to program his own body to punish him for his forbidden thoughts …
“Did I rape you, Milady?”
“Huh? No!” She sat bolt upright, fiercely indignant. They had taken that knowledge away from him? They’d dared take that away from him?
He began to cry, if that’s what that ragged breathing, tight—screwed face, and tears leaking from his eyes meant. Equal parts agony and joy. “Oh. Thank God.” And, “Are you sure … ?”
“Vorrutyer ordered you to. You refused. Out of your own will, without hope of rescue or reward. It got you in a hell of a lot of trouble, for a little while.” She longed to tell him the rest, but the state he was in now was so terrifying, it was impossible to guess the consequences. “How long have you been remembering this? Wondering this?”
“Since I first saw you again. This summer. When you came to marry Lord Vorkosigan.”
“You’ve been walking around for over six months, with this in your head, not daring to ask—?”
“Yes, Milady.”
She sat back, horrified, her breath trickling out between pursed lips. “Next time, don’t wait so long.”
Swallowing hard, he stumbled to his feet, a big hand waving in a desperate wait-for-me gesture. He swung his legs over the low stone wall, and found some bushes. Anxiously, she listened to him dry-vomiting his empty stomach for several minutes. An extremely bad attack, she judged, but finally the violent paroxysms slowed, then stopped. He returned, wiping his lips, looking very white and not much better, except for his eyes. A little life flickered in those eyes now, a half-suppressed light of overwhelming relief.
The light faded, as he sat in thought. He rubbed his palms on his trouser knees, and stared at his boots. “But I’m not less a rapist, just because you were not my victim.”
“That is correct.”
“I can’t … trust myself. How can you trust me? … Do you know what’s better than sex?”
She wondered if she could take one more sharp turn in this conversation without running off screaming. You encouraged him to uncork, now you’re stuck with it. “Go on.”
“Killing. It feels even better, afterwards. It shouldn’t be … such a pleasure. Lord Vorkosigan doesn’t kill like that.” His eyes were narrowed, brows creased, but he was uncurled from his ball of agony; he must be speaking generally, Vorrutyer no longer on his mind.
“It’s a release of rage, I’d guess,” said Cordelia cautiously. “How did you get so much rage, balled up inside of you? The density is palpable. People can sense it.”
His hand curled, in front of his solar plexus. “It goes back a long way. But I don’t feel angry, most of the time. It snaps out suddenly.”
“Even Bothari fears Bothari,” she murmured in wonder.
“Yet you don’t. You’re less afraid even than Lord Vorkosigan.”
“I see you as bound up with him, somehow. And he’s my own heart. How can I fear my own heart?”
“Milady. A bargain.”
“Hm?”
“You tell me … when it’s all right. To kill. And then I’ll know.”
“I can’t—look, suppose I’m not there? When that sort of thing lands on you, there’s not usually time to stop and analyze. You have to be allowed self-defense, but you also have to be able to discern when you’re really being attacked.” She sat up, eyes widening in sudden insight. “That’s why your uniform is so important to you, isn’t it? It tells you when it’s all right. When you can’t tell yourself. All those rigid routines you keep to, they’re to tell you you’re all right, on track.”
“Yes. I’m sworn to the defense of House Vorkosigan, now. So that’s all right.” He nodded, apparently reassured. By what, for God’s sake?
“You’re asking me to be your conscience. Make your judgments for you. But you are a whole man. I’ve seen you make right choices, under the most absolute stress.”
His hands pressed to his skull again, his narrow jaw clenching, and he grated out, “But I can’t remember them. Can’t remember how I did it.”
“Oh.” She felt very small. “Well … whatever you think I can do for you, you’ve got a blood-right to it. We owe you, Aral and I. We remember why, even if you can’t.”
“Remember it for me, then, Milady,” he said lowly “and I’ll be all right.”
“Believe it.”
Chapter Seven
Cordelia shared breakfast one morning the following week with Aral and Piotr in a private parlor overlooking the back garden. Aral motioned to the Count’s footman, who was serving.
“Would you please rout out Lieutenant Koudelka for me? Tell him to bring that agenda for this morning that we were discussing.”
“Uh, I guess you hadn’t heard, my lord?” murmured the man. Cordelia had the impression that his eyes were searching the room for an escape route.
“Heard what? We just came down.”
“Lieutenant Koudelka is in hospital this morning.”
“Hospital! Good God, why wasn’t I told at once? What happened?”
“We were told Commander Illyan would be bringing a full report, my lord. The guard commander … thought he’d wait for him.”
Alarm struggled with annoyance on Vorkosigan’s face. “How bad is he? It’s not some … delayed aftereffect of the sonic grenade, is it? What happened to him?”
“He was beaten up, my lord,” said the footman woodenly.
Vorkosigan sat back with a little hiss. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You get that guard commander in here,” he growled.
The footman evaporated instantly, leaving Vorkosigan tapping a spoon nervously and impatiently on the table. He met Cordelia’s horrified eyes and produced a small false smile of reassurance for her. Even Piotr looked startled.
“Who could possibly want to beat up Kou?” asked Cordelia wonderingly. “That’s sickening. He couldn’t fight back worth a damn.”
Vorkosigan shook his head. “Someone looking for a safe target, I suppose. We’ll find out. Oh, we will find out.”
The green—uniformed ImpSec guard commander appeared, to stand at attention. “Sir.”
“For your future information, and you may pass it on, should any accident occur to any of my key staff members, I wish to be informed at once. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. It was quite late when word got back here, sir. And since we knew by then that they were both going to live, Commander Illyan said I might let you sleep. Sir.”
“I see.” Vorkosigan rubbed his face. “Both?”
“Lieutenant Koudelka and Sergeant Bothari, sir.”
“They didn’t get into a fight, did they?” asked Cordelia, now thoroughly alarmed.
“Yes. Oh—not with each other, Milady. They were set upon.”
Vorkosigan’s face was darkening. “You had better begin at the beginning.”
“Yes, sir. Um. Lieutenant Koudelka and Sergeant Bothari went out last night. Not in uniform. Down to that area in back of the old caravanserai.”
“My God, what for?”
“Um.” The guard commander glanced uncertainly at Cordelia. “Entertainment, I believe, sir.”
“Entertainment?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Bothari goes down there about once a month, on his duty-free day, when my lord Count is in town. It’s apparently some place he’s been going to for years.”
“In the caravanserai?” said Count Piotr in an unbelieving tone.
