Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [156]
"Killing. It feels even better, afterwards. It shouldn't be . . . such a pleasure. Lord Vorkosigan doesn't kill like that." His eyes were narrowed, brows creased, but he was uncurled from his ball of agony; he must be speaking generally, Vorrutyer no longer on his mind.
"It's a release of rage, I'd guess," said Cordelia cautiously. "How did you get so much rage, balled up inside of you? The density is palpable. People can sense it."
His hand curled, in front of his solar plexus. "It goes back a long way. But I don't feel angry, most of the time. It snaps out suddenly."
"Even Bothari fears Bothari," she murmured in wonder.
"Yet you don't. You're less afraid even than Lord Vorkosigan."
"I see you as bound up with him, somehow. And he's my own heart. How can I fear my own heart?"
"Milady. A bargain."
"Hm?"
"You tell me . . . when it's all right. To kill. And then I'll know."
"I can't—look, suppose I'm not there? When that sort of thing lands on you, there's not usually time to stop and analyze. You have to be allowed self-defense, but you also have to be able to discern when you're really being attacked." She sat up, eyes widening in sudden insight. "That's why your uniform is so important to you, isn't it? It tells you when it's all right. When you can't tell yourself. All those rigid routines you keep to, they're to tell you you're all right, on track."
"Yes. I'm sworn to the defense of House Vorkosigan, now. So that's all right." He nodded, apparently reassured. By what, for God's sake?
"You're asking me to be your conscience. Make your judgments for you. But you are a whole man. I've seen you make right choices, under the most absolute stress."
His hands pressed to his skull again, his narrow jaw clenching, and he grated out, "But I can't remember them. Can't remember how I did it."
"Oh." She felt very small. "Well . . . whatever you think I can do for you, you've got a blood-right to it. We owe you, Aral and I. We remember why, even if you can't."
"Remember it for me, then, Milady," he said lowly, "and I'll be all right."
"Believe it."
Chapter Seven
Cordelia shared breakfast one morning the following week with Aral and Piotr in a private parlor overlooking the back garden. Aral motioned to the Count's footman, who was serving.
"Would you please rout out Lieutenant Koudelka for me? Tell him to bring that agenda for this morning that we were discussing."
"Uh, I guess you hadn't heard, my lord?" murmured the man. Cordelia had the impression that his eyes were searching the room for an escape route.
"Heard what? We just came down."
"Lieutenant Koudelka is in hospital this morning."
"Hospital! Good God, why wasn't I told at once? What happened?"
"We were told Commander Illyan would be bringing a full report, my lord. The guard commander . . . thought he'd wait for him."
Alarm struggled with annoyance on Vorkosigan's face. "How bad is he? It's not some . . . delayed aftereffect of the sonic grenade, is it? What happened to him?"
"He was beaten up, my lord," said the footman woodenly.
Vorkosigan sat back with a little hiss. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You get that guard commander in here," he growled.
The footman evaporated instantly, leaving Vorkosigan tapping a spoon nervously and impatiently on the table. He met Cordelia's horrified eyes and produced a small false smile of reassurance for her. Even Piotr looked startled.
"Who could possibly want to beat up Kou?" asked Cordelia wonderingly. "That's sickening. He couldn't fight back worth a damn."
Vorkosigan shook his head. "Someone looking for a safe target, I suppose. We'll find out. Oh, we will find out."
The green-uniformed ImpSec guard commander appeared, to stand at attention. "Sir."
"For your future information, and you may pass it on, should any accident occur to any of my key staff members, I wish to be informed at once. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. It was quite late when word got back here, sir. And since we knew by then that they were both going to live, Commander Illyan said I might let you sleep. Sir."
"I see." Vorkosigan