Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [445]
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Vorkosigan House's main state dining room boasted seating for ninety-six, when both tables were brought out in parallel; the overflow fit in the chamber immediately beyond, through a wide archway, so that the whole company could sit down at once essentially together. Serving was not Roic's responsibility tonight, but in his role as arbiter of emergencies and general assistant for any guest needing anything, he kept to his feet and moving. Taura was seated at the head table with the principals and the most honored guests—the other most honored guests. Between tall, dark, handsome Lord Ivan and tall, dark, lean Emperor Gregor, she looked really happy. Roic could not wish her anywhere else, but he found himself mentally erasing Ivan and replacing him with himself . . . yet Ivan and the Emperor were the very pattern of witty and debonair. They made Taura laugh, fangs flashing without constraint. Roic would probably just sit there in inarticulate silence and gawp at her . . .
Martya Koudelka passed him in the entryway where he'd temporarily taken up guard stance, and smiled cheerily at him. "Hi, Roic."
He nodded. "Miss Martya."
She followed his glance to the head table. "Taura looks wonderful, doesn't she?"
"Sure does." He hesitated. "How come you're not up there?"
Her voice lowered. "I heard the story about last night from Ekaterin. She asked me if I'd mind trading. I said, God no . Gets me out of having to sit there and make small talk with Ivan, for one thing." She wrinkled her nose.
"It was . . . well thought of, of m'lady."
She hitched up one shoulder. "It was the one honor here that was wholly hers to bestow. The Vorkosigans are amazing, but you have to admit, they do eat you up. They give you a wild ride in return, though." She stood on tiptoe and planted an unexpected kiss on Roic's cheek.
He touched the spot in surprise. "What's that for?"
"For your half of last night. For saving us all from having to live with a really insane Miles Vorkosigan. As long as he lasted." A brief quaver shook her flippant voice. She tossed her blond hair and bounced off.
The toasts were made with the Count's very best wines, including a few historical bottles, reserved for the head table, that had been laid down before the end of the Time of Isolation. Afterward the party moved to the brilliant ballroom, seeming another garden, heady with the scent of a sudden spring. Lord and Lady Vorkosigan opened the dancing. Those who could still move after the dinner followed them onto the polished marquetry floor.
Roic found himself, all too briefly, passing by Taura as she watched the dancers sway and twirl.
"Do you dance, Roic?" she asked him.
"Can't. I'm on duty. You?"
"I'm afraid I don't know any of these dances. Though I'm sure Miles would have foisted an instructor on me if he'd thought of it."
"Actually," he admitted in a lower voice, "I don't know how either."
Her lips curled up. "Well, don't let Miles know if you want it to stay that way. He'd have you out there thumping around before you knew what hit you."
He tried not to snicker. He hardly knew what to say to this, but his parting half-salute did not betoken disagreement.
On the sixth number, m'lady danced past Roic with her eldest brother Hugo.
"Splendid necklace, Kat. From your spouse, is it?"
"No, actually. From one of his . . . business associates."
"Expensive!"
"Yes." M'lady's faint smile made the hairs stir on Roic's arms. "I expect it to cost him everything he has."
They spun away.
Taura nailed it. She'll do for m'lord, all right. And God help . . . their enemies.
Promptly on schedule, the aircar was brought round for the bridal couple's getaway. The night was still fairly young, but it