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It'd been in the air, Cordelia decides later, that hint that something was going to happen. The air had had a taste of surprise.
The surprise arrives in the form of a young man who looks about twenty, with a black scraggly spacer's beard and a lithe form that seems to owe more to lack of nutrition than specific genetics. He is wearing ship knits and a haunted look and his eyes are hollow and darting all over when he steps up to the vidplate and asks hoarsely if this is the residence of Captain Cordelia Naismith.
Cordelia's mother scans the boy's ID and turns to Cordelia, puzzled. "Do you know anyone named Peter Kosigan?"
"No...," Cordelia trails off, then her eyes widen. "Yes," she breathes. "Let him in."
Her mother's eyebrows furrow at her, but she keys the door open, and Petya Vorkosigan stumbles in.
He comes to attention quickly, and he looks from Doctor Naismith to Captain Naismith and back again, before settling on Cordelia. "Captain Naismith?"
Cordelia nods. "I am. And you are...?" she prompts him gently.
"Piotr Vorkosigan, ma'am." He pauses, then keeps going, faster and faster. "My father was Aral Vorkosigan, ma'am, of Barrayar, and he spoke very highly of you, the highest, and he told me that you were betrothed, but that was before-- and he said, he swore on his word that he trusted you, and I've been running for months now, ma'am, and, please, if the remembrance of my father does not bring you pain and hard memories, and if you have fond remembrances of him at all, I beg you, ma'am, I need your help."
Cordelia feels the world tip beneath her. The next few minutes are full of getting Petya to sit down at the table and get some food into him, and then Cordelia's mother hands her a cup of tea, which Cordelia uses to warm her hands.
"Is," Cordelia swallows her instinctive Aral. No, don't claim the man, not now, not to his son, not with barely any news coming off of Barrayar in the months since the ascendance of that monster Serg to the throne, "your father dead, then?"
Petya hesitates, then nods, a heavy jerking motion. "I must assume so, ma'am. He-- we knew that once the Emperor, Emperor Ezar, was dead, it would only be hours before my father's arrest for treason. The last I heard, which was news that was two months old, was that he was incarcerated in the Political Education prison, awaiting the final verdict from the Counts. And they couldn't drag it out for very long, not with... so I must assume he's been dead a month or longer, ma'am. My grandfather might be dead, too, we didn't know if Serg would try to tie him onto my father's arrest as an accomplice to his treason, or if he might decide it was too soon and wait instead. We only just managed to get me off planet before Ezar died, I've been trying to catch up with the news since, but it's slow and it's hard and it's old before I can get it, and I don't know, ma'am. But I assume he's dead. I have to."
Cordelia reaches across the table and rests her hand on Petya's. That was no worse than the little news that had managed to come through to Beta. No one cared about Barrayar itself, only as it reflected on the Barrayaran-Escobaran war. Inter-Barrayaran politics weren't considered of interest. But the Butcher of Komarr arrested for treason and war crimes had made the news nets with a vengeance. Cordelia remembers a brief mention in one of them, that the Butcher's son was missing and presumed a prisoner of their secret police. But that must have been the official lie, a cover-up over the boy's escape.
"How did you get off-planet?" she asks, doing her best to sound like she's congratulating him for cleverness, not assigning blame that his father didn't survive. Oh, Aral, my dearest enemy.
"Not easily, but quickly," Petya says. "Snuck out in the middle of the night. Da stayed behind to distract the political officers, make them think they still had me boxed in at the Academy. Padma signed me out, got me to the shuttleport. The independent merchants knew which way the wind was blowing, knew we were on the verge of a bloody transfer of power, which means another civil war, and that's bad for business. There were a few of us, trying to beat it all -- I think I was the only Vor, but I couldn't be sure, we didn't ask questions of each other, any of us. Mostly it was off-worlders, I think." That all in one breath, then he hiccups. "Padma ran off after, distracting them. I don't know if he's alive either. He refused to come with me. I begged him, him and Alys and she's pregnant, or she was, and I don't know, I don't have news of them, I haven't heard a word, the last thing my father said to me was to run and never come back, because coming back is my death," Petya breaks off, doubled over, hyperventilating.
Mother thrusts a kerchief into Petya's hand, then exchanges glances over his head with Cordelia. Cordelia shrugs. She has no idea what to do, either. But in any better world, this boy would have become her step-son. Aral had been up-front with her about this boy, the same way he had been up-front about the rest of his family. It is so easy to remember Aral's eyes when he had told her about his son and the danger his family was in. He had looked as haunted and hunted as his son does now.
Aral had said, in that last unguarded moment before Cordelia was taken to the camp, that they could not be allowed to fail. Cordelia had assumed he'd meant the invasion of Escobar. She isn't so sure of that now.
But it's too late to ask him, she thinks, and, oh, is it a painful thought.
Petya's face is a picture of the grief that Cordelia feels. "I've been running since, ma'am, and it took me time, I had to get good papers, fake ones, and slip under the radar, and there's a warrant for my arrest and a bounty on me, last I heard it was for me alive, which means that Uncle Ges put it out, not Serg, because Serg would be happy with just my body, and Uncle Ges wants more than that. And the second set had to be a name I could legally claim, to get onto Beta, because Alys thought I might be able to get political asylum here, and you aren't going to get that if you enter under false pretenses, they'd just hand me over to the Barrayaran Embassy and they would ship me home under guard even without an Imperial order. And I don't know," he inhales sharply. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, ma'am, and please, I beg you, I need your counsel."
Cordelia watches her mother's face carefully and at the specific name, Mother's eyes meet Cordelia's in a silent accusation, and Cordelia smiles faintly, an acknowledgement that she'd known who that rapist Vorrutyer was to Aral, and hadn't said a word. After all, who doesn't have unpleasant relatives? Some unpleasant relatives are simply more unpleasant than others.
"I will give you any help I can," Cordelia says softly to Petya, trying to figure out his pattern of flinches and avoid the most obvious ones. On the run since the old Emperor's death would have had him in a constant state of tension for four months now. That poor boy. "My word on it."
Petya smiles at her, clearly relieved. "Thank you, ma'am. I know that... my father said that... I know you had a bad time of things from my own side in the war, and I was hoping... mostly, the most I was hoping for was that you would let me leave without alerting your police," he admits. "I couldn't let myself hope. I can't."
Cordelia's mother sits down at the table, putting herself on the other side of Cordelia. Oh, good. She'd remembered what Cordelia had said about how Aral had reacted to being put into any situation that might have blocked an escape route. "You are going to apply for political asylum?" she asks gently, with the tone of someone who has raised two children and knows how to cut through panic.
"If-- if you think it would have any chance of being approved," Petya says. "I'm one-eighth Betan, ma'am, my grandmother's mother was Jacqueline Gusset, she was Betan, she worked for your government and she met Prince Xav when he came here to set up trade relationships and-- and I don't think that's enough to establish a claim for inherited Betan citizenship, not if I'm reading your constitution correctly, it would help me in my application for it, but it wouldn't make it go faster, and I would need it to go fast enough to protect me once Serg finds out I'm here -- and he's going to, my god, who else would show up on Beta with a Barrayaran accent claiming to be a prole named, for all intents and purposes, Piotr Vorkosigan, other than someone with a terrible case of wanting to die -- when he finds out, he's going to shout at the Betans to give me up, and the Barrayarans could sweep in and grab me, because they have a valid arrest order and I can't appeal to Beta to protect me, because they don't have cause. It would just be them harboring a fugitive and the Embassy could grab me and Beta couldn't argue in court that they would be wrong to arrest me."
"The Barrayaran Emperor isn't a popular person on Beta," Mother soothes him. "We understand that he's a danger to his own subjects."
"I can prove they'll kill me if I go back," Petya soldiers on, unhearing, "or maybe I can't, but I can prove that they'll lock me up for a long time, and if they let Uncle Ges at me-- last I heard, Serg had appointed him Prime Minister and had had Grishnov executed, but that might not have been true, things were all so mixed up and everything was third or fourth hand, what I would have given for one of Negri's ImpSec reports, he was giving them to my grandfather by the end, and I saw some of them, now those were beautiful and straight-forward and analytical, and I would have given so much for one of their top-level summaries of what was going on back home--"
"I think you should apply," Mother says firmly. "Ges Vorrutyer is a name with a lot of meaning behind it on Beta, we know how monstrous he is. You can explain to the committee that he's your uncle and that makes you more at risk from him, not less, and that will gain you a lot of support immediately, even before you add that your Emperor murdered your father."
"It wasn't murder," Petya objects quickly, "not murder, not at all, he had him tried first, that was what everyone said, he didn't just kill him, he tried him for treason and if the Counts convicted him, it was legal, it may not have been just or even accurate, it may have been full of Grishnov's lies, and it probably was, my father was no traitor, not even to Serg, who he hated, but if it was a Count's sentencing, then he was a condemned traitor and he died for treason, that's not murder, murder would be what Yuri did, and we killed him for it, my da and my gran'da and Ezar and Xav and the Counts, they all killed him, and the Emperor's breath is law, but the Counts have law, too, and it was legal, ma'am, it was legal."
"It's okay, Petya," Cordelia says. "We believe you."
Petya bites his bottom lip and looks at her dubiously. But he nods. "Yes, ma'am. I'm... I'm sorry. Have I-- did I say that? My father spoke so highly of you, and I was hoping, I was hoping so much... and I am so sorry. For you, ma'am, because I know you must have-- I know that my father's feelings were not in a vacuum. I know he cared for you greatly and he had great plans, he wanted to show you our planet, he was hoping you would love it as much as he does. Did."
And then he does start crying.
The next few days are full of enough uniforms to make Cordelia think she's back on a Barrayaran war ship. The combined weight of Betan security and Betan diplomacy descends upon her home, and Cordelia watches, helping as much as the boy will let her, as Petya throws himself on their mercy and begs for asylum. He gets it, Cordelia thinks, none too soon; she's spotted several Barrayaran-looking shadows nearby. One of them seems to be following Petya around, but the Betan security officers assigned to all of them are doing an excellent job of keeping Petya un-kidnapped.
Petya objects to staying with them permanently, claiming that he doesn't want to be any kind of burden on them when they've already helped so much, but the combined Naismith glowers convince him to stay until he's gotten himself on his feet. The boy had admitted, seeming almost ashamed of it, to have been a student at Barrayar's most elite military academy and therefore had no idea what he was supposed to do with himself on Beta.
Cordelia, dryly, had suggested school. Petya had brightened up at that, and then started combing through course lists for all the colleges and universities in Silica. Cordelia hadn't realized just how many of them there were until she was explaining to Petya exactly what certain terms meant and why, as a Barrayaran, he might want to delay taking some of those classes until he had integrated more thoroughly.
Petya had blushed a deep red that reminded Cordelia with a pang of Ensign Dubauer, and then turned to more practical courses. He was, he told the Betan security officer assigned to his case, going to study political theory with a focus on democratic governments.
It's probably a sign of how long Cordelia has spent around Barrayarans -- and around one Barrayaran in particular, she thinks with a further pang -- but Petya's actions are, to her, very transparent. He's trying to charm the Betans, make them believe that if he is ever allowed to go home, he will introduce reforms on Barrayar to turn it into Beta. And meanwhile, Petya gets to bide his time until he decides what he really wants to do. It's a win-win situation all around, but calculated to encourage the Betans to trust Petya as a potential convert to their political theory, instead of distrusting him on principle as the Butcher's son.
It takes several months for the haunted look to fade from around Petya's eyes, and he is still careful about where he positions himself in a room. With effort, he integrates well into the Naismith family, and Cordelia's brother eventually relaxes around him enough to let Petya babysit. Petya seems honestly honored by being trusted with a child, but when Jason and Sander return to pick up Mattie, Petya turns around and Cordelia sees that look return.
Petya rubs his hand over his face. "The baby was supposed to be named Ivan," he whispers. "And I don't know anything."
They have news alerts set up across the news nets and everything that even mentions Barrayar finds its way to the Naismith household. There isn't a lot, but Petya is good at picking apart the crumbs and figuring out the shape of the bread they must have come from. There's a full-fledged civil war, with at least four different factions and shifting alliances. Petya mumbles names under his breath and he writes them on slips and moves them around. An intelligence agent visits and Petya debriefs his speculation to her, and she nods, and doesn't confirm or deny anything, and when she leaves, Petya runs his hands through his hair, and doesn't say anything for the rest of the night, just sits in the kitchen and moves his hands around the table, invisibly arranging and rearranging his thoughts, and doesn't let anybody behind him.
When Barrayar does return to the news, it's with a vengeance. The death of the Empress Kareen is big news, and the trashier sources are playing it up as a romantic tragedy. The more serious ones are analyzing the murder. Betan Intelligence sits Petya down before telling him about it and he doesn't seem surprised at all.
"Plasma arc to the face," he predicts. At their looks, he smiles. "I recognize the style. Watch me: I will now tell you exactly what's being said in Vorbarr Sultana. Serg is screaming that this is my grandfather's fault, that it's the traditional Vorkosigan way, and using my mother's death as proof. But my grandfather wouldn't do this. He gains nothing from Kareen's death, there is absolutely no revenge to be had, and it would shatter his relationship with the Vorinnises. If my cousin Padma is still alive," and he says that swiftly, clearly not allowing himself time to dwell on the thought, "it would fracture my grandfather's relationship with him, and if Padma is alive, he is indispensable."
"So who do you think is to blame for the murder?" asks the most senior agent in the room, the only one who didn't seem surprised that Petya had seen this coming.
"Ges Vorrutyer isn't stupid, so it was probably him. Serg would have wanted to keep her alive. Ges, on the other hand, understands propaganda better, and he has certain ideas of revenge, and also understands when his pawns have outlived their usefulness. Serg is possessive, Ges merely obsessive. Killing Kareen would be a propaganda coup. It paints Prince Gregor in a sympathetic light as the poor boy who lost his mother to his father's political enemies, and hurts my grandfather with accusations of further treason. It also frees Serg to enter into a different political marriage. Possibly with the daughter of one of the rebelling factions... there might be a Vordarian daughter of the right age, I'm not sure, it depends on who our new widows are. Marissa Vordarian married a Vorhovis; if her husband is dead, she would be my first guess as our new Empress."
"The story being spread is that this is revenge for your father's death."
Petya's flinch is probably only visible to those who know him. "And how did General Count Vorkosigan enter the Imperial Residence? This is his third ground war and the second time he's been in open revolt against a reigning Emperor. He just doesn't make mistakes like this, and he would never try to send a squad into the Residence to kill someone. There's nothing to be gained by doing it, and everything to lose. I don't think Ges did it himself, but I think one of his creatures did it for him. Someone on the Empress's security, someone trustworthy enough to do it, but disposable enough that he could vanish afterwards and not be missed. If this were five years ago, I could probably give you a name, but now, I don't know who his puppets are. But look for someone on the Empress's security staff who simply vanished. That, in my opinion, is your murderer. Not my grandfather."
"You don't think he would kill a woman?"
"I don't think he would kill Kareen," Petya corrects. "I know he's killed women in war. I know he's killed many people. But no, I don't think he killed Kareen. He doesn't benefit from her death, and Ges and Serg do." He grimaces. "Poor Gregor. He must be scared of his own guards now. He must realize that, even if it was my grandfather, it was a serious failure of security."
"And if it was Prime Minister Vorrutyer," says the most senior official, "do you think he may have done it without the Emperor's knowledge?"
Petya shakes his head. "Oh, no. Ges knows better than that. Much better. He's spent the last decade positioning himself to become the power behind the throne. He isn't going to give that up over a mistake like that. If Ges did it, Serg knew about it and authorized it."
"To kill his own wife?"
"You believe the worst of Serg," Petya asks. "but you won't believe that? I do. Easily. If there was anyone on Barrayar who knew exactly what kind of a monster Serg is, it was Kareen. So, yes. I do think it's much more likely that the Emperor ordered the death of the Empress, and not General Vorkosigan."
Betan Intelligence picks Petya's brains a few more times that season, and Petya seems to be making an effort to be pleasant. But he's always quiet afterwards, lost inside his own head, and after a session where he had been prompted repeatedly about supply lines, asks Cordelia softly if she thinks that he is a traitor to Barrayar for keeping this part of his deal with Beta Colony.
"I can't give them security-sensitive information," Petya admits, "because I don't know any. But giving them my analysis, that was what I agreed to do, I gave them my word. But I feel like a traitor with every breath I give voice to in those rooms."
And then one day, after months of nothing off of Barrayar but word of more fighting, a company of Betan security officers arrives at their doorstep and conducts them to a receiving room, where there are five Barrayaran officers in dress uniforms waiting for them, along with the usual bundle of Betan personnel.
Petya tenses and takes up a position against the wall, as close to the door as he can be without being on the other side.
"The Emperor's compliments," says one of the Barrayaran officers, and Petya bristles, his hands flat against the wall behind him. "He requests your presence at the Winterfair Ball. He has a role for you in his government, Lord Vorkosigan, and on his honor, he guarantees your safety."
"I doubt the existence of Serg Vorbarra's honor," Petya hisses, and from the reactions of the Barrayaran officers, that is possibly the worst insult that exists on their planet.
"This message came from the Lord Regent," the officer begins and Petya's face goes even more frozen.
"I don't think Ges Vorrutyer has any honor, either."
"We are going about this backwards," says an officer standing next to the first and who bears a sharp resemblance to Petya. A cousin? "Piotr, what was the last news you had from home?"
"What's been on the news nets," Petya says. "And if you think I'm going to turn myself in for arrest just because they've sent you to do it, you are all out of your minds."
"I'm a show of good faith, Piotr," says the officer. His uniform declares his rank to be Captain and his name to be Vorinnis, which is unhelpful. The Vor don't seem to have assimilated the idea yet that having more names makes it easier to tell people apart. Identifying clan structures only goes so far. At some point, it just becomes needlessly confusing. On the other hand, Cordelia muses, Petya certainly doesn't seem to be having any problems telling them apart. Maybe you have to be Barrayaran to understand their system. But at least someone understands it. "I arrived from Barrayar yesterday and I hand carry messages for your eyes."
"You can take those messages and--"
Captain Vorinnis puts both his hands up. "Piotr, look at me. I'm not trying to intimidate you. I want to brief you, goddammit. So let us brief you."
Petya glares at him. "What assurances do I have, other than your existence?"
"Your arrest warrant is gone," Vorinnis says. "All the bounties on you have been canceled. Now will you please sit down and let me redeem my word?"
That seems to take Petya by surprise. "Your word of honor, Lord Vorinnis?" he asks strangely. "As officer?"
"As Vor," Vorinnis says. "Will you sit?" he asks kindly.
Petya looks at him for a moment, then nods. "Very well." He sits down at the table, in front of a vidscreen.
"On my word as Vorinnis," Vorinnis says, "to discharge my duty to my Emperor and give these messages to your hand directly." He hands one to Petya, and Petya studies it for a moment and then hands it back to Vorinnis, who accepts it and begins.
The message blinks up and Petya hisses in sharply. The man on the screen greatly resembles Aral, but with an extra thirty or forty years on him. He is wearing a sharp uniform and he is sitting down.
"Lord Vorkosigan," the man begins, and surely this must be that storied grandfather, the man who twice revolted against an Emperor, "if this doesn't find you well, more heads will roll."
Petya makes a choked sound that Cordelia is amused to recognize as laughter being surprised out of him.
"I don't know what kind of news you've been getting on that benighted planet. No climate to speak of, I don't know how you're managing it. Serg is dead."
Petya swears loudly.
"Ges Vorrutyer isn't yet. He's being tried for his crimes. Your cousin Padma, his wife, and his son are all fine. Gregor is alive and well. I have taken up the position of his Regent--"
"WHAT?"
"--until he comes of age. I have placed my hands between his as Count Vorkosigan and the Counts who have yet to swear have been given a grace period before they will be held as traitors." Count Vorkosigan looks directly ahead and Cordelia watches as Petya swallows uncomfortably. "Come home, boy," Petya's grandfather orders. "We need you here, not wasting away in some damn desert."
The message ends and Petya waves away Vorinnis, who is trying to press something into his hand.
"You don't have to listen to him," says one of the Betans helpfully, and all the Barrayaran officers turn as one to glare at him. "You have asylum here and you don't have to give it up just because there's been another coup."
"The second message, my lord," says Vorinnis, and the rest of the Barrayarans follow his lead in ignoring the Betan side of the table, "is a private message for you from Colonel Vorpatril."
Petya mouths that title, and then smiles. "Which you have, of course, already seen. Let's have it, Timothy."
This time, the man behind a desk is younger. Cordelia guesses he's late-thirties, but it's hard to tell. He has several scars crossing his face, marching down his neck and up into his hair. Petya swears under his breath. "My god, Padma--"
"Hello, Petya," says Vorpatril, smiling, "fancy meeting you here. Surprised? Don't be, they promote fast in war." His eyes flick downwards and Cordelia follows the eye-line down to the rank tabs. "Your grandfather will be sending you a more formal message and he'll probably make a muddle of emotions, as usual. And he'll probably give you as little information as possible and expect you to just trust him on the rest, as usual. So here I am, as usual."
Petya rolls his eyes, but it can't fight the grin on his face.
"The most important thing is that Serg is dead," he continues. "The story currently being spread is that I killed him. I was incarcerated, there was an altercation, I got the upper hand, and in the end, I was the one who survived. Most people aren't questioning it, for obvious reasons," and he points lazily to his face, "and so that's the story we're encouraging. If you decide to come home, I'll give you the real one.
"You don't have to come home. The Betans will tell you that themselves, but I'm going to do it first. You don't have to give up sanctuary on Beta. You can choose to stay there. Barrayar will not, will not, dispute it, and we'll do what we can to aid in your citizenship process, should you continue it. This on my word as Vorpatril.
"Your father, I think, would have wanted you to stay. We managed to let him know, when word came that you'd been granted political asylum. One of our operatives whispered it to him in the Great Square, and he indicated to her that he was pleased that you managed it and very proud of you and he was glad you were safe. We couldn't save him, I'm sorry. We tried, but Serg was too careful. We got some messages back and forth, but he died there. I am so sorry, Petya. We did what we could -- don't ever think he was sacrificed by our side as a necessary loss -- but we weren't successful.
"Ges Vorrutyer is still alive, that's the bad news, and another reason I know you might not feel safe coming home. I've been saying in staff meetings that we should send him to the Escobarans as proof of good faith, but it's not gaining traction. Maybe we'll send them his corpse to prove he's dead. Count Vorrutyer-- well, if you come back, I'll give you the political briefing your grandfather won't let me give you over something that could be seen by anyone.
"Alys is well. The pregnancy was horrifying; Ivan decided to be two weeks late. We were scared he wasn't ever going to come out. He took his time with it, but he's been off like a flash since then, growing like a weed, or like a Vor family tree. He's getting so big. He'd love to meet you.
"And for the rest," Vorpatril looks to the side, and nods carefully, "I will let some visuals speak for me." He keys something below the viewer. "For things that can't be said in words." A few images scroll by in one minute increments. A headless body that it takes Cordelia too long a moment to recognize as Serg Vorbarra's, and she feels sick when she does. A solemn boy, wearing dark play clothes, with a grown man kneeling in front of him. A smiling woman holding a baby, who must be Alys and Ivan. A fresh grave with Aral Xav Vorkosigan written on a headstone, and tears threaten to overpower Cordelia entirely.
Vorpatril is still speaking as the images fade away. "And as for myself, I do want you home, Petya. We need all the hands we can get to rebuild. Your grandfather has plans for you, but please, forget about those, you know how the old man is with contingency plans. They've won him three wars, so I can't argue with their usefulness, but they have no place here. Come home. But make it your choice, not mine or his.
"We've gotten reports that you're at school on Beta. That's good. You know the old general can't give you a direct order in this? You were never commissioned, and I think we can call you quit of the academy by now. There're some minor details to take care of, but you don't owe the general any military obedience," Vorpatril says, voice going harsh. Then he sits back in his chair. "But he is your grandfather and he holds your vassal oath. But your father gave me leave to speak with his Voice to you." Vorpatril's frown deepens. "And Aral Vorkosigan says to his son, do what you think is right and damn all the politics. His breath and voice, Petya."
Vorpatril gives the recorder a lazy salute, and then vanishes.
Vorinnis allows Petya a long moment to compose himself, and then sits down across from him. "Well, Lord Vorkosigan?"
Petya looks beyond him, into the darkness. "What else was in the courier package, Lord Vorinnis?"
"A House Vorkosigan cadet uniform," Vorinnis says. "You know the color."
Petya nods slowly. "Yes... I do. We're all going to be in mourning for years, might as well get started immediately."
Vorinnis, for some reason, looks triumphant. "And your decision, my lord?"
"I want proof of good faith," Petya says abruptly. "He'll know what it is."
Vorinnis reaches down into a diplomatic pouch and pulls out a dagger. He places it carefully on the table, handle towards Petya. "Breath and voice, but loyalty must be testified."
Petya exhales slowly. And then he looks to Cordelia. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, milady. I will never forget it. And I will be leaving immediately."
"You don't have to," says one of the Betan officers.
"As a Count's Heir, I will be held as a traitor if I don't make oath to the new Emperor," Petya says. "And we've had enough treason for a lifetime. I can't honestly believe the Counts agreed to make Count Vorkosigan the Lord Regent, but I suppose it's extremely difficult to lead a revolt against yourself. I suspect that factored in. Personally," Petya says to Vorinnis, "I would have suggested Vorhalas. Or didn't he survive?"
"The Lord Regent," Vorinnis says, still smiling, "has considered your objections and would like to tell you his plans in person. With the permission of the Betan Space Authority, we can be gone within the hour."
Cordelia knows she should object strenuously. But Petya was never her prisoner. And he was never her step-son. "Keep in touch," she tells him instead of asking him why on earth he would ever choose to go back to that benighted planet.
"I will, milady," he promises her.
They don't quite manage to leave within the hour, but it turns out that it takes much less paperwork and fuss to break asylum status than it takes to gain it. Petya is gone by nightfall in a whirlwind of security officers and uniforms, and Cordelia resigns herself to never hearing from Aral's son again.
She is pleasantly surprised when she receives the first message from Petya. He looks years older, but he's smiling. He's been named the Emperor's guardian, he says, which is both to keep a distance between the Lord Regent and the child Emperor, and also to make the line of succession abundantly clear, should the Lord Regent die before the Emperor achieves his majority. He is not living with his grandfather, he is living in the Imperial Residence, because even Barrayaran barbarians know better than to leave a young boy alone at night, with only his security and servants for company. Ges Vorrutyer is dead. There is a great deal of politics going on, enough to keep Petya busy for the rest of his life. His father, he says, though he died for treason, did not die in vain.
They correspond through the years, and when Cordelia finally visits Barrayar, ten years after Aral's death, the Emperor bows over her hand and says, "I am in your debt, Captain Naismith."