Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [219]
"Good day, sir. Was your trip a success?"
"Indeed it was. Where is Aral?"
"Gone to Sector Intelligence, I believe, to consult with Illyan about the most recent reports from Vorbarr Sultana."
"Ah? What's happening?"
"Captain Vaagen turned up at our door. He'd been beaten half-senseless, but he still somehow made it from the capital—it seems Vordarian finally woke up to the fact that he had another hostage. His squad looted Miles's replicator from ImpMil, and took it back to the Imperial Residence. I expect we'll hear more from him soon about it, but he's doubtless waited to give us the full pleasure of Captain Vaagen's tale, first."
Piotr threw back his head in a sharp, bitter laugh. "Now there's an empty threat."
Cordelia unclenched her jaw long enough to say, "What do you mean, sir?" She knew perfectly well what he meant, but she wanted to see him run to his limit. All the way, damn you; spit it all out.
His lips twitched, half frown, half smile. "I mean Vordarian inadvertently offers House Vorkosigan a service. I'm sure he doesn't realize it."
You wouldn't say that if Aral were standing here, old man. Did you set this up? God, she couldn't say that to him—"Did you set this up?" Cordelia demanded tightly.
Piotr's head jerked back. "I don't deal with traitors!"
"He's of your Old Vor party. Your true allegiance. You always said Aral was too damned progressive."
"You dare accuse me—!" His outrage edged into plain rage.
Her rage was shadowing her vision with red. "I know you are an attempted murderer, why not an attempted traitor, too? I can only hope your incompetence holds good."
His voice was breathy with fury. "Too far!"
"No, old man. Not nearly far enough."
Drou looked absolutely terrorized. Bothari's face was a stony blank. Piotr's hand twitched, as if he wanted to strike her. Bothari watched that hand, his eyes glittering oddly, shifting.
"While dumping that mutant out of its can is the best favor Vidal Vordarian could do me, I am hardly likely to let him know it," Piotr bit out. "It will be far more amusing to watch him try to play a joker as if it were an ace, and then wonder what went wrong. Aral knows—I imagine he's relieved as hell, to have Vordarian do his job for him. Or have you bewitched him into planning something spectacularly stupid?"
"Aral's doing nothing."
"Oh, good boy. I was wondering if you'd stolen his spine permanently. He is Barrayaran after all."
"So it seems," she said woodenly. She was shaking. Piotr was not in much better case.
"This is a side-issue," he said, as much to himself as her, trying to regain his self-control. "I have major issues to pursue with the Lord Regent. Farewell, Milady." He tilted his head in ironic effort, and turned away.
"Have a nice day," she snarled to his back, and flung herself through the door into Aral's quarters.
She paced for twenty minutes, back and forth, before she trusted herself enough to speak even to Drou, who had squeezed into a corner seat as if trying to make herself small.
"You don't really think Count Piotr is a traitor, do you, Milady?" Droushnakovi asked, when Cordelia's steps finally slowed.
Cordelia shook her head. "No . . . no. I just wanted to hurt him back. This place is getting to me. Has gotten to me." Wearily, she sank into a seat and leaned her head back against the padding. After a silence she added, "Aral's right. I have no right to risk. No, that's not quite correct. I have no right to failure. And I don't trust myself anymore. I don't know what's happened to my edge. Lost it in a strange land." I can't remember. Can't remember how I did it. She and Bothari were twins, right enough, two personalities separately but equally crippled by an overdose of Barrayar.
"Milady . . ." Droushnakovi plucked at her skirts, looking down into her lap. "I was in Imperial Residence Security for three years."
"Yes . . ." Her heart lurched, gulped. As an exercise in self-discipline, Cordelia closed her eyes and did not open them again. "Tell me about that, Drou."
"Negri trained me himself.