Read Online The warrior's apprentice by Lois McMaster Bujold - Free Book Online

relative. He opened again, more quietly. “Why was Elena crying, son? You weren’t, ah, harassing her, were you?”
    “No, sir. I know what it looked like, but it wasn’t. I’ll give you my word, if you like.”
    “Not necessary.” Count Vorkosigan pulled up a chair. “I trust you were not emulating that idiot Ivan. But, ah—your mother’s Betan sexual philosophy has its place—on Beta Colony. Perhaps here too, someday. But I should like to emphasize that Elena Bothari is not a suitable test case.”
    “Why not?” said Miles suddenly. Count Vorkosigan raised his eyebrows. “I mean,” Miles explained quickly, “why should she be so—so constrained. She gets duenna d to death. She could be anything. She’s bright, and she’s, she’s good-looking, and she could break me in half— why shouldn’t she get a better education, for instance? The Sergeant isn’t planning any higher education for her at all. Everything he’s saved is for dowry. And he never lets her go anyplace. She’d get more out of travel— hell, she’d appreciate it a thousand times more than any other girl I know.” He paused, a little breathless.
    Count Vorkosigan pursed his lips, and ran his hand thoughtfully across the chair back. “This is all very true. But Elena—means enormously more to the Sergeant than I think you are aware. She is a symbol to him, of everything he imagines... I’m not sure how to put this. She is an important source of order in his life. I owe it to him to protect that order.”
    “Yes, yes, right and proper, I know,” said Miles impatiently. “But you can’t owe everything to him and nothing to her!”
    Count Vorkosigan looked disturbed, and began again. “I owe him my life, Miles. And your mother’s. In a very real sense, everything I’ve been and done for Barrayar in the last eighteen years is owed to him. And I owe him your life, twice over, since then, and so my sanity— what there is of it, as your mother would say. If he chooses to call in that debt, there’s no bottom to it.” He rubbed his lips introspectively. “Also—it won’t hurt to emphasize this anyway—I’d much prefer to avoid any kind of scandal in my household at the moment. My adversaries are always groping for a handle on me, some lever to move me. I beg you will not let yourself become one.”
    And what the hell is going on in the government this week? Miles wondered anew. Not that anybody’s likely to tell me. Lord Miles Naismith Vorkosigan. Occupation: security risk. Hobbies: falling off walls, disappointing sick old men to death, making girls cry... He longed to patch things up with Elena, at least. But the only thing he could think of that might put her imagination-generated terrors to rest would be actually finding that blasted grave, and as near as he could figure, it had to be on Escobar, mixed in with those of the six or seven thousand war dead left behind so long ago.
    Between opening his mouth, and speaking, the plan possessed him. The result was that he forgot what he’d been about to say, and sat with his mouth open a moment. Count Vorkosigan raised his eyebrows in courteous inquiry. What Miles finally said instead was, “Has anyone heard from Grandmother Naismith lately?”
    Count Vorkosigan’s eyes narrowed. “Curious that you should mention her. Your mother has spoken of her quite frequently in the last few days.”
    “Makes sense, under the circumstances. Although Grandmother’s such a healthy old bird—all Betans expect to live to be 120, I guess. They think it’s one of their civil rights.”
    Miles’s Betan grandmother, seven wormhole jumps and three weeks travel time away by the most direct route— via Escobar. A carefully chosen commercial passenger liner might well include a layover at Escobar. Time for a little tourism—time for a little research. It could be done subtly enough, even with Bothari hanging over his shoulder. What could be more natural than for a boy interested in military