A Civil Campaign

'I doubt Lord Midnight's father was married to his mother, either,' Ivan observed brightly.

'Both sides were claiming that case as a precedent, last I heard,' Lord Vortala, himself a descendant of the infamous fifth Count, put in. 'One because the horse was confirmed as heir, t' other because the confirmation was later revoked.'

Galeni, listening in fascination, shook his head in wonder, or something like that. Laisa sat back and gnawed gently on her knuckle, and kept her mouth straight. Her eyes only crinkled slightly.

'How's Ren? taking it all?' asked Miles.

'He seems to have become rather reclusive lately,' said Alys, in a worried tone.

'I . . . maybe I'll call on him.'

'That would be a good thing,' said Gregor gravely. 'Sigur is attempting in his suit to attach everything Ren? inherited, but he's let it be known he'd be willing to settle for just the Countship and its entailments. Too, I suppose there are some trifles of property inherited through the female lines which aren't under question.'

'In the meanwhile,' Alys said, 'Sigur has sent a note to my office requesting his rightful place in the wedding procession and the oath-takings as Count Vorbretten. And Ren? has sent a note requesting Sigur be barred from the ceremonies if the case has not yet been settled in his favor. So, Gregor? Which one lays his hands between Laisa's when she's confirmed as Empress, if the Council of Counts hasn't made up what passes for its collective mind by then?'

Gregor rubbed the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. 'I don't know. We may have to have both of them. Provisionally.'

'Together?' said Lady Alys, her lip curling in dismay. 'Tempers are running high, I heard.' She glowered at Ivan. 'Exacerbated by the humor certain low-minded persons seem to find in what is actually an exquisitely painful situation.'

Ivan began to smile, then apparently thought better of it.

'One trusts they will not choose to mar the dignity of the occasion,' said Gregor. 'Especially if their appeal to me is still hanging fire. I suppose I should find some way to let them know that, gently. I am presently constrained to avoid them . . .' His eye fell on Miles. 'Ah, Lord Auditor Vorkosigan. This sounds like a task very much within your purview. Would you be so kind as to remind them both of the delicacy of their positions, if things look to be getting out of hand at any point?'

Since the official job description of an Imperial Auditor was, in effect, Whatever You Say, Gregor, Miles could hardly argue with this. Well, it could have been worse. He shuddered to think of how many chores he might have been assigned by now if he'd been so stupid as to not show up for this meeting. 'Yes, Sire,' he sighed. 'I'll do my best.'

'The formal invitations begin to go out soon,' Lady Alys said. 'Let me know if there are any changes.' She turned over the last page. 'Oh, and have your parents said yet exactly when they'll be arriving, Miles?'

'I've assumed you would know before I did. Gregor?'

'Two Imperial ships are assigned to the Viceroy's pleasure,' said Gregor. 'If there are no crises on Sergyar to impede him, Count Vorkosigan implied he'd like to be here in better time than last Winterfair.'

'Are they coming together? I thought Mother might come early again, to support Aunt Alys,' said Miles.

'I love your mother dearly, Miles,' Lady Alys sighed, 'but after the betrothal, when I suggested she come home to help me with these preparations, she suggested Gregor and Laisa ought to elope.'

Gregor and Laisa both looked quite wistful at the thought, and held hands under the table. Lady Alys frowned uneasily at this dangerous breath of mutiny.

Miles grinned. 'Well, of course. That's what she did. After all, it worked for her.'

'I don't think she was serious, but with Cordelia, one can never quite tell. It's just appalling how this whole subject brings out the Betan in her. I can only be grateful she's on Sergyar just now.' Lady Alys glowered at her flimsy, and added, 'Fireworks.'

Miles blinked, then realized this wasn't a prediction of the probable result of the clash in social views between his Betan mother and his Barrayaran aunt, but rather, the last—thank God—item on today's agenda.

'Yes!' said Gregor, smiling eagerly. All the Barrayarans round the table, including Lady Alys, perked up at this. An inherent cultural passion for things that went boom, perhaps.

'On what schedule?' Lady Alys asked. 'There will of course be the traditional display on Midsummer Day, the evening after the Imperial Military Review. Do you want displays every night on the three days intervening till the wedding, as well as on the wedding night?'

'Let me see that budget,' Gregor said to Ivan. Ivan called it up for him. 'Hm. We wouldn't want the people to become jaded. Let other organizations, such as the city of Vorbarr Sultana or the Council of Counts, foot the displays on the intervening nights. And up the budget for the post-wedding display by fifty percent, from my personal purse as Count Vorbarra.'

'Ooh,' said Ivan appreciatively, and entered the changes. 'Nice.'

Miles stretched. Done at last.

'Oh, yes, I almost forgot,' added Lady Alys. 'Here is your meal schedule, Miles.'

'My what?' Without thinking, he accepted the flimsy from her hand.

'Gregor and Laisa have dozens of invitations during the week between the Review and the Wedding from assorted organizations which wish to honor them—and themselves—ranging from the Imperial Veterans' Corps to the Honorable Order of City Bakers. And Bankers. And Brewers. And Barristers. Not to mention the rest of the alphabet. Far more than they can possibly accept, of course. They will do as many of the most critical ones as they can fit in, but after that, you will have to take the next tier, as Gregor's Second.'

'Did any of these people actually invite me, in my own person?' Miles asked, scanning down the list. There were at least thirteen meals or ceremonies in three days on it. 'Or are they getting a horrible surprise? I can't eat all this!'

'Throw yourself on that unexploded dessert, boy!' Ivan grinned. 'It's your duty to save the Emperor from indigestion.'

'Of course they'll know. You may expect to be called upon to make a number of thank-you speeches appropriate to the various venues. And here,' his mother added, 'is your schedule, Ivan.'

Ivan's grin faded into a look of dismay, as he stared at his own list. 'I didn't know there were that many guilds in this damned town . . .'

A wonderful thought occurred to Miles—he might be able to take Ekaterin along to a sedate selection of these. Yes, let her see Lord Auditor Vorkosigan in action. And her serene and sober elegance would add no little validation to his consequence. He sat up straighter, suddenly consoled, and folded the flimsy and slipped it into his tunic.

'Can't we send Mark to some of these?' asked Ivan plaintively. 'He'll be back in town for this bash. And he's a Vorkosigan too. Outranks a Vorpatril, surely. And if there's one thing the lad can do, it's eat.'

Galeni's brows rose in reluctant agreement with this last assessment, though the look on his face was a study in grim bemusement. Miles wondered if Galeni too was reflecting that Mark's other notable talent was assassination. At least he doesn't eat what he kills.

Miles began to glower at Ivan, but Aunt Alys beat him to it. 'Control