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Lady Alys met him near the spaceport, wearing old fashioned peasant’s clothes and looking very like a Vor lady in disguise. But that was alright, there were plenty of Vor women who suddenly found it might be prudent to become anonymous at the moment. So long as no one guessed exactly who she was, and even more importantly, who the very pale, silent twelve year old boy trailing after her was, it would be alright.
Lady Alys carried Miles, asleep and wrapped in a blanket so that he looked like a much younger, less conspicuous child. Just a mother and her three children, unremarkable.
When Alys handed Miles over to Simon he did not wake.
“Drugged?” Simon asked.
“I couldn’t have him arguing and drawing attention,” Lady Alys said.
“Mamere,” Ivan said, looking very much as though he wanted to argue and draw attention.
“You’ll do as Captain Illyan tells you. Look after the Emperor and Miles for me Ivan, please.” Lady Alys only looked as though she wanted to cry if you knew her very, very well. Both Ivan and Simon did.
Ivan looked far more obviously on the verge of tears than his mother did, but he didn’t cry. He stood very straight and nodded to his mother once, decisively. Arguments, Simon was sure had all already been made and overruled.
“Captain,” Lady Alys said, and then seemed at a loss as to what to say next.
Simon had countless images of her stored on his chip, and yet he still felt the instinctive urge to memorize her face.
“Look after yourself, my lady,” Simon said. She nodded.
“I’ll try to meet you later if I have a chance.”
Chances, they both knew, were hard to come by.
But then there could be no more delaying, and Simon took Lord Ivan Vorpatril and the young Emperor of Barrayar and the tiny new Count Vorkosigan away with him into exile.