warm alto voice, and realized that it must be a Betan hermaphrodite; Arde Mayhew, Nikki's new friend, who drifted up during the proceedings and turned out to be a jump pilot (thus clearing up all of Ekaterin's confusion about Nikki's willingness to speak to a strange adult); and, finally, Admiral Elli Quinn, a striking woman who wore her gray and white dress uniform like a second skin. Admiral Quinn shook Ekaterin's hand and smiled at her in a curious, coolly assessing way that Ekaterin found extremely unnerving.

To Ekaterin's relief, they went into dinner before things could become awkward. She found her place card between Ivan's and Kareen Koudelka's, which was at least half pleasant. She spent most of the meal chatting with Kareen about Beta Colony and her own upcoming wedding with Lord Mark, leaving Ivan to his own devices. She could not continue to give him the cold shoulder forever, Ekaterin knew, especially with the number of formal dinners and luncheons she had agreed to accompany him to over the next week, but neither was she willing to let him think that things were all right between them when they weren't. Not that it was entirely Ivan's fault, Ekaterin thought. But it was much easier to be annoyed with him than with his mother, and he really should have known better.

After dinner they returned to the ballroom for dancing. She managed to evade Ivan on the way in, before he could pull her onto the dance floor and weaken her resolve, something he seemed to do all too easily. She stood just inside the door to the garden, enjoying the warm evening breezes blowing in from outside, and watched as Miles and the Emperor opened the dancing. Miles suffered himself to be led tonight, Ekaterin noted with amusement, with only a subtly martyred expression.

"They do make an interesting couple, don't they?" someone said at Ekaterin's shoulder. She jumped, and turned to see Elena Bothari-Jesek smiling at her and cradling her sleeping son, who Ekaterin judged to be no more than four months old.

"Yes," Ekaterin said, glancing back at the two of them. "But they . . . work."

"Good," Elena said, stepping closer and shifting the baby slightly. "I have to say, I would have never expected it."

"I don't think many people did," Ekaterin said with a smile. The dance ended then, and other couples began drifting onto the floor. Ekaterin turned to Elena. "Your son is beautiful."

"Thank you. Is yours here tonight?"

"Yes, over there." Ekaterin pointed out Nikki, who was sitting with Pym's son Arthur in a ring of chairs off to the side, obviously spurning the dancing. She was mildly unnerved by the idea that people had been talking about her, especially now that she realized what they'd most likely been saying.

Elena squinted over, smiling and waving to Nikki when she caught his eye. He lifted a cautious hand in reply, and Ekaterin sighed internally at the open wariness on his face.

"Miles said you've raised him by yourself?" Elena asked.

Ekaterin opened her mouth to say no, that Nikki's father had been around until four years ago, but what she said instead was, "For the most part, yes. I do have my aunt and uncle now, which is wonderful."

"And you also have Ivan," said Elena.

"Er," said Ekaterin, withdrawing minutely.

Elena's husband approached just then and touched his wife on the arm. "Dance with me?"

"Oh," said Elena, shifting the baby. "Let me just run him upstairs –"

"I can take him," Ekaterin said impulsively.

"Oh," said Elena uncertainly. She glanced over to Nikki again, then, apparently satisfied that he seemed to have all appropriate limbs, she nodded and handed the baby over. "If he gets fussy you can just take him upstairs and I'll be right up," she said. "Thank you."

Ekaterin nodded and tucked the warm little bundle closer. Even with a spit-up cloth marring the line of her shoulder, she was doing no favors for the beautiful dress, but she didn't much care. A tiny hand tangled itself in her necklace, and she drifted back from the crowd.

Holding a baby had the entirely unlooked for advantage of keeping almost everyone male clear of her. It seemed to work particularly well on Ivan, who appeared about to approach from across the room until he spotted her cargo. Ekaterin waved reassuringly to Elena, who stepped out into a second dance, and then a third.

The baby began to fuss just as the music struck up again, and Ekaterin hesitated. Elena looked to be having a lovely time, and Ekaterin remembered all too well the constant bombardment of worries and calculations and adjustments that an infant required. Little Miles made up her mind for her with an unhappy yelp, and Ekaterin turned hastily for the door.

She suspected he was suffering from nothing more serious than a little over-stimulation, so she turned into the library to settle him down. She was half a dozen steps into the room, the doors swinging shut behind her, before she realized it was already occupied.

"Oh," she said, coming to an uncertain halt. "I'm sorry, Sire, I didn't mean to disturb you."

The Emperor looked up from his book, and Ekaterin dearly wished she knew what the minute flicker of expression in those calm eyes meant. "Not at all," he said, and beckoned her to the sofa with him. "Is that Miles's namesake?"

"He's demanding a little more focused attention," said Ekaterin, crossing the room.

"Hmm," murmured the Emperor. "How . . . unsurprising."

Ekaterin paused next to him. "Would you like to hold him?"

He blinked. "I . . . yes, I would." He slid his booted feet off the antique table and sat up straight as if at attention, before offering up his hands. Ekaterin placed Miles in them, draped the cloth over the Emperor's shoulder, and hovered to watch. "Sire?" she said hesitantly, after a moment of observation. "Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No," he said ruefully. "They tend not to come to my notice very often."

"Well," said Ekaterin, and found herself reaching out, resettling Miles and guiding his hands. "Just make sure you support his head – shift him up a little – there we are."

She stepped back, and the Emperor blinked down in mild surprise at the little creature cuddled up against the fine embroidery of his tunic.

"Well, hello there," he said, bemused. "I'm afraid your parents have let themselves in for no end of trouble, letting you come under the influence of the original Miles." He fell silent, staring down at the tiny face framed by a shock of black hair. Ekaterin seated herself on the other end of the sofa and listened to the music drifting through the closed library door. After a moment he looked up and said, "It's . . . strange to think that I'm going to have one of these very soon."

"You'll learn fast," Ekaterin assured him. "Not that it isn't terrifying at first." Or permanently, she privately added.

"I can imagine. Your Nikki seems to have turned out very well though. Have you and Ivan talked about children?"

Ekaterin stiffened. The Emperor must have seen it because he said quickly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," she said. "It's just that I've recently realized that everyone has been making certain assumptions about Lord Ivan and me."

"Ah."

"It's not that –" She broke off, realizing that the last thing the Emperor needed was to hear her complaining. "Well," she finally said. "Suffice it to say that I've had enough of people making my decisions for me."

"I see." He paused. "I had many people making my decisions for me until I reached my majority," he offered after a moment. "Probably some of the same people, actually. They do mean well, I hope you know."

"Oh yes, I know, Sire," she sighed. "And . . . I do care about Ivan. But I never wanted to be forced into marrying again – not that I was before, but my family just assumed that it was what I wanted. Which is very like what seems to be happening here." She bit her lip. "They all meant well, too."

"Hmm," he said.

In the silence that followed, Ekaterin sneaked a glance at the book he had been reading before she had interrupted him. It was a very old book, obviously from the Time of Isolation, but she couldn't tell anything more without picking it up, and she didn't want to appear intrusive.

"It's just a biography of one of my ancestors," the Emperor said, startling her. "I was using it to divert myself."

"Don't you like . . ?" Ekaterin gestured to the door, indicating the party beyond.

"Sometimes," he said heavily. "And sometimes, like tonight, it just makes me very tired." He did look tired, she noticed, dark smudges beneath his eyes and strained lines around his mouth. "I should probably make an appearance soon though. Miles will start to wonder."

"His guests seem very nice," Ekaterin ventured.

"Oh yes," he said, a bit absently. He glanced down at baby Miles and adjusted the blanket around his face. "I've met some of them before."

"When?" she asked, surprised.

"A long time ago," he said, looking up. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but he looked as though he were remembering something rather painful. After a moment he grimaced, and said, "When I was much younger and, I hope, more stupid than I am now."

"Oh," she said.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and then Miles stuck his head in. "Ah, there you both are." He came in and shut the door behind him. He surveyed them, looking mildly bemused. "Are you hiding?"

"Yes," the Emperor said, at the same moment Ekaterin said, "No."

"Your namesake was fussy," she said when Miles quirked his eyebrow at them.

"I see." He went and stood over the baby, reached down and let a tiny hand grasp his finger. Then he looked up and met the Emperor's eyes. It was a very private look, and Ekaterin glanced away, discomfited.

"You should come out," Miles said quietly to the Emperor. "Your absence is conspicuous."

"I know," the Emperor sighed. "I just needed a few minutes." He turned to Ekaterin. "Here," he said, transferring the baby to her arms.

"Elena is probably wondering where I disappeared to with him," Ekaterin said, standing.

To her surprise, Miles reached out and stopped her with a hand on her arm as she passed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"Are you?" Another quirk of the eyebrow. "Because Ivan doesn't look like you are." Her mouth thinned. Miles shook his head. "I did try to tell them, you know," he said. "So did Ivan, actually. But my aunt can be very stubborn –"

"Now there is an understatement," the Emperor murmured.

"Especially since Ivan has never shown any level of seriousness about anyone before. And . . . he did buy you a house."

"He did not buy me a house," she said indignantly.

"Ekaterin."

She blew out her breath in exasperation. "All right, possibly he bought a house that might, in theory, be perfect for me. That does not mean that I ever, at any point, agreed to marry him. I am under no obligation." Her voice was too high again, like it had been in the car earlier. She took a deep breath. "And I resent the fact that everyone thinks that because he bought a house, he has therefore bought me."

"That is not what they think. And I knew you would resent it. Just . , . perhaps you want to go easy on Ivan. He's stuck between you and Lady Alys. I have sympathy for him, and I generally don't for Ivan."

She pursed her lips and made her exit with as much dignity as possible. Back in the ballroom, she handed her charge off to his mother, who looked flushed and happy from dancing, but also glad to have him back. Then she surveyed the room and finally located Ivan standing with his back up against the wall, glowering at the cheerful, whirling dancers. Ekaterin selected a glass of spiced white wine off a passing tray, took a deep breath, and wove her way toward him through the crowd.

"You're going to make ImpSec nervous if you keep glaring like that," she informed him.

"I take it my interfering cousin talked to you."

"Yes." She sipped her wine. "Both of them." He raised an eyebrow at her. "We need to talk about this eventually," she said. "But not now. Here, have a drink." She handed him her glass.

He blinked, straightened, and let loose one of those sudden, overpowering grins. "I'd rather have a dance," he said, setting it aside and leading her out onto the dance floor. By the third dance she was considerably more relaxed – until she looked up and saw Lady Alys and Countess Vorkosigan watching them. The Countess was merely smiling, but Lady Alys looked . . . satisfied. Ivan followed her gaze and winced. Ekaterin merely shook her head. Just keep dancing, she told herself.

Miles claimed her for the dance after that, and then, to her surprise, the Emperor himself.

"Thank God," he muttered to her. "I've spent the last two dances with Elli Quinn. She kept trying to lead. It's worse than dancing with Miles."

Ekaterin glanced over to where the lady Admiral was holding court with a number of Barrayaran men – and a few women as well – who appeared rather stunned. She would do well to watch herself, Ekaterin thought; many of those men were married. "She is . . . striking."

"She intimidates the hell out of me," the Emperor admitted.

"You could let her lead," Ekaterin said with a smile. "I've always thought that was a silly rule myself."

"Oh?" The subtle pressure at her hand suddenly ceased. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Go ahead then, Madame Vorsoisson. Lead me."

She swallowed her surprise. "I'm sorry, Sire, I didn't mean to be impudent."

"You weren't," he sighed, and picked up her hand again. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to catch you off guard." He glanced around. "To be completely honest, I feel very ill at ease in this crowd."

Why are you telling me? Ekaterin managed not to say it out loud, but just barely. "So do I," she finally admitted. "But then, I usually do."

"You shouldn't. Whether or not you and Ivan are going to . . . well. You shouldn't. You are the equal of anyone in this room."

"Thank you, Sire," she managed. "But neither then should you. You are . . ." She hesitated. "A very great man," she finally said.

The dance was winding down. "Thank you," he said, but she had the sense that it had not been the right thing to say, that it had not reassured him in the slightest. But, she thought, noting once more the exhaustion evident in his face, she didn't think that anything she could say would reassure him in any way that would matter. He began to lead her over to where Ivan stood talking with Elena, and she was struck by the urge to say something to him, something more than the unthinking platitudes she knew people must feed him daily.

But the words didn't come and he handed her off to Ivan with a smile and flourish. He drifted away after only a moment, and when next Ekaterin saw him, he was disappearing into the library once more, a glass of wine in hand.

"Did you have a good time?" Ivan asked her, hours later in the car on the way home.

"Yes," she said. Her feet hurt and she slipped her shoes off, though it meant she would have to pad up the walkway in stocking feet. After a moment, Ivan reached down and pulled her feet onto his lap, where he began to rub them. A sound very like a cat's purr escaped her throat before she could stop it and he flashed a grin at her in the darkness. She settled back, enjoying the gentle buzz from the wine and the dancing and the late hour.

"I'll talk to my mother," he said into the silence.

She opened her eyes. "Thank you."

He was visibly relieved, and had the good sense not to speak for a bit, letting his hands work their magic on her mood as well as her feet. "I didn't see Nikki leave with your aunt and uncle," he said at last.

"He's spending the night with Arthur Pym," Ekaterin said. Ivan slid a thumb up the arch of her foot and her toes curled.

"Ah." There was a rather long silence and then Ivan said, quietly, "Would you like to come home with me?"

Ekaterin was abruptly a good deal more sober than she had been. "Er," she said. "For, um, for the night?"

"Yes." Ivan looked away. "I was wondering . . . I'd planned to ask you tonight."

No wonder he'd been so disgruntled by their argument.

"You don't have to," he said when the silence had gone on too long.

"No," she said. "I mean, yes," she corrected herself swiftly, realizing how that sounded. "Yes."

"Oh," he said, looking so delighted that it made her feel warm all over. "I didn't . . . I thought you'd say no."

"I think saying no has become my reflex," she admitted. "But, Ivan . . ."

"What?"

"Don't . . ." She frowned. "Don't expect much." She didn't want him to be disappointed. How many beautiful and uninhibited young Vor women had he had? She didn't want to know. It had been four years for her, and that had been with Tien. She had wondered if there was something wrong with her, back then. She thought she knew now that there wasn't, that it hadn't been her, it had been her and Tien, and she knew it would be different with Ivan.

Different how was less certain.

Ekaterin glanced up and saw Ivan watching her, but in the dark couldn't read his expression. She suddenly felt very exposed, but then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He looked about to say something, thought better of it, and turned to redirect the driver.

The unfamiliar alarm startled Ekaterin out of a sound sleep. She sat up in a panic before she even realized where she was. Beside her, Ivan groaned, reached over, and smacked the small, obviously much abused alarm into submission. "Why did you make me set it again?" he asked, voice muffled beneath the covers.

Ekaterin had to stop and think. "Because Nikki will be back at my aunt and uncle's by noon," she finally said. "And I need to go home to shower and change. I told Admiral Quinn and Elena that I would go out with them today." She started to get out of bed.

Ivan reached out and pulled her back to him. "Cancel," he whispered into her ear.

"I can't cancel!"

"Why not? Tell them you're going to be in bed all day long."

"Ivan," she gasped, scandalized.

He grinned, completely unrepentant. "They'll assume you're sick."

"Somehow I think Elli Quinn is smarter than that."

He gave a mock sigh. "Probably." Then he looked at her and raised an impish eyebrow. "You look very fetching that way."

She suddenly realized that all the blankets were pooled around her waist, and that her hair was probably a complete disaster. "Ergh," she said, resisting the urge to clutch the bedclothes to her chest. It was a little late for that, and she was too tired for it anyway. It was going to be a long day.

"Come on," Ivan said. He was half-sitting up, his mouth very close to her ear. It sent shivers up and down her spine. "Just for a little while longer." His hand sneaked down under the covers.

She gave a very undignified squeak and jumped out of bed. "No, thank you, Lord Ivan." She surveyed her clothes and realized that all she had to wear home was her formal evening dress. She held it up and groaned at the wrinkles. "You are terrible, did you know that?"

"That wasn't what you said last night." He watched as she struggled into her dress, and then got up and came around to do the lacings up for her. She found herself glancing away shyly – so absurd – and at a loss for words. "You did have a good time?" he asked, charmingly uncertain.

"Yes," she said. "Of course. And – and you?"

He nodded, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and serious. "I'll see you this afternoon at the Residence?"

"Oh drat." The meeting that afternoon about the last minute touches to the Imperial Garden, which Ekaterin had redesigned for the wedding, had completely slipped her mind. Most of the principles would be there . . . including Lady Alys. Drat, indeed. "Yes, of course I'll be there."

"Good." He kissed her hand and then pulled on a pair of trousers to walk her to the car.

She was extremely relieved that Nikki was not home yet. Her aunt, however, was, and when Ekaterin walked in wearing last night's clothes and found her reading at the kitchen table, she couldn't control her wince.

"Have a good time last night, dear?" her aunt asked without looking up.

Ekaterin poured herself a cup of coffee and wondered if it would be too rude to simply go upstairs without answering. Probably. "Yes," she said at last, after her first sip. She finally dared to look up and saw her aunt smiling at her in, thank God, evident approval.

"Good," her aunt said, glancing back down. "I'm glad."

And that seemed to be the end of that. Ekaterin went upstairs, showered, changed, and eyed herself critically in the mirror, just as she had the night before. She didn't think she looked like she'd been up all night.

A Vorkosigan groundcar arrived promptly at noon. Nikki emerged, clearly exhausted from staying up playing strategy games until all hours with Arthur and his friends. He seemed slightly shell-shocked, which puzzled Ekaterin until Elena Bothari-Jesek stuck her head out behind him and waved for her to come in. Pym held the door for her, and then slid into the front seat.

"I am at your disposal, m'ladies," he said. "Some place for lunch?"

"Please," Elli Quinn said, seated across from Ekaterin on the wide, comfortable backseat of the luxurious groundcar.

"Somewhere on the river, if you don't mind, Pym," said Elena.

"As you wish." The groundcar pulled away from the curb.

"So what did you have in mind for today?" Ekaterin asked.

"Oh, nothing much, we're both rather jump-lagged and worn out from the party last night." Quinn smiled. "You look a bit tired yourself."

"Late night," Ekaterin said, managing not to fumble.

"Yes, I can imagine." Her smile was not quite a smirk. "Anyway, I think we just wanted to get lunch and see a bit of the city. Nothing too strenuous."

"You have to be at the Residence at 1600, right?" Elena said.

"Yes," Ekaterin said, glad that someone knew where she needed to be and when. She felt very off-kilter today. She thought it might be attributed to an unexpected bout of happiness. Or maybe just a large dose of endorphins.

Pym deposited them at an exclusive little eatery in the south sector. Ekaterin, who had thought she was entirely accustomed to being stared at for the company she kept, found the experience to be another sort of disconcerting entirely when every man within sight of Elli Quinn started tripping over himself and running into things.

They were seated at a table near the glass-fronted restaurant where they could see the colorful streams of men and women strolling the streets of the upper crust shopping area. Ekaterin, somewhat taken aback to find herself ravenous, ordered a generous meal. She'd had unaccustomed exercise, after all.

Conversation over lunch was strange to say the least. Aside from two X chromosomes, Ekaterin thought she had nothing in common with these women. She could watch Elli Quinn's fine hands as she wielded knife and fork, and see the soft line of Elena's mouth when she spoke of her children, and then one of them would turn to the other and remark on a shared memory, and Ekaterin would be suddenly and shockingly reminded that these were soldiers. She didn't often think of that; she had never known Miles in those days, and certainly not the strange chameleon creature that was this 'Admiral Naismith.' Yet she'd seen enough of his scars, caught enough oblique references, heard enough of what Ivan sometimes didn't say. He had been a man of guns and battles and blood, and these women were in a sense his people. Perhaps the most discomforting thing was how easy it was to reconcile that stranger with the kind friend he'd made himself to her.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?" Ekaterin asked as they were finishing up.

"I've seen it all," said Elena, shrugging.

"I have too, come to think of it," said Quinn. "When I visited here with Miles."

"Oh," said Ekaterin, chastising herself for not having realized that. "Well, what would you like to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Actually," Quinn said, looking out the windows, "I still haven't found a wedding present. Would either of you mind a little shopping?"

They strolled up the avenue together, Pym trailing a polite distance behind, ready to carry any of their purchases. Quinn glanced disinterestedly into the windows of clothing stores, but ducked into the first jeweler they saw.

"You people don't do the exchanging of rings, do you?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Not usually," said Ekaterin. "Most couples exchange a token of some sort, but it's not a hard-and-fast tradition."

Quinn prowled the displays, making the proprietor visibly nervous. Ekaterin looked around herself, eye sliding appreciatively over chains and bracelets and pins. She had little jewelry of her own aside from a few items inherited from her mother, and the first time she'd seen the Countess's collection she'd been astounded.

"It's odd to see her here," said Elena at her shoulder.

"I'm sorry?" said Ekaterin.

"Elli." Elena bit her lip, staring at a display of men's lapel pins. "I didn't think she'd come, actually. Not to see him married."

"Oh," said Ekaterin. "Well, she did after all."

Elena laughed quietly behind her hand. "When I asked, she said she hadn't planned on coming, but she just couldn't resist because she knew this was going to be a grand spectacle."

"True enough," said Ekaterin wryly. "It's the single most important event in thirty years, and I don't just mean socially."

Quinn had apparently settled on a purchase. Ekaterin drifted up to see a lovely chrono, set in a band of one of the new atomically blended precious metals. "Like so," Quinn said, and measured out Miles's small wrist with a careless flicker of fingers. Ekaterin had no doubt that she was dead accurate.

She walked away again as Quinn completed her business. It was a good question; what did one buy for the Emperor and his Consort? Ekaterin thought the work she'd done on the Imperial Gardens – and hadn't that been a nail-biting venture – was rather in the way of a gift, and yet . . .

Quinn was leaning across the counter, speaking, it appeared, conspiratorially to the jeweler. Who, for his part, looked entirely flustered. He gestured vaguely out the door, mouthed something alarmed sounding, and hastily pushed a flimsy receipt towards Quinn for her signature.

"Delivered within the day," he was saying as Ekaterin returned to the front of the shop.

"Excellent," said Quinn, with a smile like a shark's. "Come along, ladies, half done, and I know exactly where to go for the other half."

She struck off up the sidewalk, long-legged and determined, and Ekaterin and Elena had to trot to keep up. Quinn seemed to know where she was going, crossing the street at the next corner and then ducking down a small alley Ekaterin probably wouldn't even have seen. When the rest of them caught up she was holding open a nondescript little door and beckoning them on with a gesture that was almost gallant.

Ekaterin stepped into the shop, and took a full half-minute to realize exactly what she was looking at. Then she felt a hot rush of color from her hairline straight down beneath her blouse, and she had to resist the urge to clap a hand over her eyes and step right back out that door. There were things here, racks of strangely shaped yet somehow recognizable devices, shelves stocked with bottles and jars, bins heaped with seemingly innocuous items like soft scarves and little loops of leather that were not innocuous at all.

"Elli," said Elena, eyes bright with scandalized laughter.

"What?" said Quinn. "They've been seeing each other for four years. No matter what they want this backwater planet to believe, you can't tell me they haven't been –"

Ekaterin resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. Really, it wasn't like she was some innocent – there was last night, for goodness sake – but this was the Emperor. And Miles, who was not only Miles but the Prince Consort-to-be, and one just couldn't say these things.

Unless, it seemed, one were Admiral Elli Quinn.

Ekaterin moved almost despite herself to walk along one of the aisles. She'd heard of such places, of course, covert whispers from a few of her university friends. And, despite never having laid eyes on anything like it before, she found it surprisingly easy to identify each new discovery and make an accurate enough guess at its . . . purpose.

"Miles likes that stuff," Quinn said, appearing at Ekaterin's shoulder, silent as an evil spirit. Ekaterin hastily set down the bottle of oil designed to simulate the touch of many fingers to the nerves just beneath the skin.

Quinn walked away, then paused to examine an extraordinary contraption that nearly boggled the mind. It had two – oh.Oh, my. To Ekaterin's overwhelming relief Quinn set it down and moved on, with a half-muttered, "I wonder if they have . . ."

Ekaterin didn't want to know what the end of that sentence entailed. Elena shook her head, and surveyed the oils and creams lined up in orderly fashion. She picked up a small vial and read the label, made an uncertain noise, and put it back.

"Are you going to buy something?" Ekaterin asked, suddenly very curious. She couldn't imagine going up to the counter and making a purchase. But Elena was somehow more human than Quinn, who was a creature entirely alien to anything Ekaterin had ever encountered before. It made sense for Admiral Elli Quinn to just be able to walk up and buy anything without blinking, but Elena . . .

"Maybe," Elena said. "Baz and I are doing just fine, but something new is always fun. Don't you think?" She glanced at Ekaterin from beneath her dark lashes, and Ekaterin knew that the question hadn't been entirely innocent.

"I suppose," she said dubiously.

Elena stepped up the aisle, reached down and trailed a length of black silk through her fingers. "I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Neither does Elli. Well okay, maybe Elli does, a little. I'm just . . . curious."

"About?" Ekaterin asked, though she thought she knew.

"You and Ivan. Mostly you. I know Ivan, or I used to. I don't know if I know this new Ivan. He's bought a house, for heaven's sake."

Again with the house. Always with that damn house. Ekaterin almost wished she'd told Ivan not to do it.

"And all because of you," Elena continued. "So, Madame Vorsoisson, I am frankly very curious about you."

"Er," Ekaterin said. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's really nothing to be curious about. It had nothing to do with me. Ivan changed all on his own."

"Did he?" Elena raised an eyebrow.

"I think it was taking care of Miles," Ekaterin said, thoughtfully. "When he was sick. Ivan was up at Vorkosigan Surleau the whole time, with Miles and the Count and Countess, and when everything was over . . . he was much changed."

There was a long silence. "How sick was he?" Elena asked at last, eyes on her hands.

Ekaterin didn't know what to say – especially here. This was not a conversation to be having in public, much less in this sort of place. "How much do you know?" she finally asked.

"Just that he was injured, and that he was ill. No one has said much about it, and Miles shrugged it off when I asked. He looks well enough. But . . ."

"What?"

"Gregor doesn't. Which makes me think I'm not getting the whole story."

"You're not. You probably won't. But it was . . . it was very bad for a time. They were preparing for the worst."

"Oh," she said. It was a quiet breath, blown out through half-parted lips.

"Please don't say anything to anyone."

"Of course not."

Quinn appeared then, swinging a discreet black shopping bag jauntily from one hand. "All done," she said with almost malicious good cheer. "Want to see?"

"No," Ekaterin said firmly. "Definitely not. But thank you."

"Elena? Are you going to get something?"

Elena eyed the oils for a moment, and then plucked one off the shelf. "Why not?"

"Ekaterin?"

"Oh heavens, no," she said, before she could think better of it. "I mean," she added, when they both looked at her strangely, "I wouldn't even know where to begin to – to pick something."

"Well, you and Ivan are, aren't you?" Quinn asked.

To Ekaterin's horror, she couldn't manage an answer. She knew she was blushing scarlet.

"So that's a yes," Elena said, smiling.

"Mmm," Quinn hummed in agreement, eyeing Ekaterin with interest. "But only recently."

"Oh, honestly, Elli, leave her be." Elena rolled her eyes and marched up to the counter to make her purchase. To Ekaterin's relief, Quinn did as she was bid, and asked no more questions as they exited the store, handing their purchases off to a distinctly bland Pym.