Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [214]
"Run it again, Kou," said Cordelia. She had him stop at the best views of Kareen. She studied the frozen face, scarcely less animate than when the holo was running. "She doesn't look woozy or sedated. And her eyes don't look aside the way the Speaker's did."
"Nobody threatening her with a weapon?" Vortala guessed.
"Or perhaps she simply doesn't care," Cordelia suggested grimly.
"Assent, or compulsion?" Vorkosigan repeated.
"Maybe neither. She's been dealing with this sort of nonsense all her adult life . . . what do you expect of her? She survived three years of marriage with Serg, before Ezar sheltered her. She must be a bona fide expert in guessing what not to say and when not to say it."
"But to publicly submit to Vordarian—if she thinks he's responsible for Gregor's death . . ."
"Yes, what does she believe? If she truly thinks her son is dead—even if she doesn't believe you killed him—then all she has left to look out for is her own survival. Why risk that survival for some dramatic futility, if it won't help Gregor? What does she owe you, owe us, after all? We've all failed her, as far as she knows."
Vorkosigan winced.
Cordelia went on, "Vordarian's been controlling her access to information, surely. She may even be convinced he's winning. She's a survivor; she's survived Serg and Ezar, so far. Maybe she means to survive you and Vordarian both. Maybe the only revenge she thinks she'll ever get is to live long enough to spit on all your graves."
One of the staff officers muttered, "But she's Vor. She should have defied him."
Cordelia favored him with a glittery grin. "Oh, but you never know what any Barrayaran woman thinks by what she says in front of Barrayaran men. Honesty is not exactly rewarded, you know."
The staffer gave her an unsettled look. Drou smiled sourly. Vorkosigan blew out his breath. Koudelka blinked.
"So, Vordarian gets tired of waiting and appoints himself Regent," Vortala murmured.
"And Prime Minister," Vorkosigan pointed out in return.
"Indeed, he swells."
"Why not go straight for the Imperium?" asked the staff officer.
"Testing the waters," said Kanzian.
"It's coming, later in the script," opined Vortala.
"Or maybe sooner, if we force his hand a bit," suggested Kanzian. "The last and fatal step. We must consider how to rattle him just a little more."
"Not much longer," Vorkosigan said firmly.
* * *
The ghostly mask of Kareen's face hung before Cordelia's mind's eye all that day, and returned at her waking the next morning. What did Kareen think? What did Kareen feel, for that matter? Perhaps she was as numb as the evidence suggested. Perhaps she was biding her time. Perhaps she was all for Vordarian. If I knew what she believed, I'd know what she was doing. If I knew what she was doing, I'd know what she believed.
Too many unknowns in this equation. If I were Kareen . . . Was this a valid analogy? Could Cordelia reason from herself to another? Could anyone? They had likenesses, Kareen and herself, both women, near in age, mothers of endangered sons. . . . Cordelia took Gregor's shoe from her meager pile of mountain souvenirs, and turned it in her hand. Mama grabbed me back, but my shoe came off in her hand. I should have fastened it tighter. . . . Maybe she should trust her own judgment. Maybe she knew exactly what Kareen was thinking.
When the comconsole chimed, close to the time of yesterday's call, Cordelia shot to answer it. A new broadcast from the capital, new evidence, something to break that circle of unreason? But the face that materialized over the vidplate was not Koudelka, but a stranger with Intelligence insignia on his collar.
"Lady Vorkosigan?" he began deferentially.
"Yes?"
"I'm Major Sircoj, duty-officer at the main portal. It's my job to screen everyone new reporting