Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [249]
Cordelia took in the tableau, that paused to look back up at her from around the polished table. Aral was in the center, of course. Illyan and Count Piotr flanked him on either side. Prime Minister Vortala was there, and Kanzian, and some other senior staffers all in formal dress greens. The two double-traitors sat across, with their aides. Clouds of witnesses. She wanted to be alone with Aral, be rid of the whole bloody mob of them. Soon.
Aral's eyes locked to hers in silent agony. His lips curled in an utterly ironic smile. That was all; and yet her stomach warmed with confidence again, sure of him. No frost. It was going to be all right. They were in step again, and a torrent of words and hard embraces could not have communicated it any better. Embraces would come, though, the grey eyes promised. Her own lips curved up for the first time since—when?
Count Piotr's hand slapped down hard upon the table. "Good God, woman, where have you been?" he cried furiously.
A morbid lunacy overtook her. She smiled fiercely at him, and held up the bag. "Shopping."
For a second, the old man nearly believed her; conflicting expressions whiplashed over his face, astonishment, disbelief, then anger as it penetrated he was being mocked.
"Want to see what I bought?" Cordelia continued, still floating. She yanked the bag's top open, and rolled Vordarian's head out across the table. Fortunately, it had ceased leaking some hours back. It stopped faceup before him, lips grinning, drying eyes staring.
Piotr's mouth fell open. Kanzian jumped, the staffers swore, and one of Vordarian's traitors actually fell out of his chair, recoiling. Vortala pursed his lips and raised his brows. Koudelka, grimly proud of his key role in stage-managing this historic moment in one-upsmanship, laid the swordstick on the table as further evidence. Illyan puffed, and grinned triumphantly through his shock.
Aral was perfect. His eyes widened only briefly, then he rested his chin on his hands and gazed over his father's shoulder with an expression of cool interest. "But of course," he breathed. "Every Vor lady goes to the capital to shop."
"I paid too much for it," Cordelia confessed.
"That, too, is traditional." A sardonic smile quirked his lips.
"Kareen is dead. Shot in the melee. I couldn't save her."
He opened his hand, as if to let the nascent black humor fall through his fingers. "I see." He raised his eyes again to hers, as if asking Are you all right?, and apparently finding the answer, No.
"Gentlemen. If you will be pleased to excuse yourselves for a few minutes. I wish to be alone with my wife."
In the shuffle of the men rising to their feet, Cordelia caught a mutter, "Brave man . . ."
She nailed Vordarian's men by eye, as they backed from the table. "Officers. I recommend that when this conference resumes, you surrender unconditionally upon Lord Vorkosigan's mercy. He may still have some." I certainly don't, was the unspoken cap to that. "I'm tired of your stupid war. End it."
Piotr edged past her. She smiled bitterly at him. He grimaced uneasily back. "It appears I underestimated you," he murmured.
"Don't you ever . . . cross me again. And stay away from my son."
A look from Vorkosigan held back her outpouring of rage, quivering on the lip of her cup. She and Piotr exchanged wary nods, like the vestigial bows of two duelists.
"Kou," said Vorkosigan, staring bemusedly at the grisly object lying by his elbow. "Will you please arrange for this thing to be removed to the base morgue. I don't fancy it as a table decoration. It will have to be stored till it can be buried with the rest of him. Wherever that may be."
"Sure you don't want to leave it there to inspire Vordarian's staffers to come to terms?" said Kou.
"No," said Vorkosigan firmly. "It's had a sufficiently salutary effect already."
Gingerly, Kou took the bag from Cordelia, opened it, and used it to capture Vordarian's head without actually touching