Chapter Text
Tension has settled on the imperial household like autumn mist. Insubstantial yet all pervasive. Or maybe some kind of airborne poison, almost undetectable without experience and with few cures. Grisha had felt it even through the exhaustion of travel. Now, he pushes at his breakfast, trying his best not to wish he were still camping on the foothills of the Black Escarpment.
The trip had been just as fun as Grisha had hoped. Mikas had given them a stern lecture in the flyer about how it was a learning opportunity, not a holiday, but Mikas is his favorite tutor for a reason. ‘Practical learning opportunities’ mean getting to set up his own tent and preparing dinner and listening to Mikas enthusiastic lectures on geology and botany and whatever else had his interest that day while they hiked. That far from the capitol, Leon and Morgan had been willing to smile a few times. Even Serg had been mostly cheerful. He’d seemed more like his old self again than he had in ages. Still, by the end, he’d been looking forward to coming home.
Grisha is happy to be home. It’s not not good just because it’s tense. Before they’d left, his father had ruffled his hair and said that sleeping in tents was a good way to appreciate a nice bed. And he’d know, because before he was the Emperor, which is very important, father fought against the Cetagandan invaders and sometimes had to sleep in caves for months and months. It was nice to be back in his bed and then wake up in his room with all his stuff, knowing Leon’s standing outside the door watching the familiar servants get everything ready for the day to come. And even better to know that when he went downstairs and out to the garden, he’d find his mother sitting at the table they eat breakfast in on nice days.
It’s just that, maybe, Grisha had hoped that it would feel a little more peaceful. Things had been good when they’d left. He’s certain – almost certain – that they’d been good. There’s always stuff. Whatever Serg likes to say, Grisha isn’t a baby. He knows that being an Emperor is very hard. He’s seen his mother-the-Empress for years and years and people say that being Emperor is even more work, even though when he was little he’d had a hard time imagining that. He knows why Leon is at his door. People never believe him, but he’s sure he remembers when the car had been attacked and Captain Negri had saved him.
Grisha can list all the Counts, and most of their heirs, and their districts. He knows what the districts are like, well, he knows a lot of important things about them. He knows all the ranks and their collar tabs and the right form of address. He knows about Cetaganda and Komarr and has been in spaceships. He knows about Mad Emperor Yuri and isn’t scared at all even though Grandpa yelled at Padma about giving him nightmares and Grampa never yells. He knows that his family is unusual. Mikas says he’s a good student and Mikas wouldn’t lie about that to anyone, not even the Emperor. He’s not stupid.
It’s not stupid to think that things had been okay. The Emperor had passed another important decree, and father had been able to come to dinner more regularly again. Which makes mother happy. Father had taken Serg out riding, even though Serg had spent ages insisting he wouldn’t make the time and being in a bad mood, which had seemed a little like a reason he shouldn’t get to go to Grisha after a third ruined breakfast, but he didn’t really mean it and was glad that he had. Not just because Serg had lived up to his promise of helping put together Grisha’s new model spaceship without saying it was silly. Aunt Sonia had visited without fighting with mother, so he didn’t have to feel bad about liking her present.
Now, just weeks later, the mood at the table is black. Grisha had known that Serg’s good temper wasn’t going to last. He’d been snappish enough when they were flying home to break any hope of that. But they’re all too used to that for it to explain mother’s distraction. Grisha breaks his bread into smaller pieces. He’d suspected she wasn’t totally happy about them being gone for so long. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, because he’d been looking forward to the trip, but she hadn’t added any stories to go with father’s. Of course, she has a lot more chances to tell stories so usually encourages him to go instead so Grisha had let himself ignore it.
Grisha knows his mother isn’t always happy. Most people can’t tell because she’s very good at pretending. Being Empress means being good at pretending, because a lot of the Counts are really very boring but she has to listen to them and their wives and not saying anything about them being boring or rude or stupid. But he sees how she gets, sometimes. Being Empress also means having lots of people around but not really being able to have friends like other people can.
Grisha doesn’t have a lot of friends, either. Some of the children who come to court a lot are okay, but most of them pay more attention to Serg, even though he doesn’t like it. Serg used to be his best friend, but he’d always liked to spend more time alone and these days he doesn’t seem to want to be his friend. There are lots of other people around, plenty of them he likes, but they’re all adults. Sometimes he gets lonely, but he pretends not to be. He thinks mother is maybe a little the same way, even if it’s different for adults. He’d asked her if she was sad a few times, but she always just smiled and said that she could never be said when she had him to cheer her up. She also says it’s good for him to go off on trips, but this was the longest trip yet and she had been left behind with people who aren’t very good at cheering up anyone.
Serg hits him in the head with a piece of bread, breaking Grisha out of his worries. “Stop playing with your food, ninny. Mother’s just worried about Count Vorkosigan’s marriage.”
“We don’t throw food at the table,” mother says, giving Serg the stern look he likes to pretend doesn’t bother him. “And don’t call your brother names. Is that the behavior of someone ‘too old’ to be forced to have breakfast with his family? Apologize, now.”
Serg leans back in his chair, smirking. “I’m so sorry. How can I ever make up for such behavior towards my precious baby brother?”
Grisha lets the familiar argument roll back and forth over his head, as he spreads jam on his bread. This can go for a long time, and it’s usually better if he doesn’t say anything. He has other things to focus on.
Count Vorkosigan is his oldest brother, half-brother. Serg says he can remember when he lived with them, but Grisha had been very young. He’s not mother’s first son, but he was killed a long time ago. Grisha is always careful to light Anatoliy’s incense because he looks nice in the picture, though he doesn’t when Serg is around because he gets upset. In another world he would’ve been Count Vorkosigan and Count Vorkosigan would be Lord Aral. Serg is going to be Count Vorbarra, someday, which seems like a lot but the idea of him being Count Vorbarra instead is awful, even when Serg’s at his very worse.
It’s strange, thinking of Count Vorkosigan as his brother. He can be very – intimidating, as Padma says. And he’s very old. Not like a brother at all, really. Grisha sometimes practices saying things to him in front of Anatoliy’s picture, but he can never say it when they’re together. Instead, he usually just trails along behind, Aral probably thinks he’s dumb.
But Grisha knows that Count Vorkosigan was supposed to marry Lady Nina Vorrutyer years ago, to satisfy Count Vorrutyer’s bloody honor. But mother thought that they were too young, and there was no reason to rush. Which seems sensible to Grisha. Still, they are older now.
“Is Aral getting married?” Grisha asks, carefully inserting himself into a pause in the conversation.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s keeping me a quite busy. It’ll be nice to know he won’t be going back to a bachelor’s apartment at the end of all the fuss.” Mother smiles. Grisha smiles back, trying to look enthusiastic.
Serg was right, this was the source of tension. Grisha can’t help but think it’s about more than organizing wedding festivities.