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“Happy birthday, Mark!” Lord Vorkosigan bellowed.
Mark winced, trying to pull the comforter further up over his head. Oh, gods, why did I agree to this?
Birthdays had been a null concept for Mark his whole life. He hadn’t even known his date of decanting – birth – until the Countess – Mother – had told him last fall during one of their many memorable discussions. She and the Count – Father – had seemed content enough to let him ignore it. But Miles, well, once it occurred to his progenitor-brother that Mark had never had a birthday party, there was simply no stopping him.
Of course, his argument in favor had also been compelling: “I’m back to the Dendarii in a few weeks. Then you’re bound for Beta Colony, while Mother and Father are taking off to Sergyar. Who knows when we’ll all be on the same planet at the same time next!”
So Mark had grudgingly agreed to a celebration.
But why the hell do birthdays have to start so early?
To be fair, it was 0830, not the crack of dawn. But Mark was not a morning person. He wasn’t sure what he was. Sleep was a highly elusive necessity for him, always had been. And last night it had almost entirely eluded him; he’d only slipped into real slumber perhaps two hours before his brother barged into his room without so much as a courtesy knock.
Miles sat down on the edge of the bed, singing “Happy Birthday” completely off-key.
“Go ‘way!” Mark growled, snatching up a loose pillow and throwing it in the general direction of the noise.
Killer whined but Mark soothed him down. Brother, remember? We don’t have the energy anyway. Killer subsided reluctantly.
His brother held out a large mug of what Mark desperately hoped was coffee. With a groan he rolled up on one elbow and reached for the proffered cup.
“You may almost have redeemed yourself, brother,” he muttered, taking a cautious sip to find it was, indeed, black coffee.
“Glad to hear it,” Miles chirped. “Finish it quickly, then get showered and dressed. Ivan will be here in an hour.”
“Ivan’s coming?! Good gods, why would you invite him?”
“He’s family, Mark.”
“He hates me!”
“He doesn’t…” –but even Miles could not complete the line as he’d been intending and changed course midstream– “get a choice in the matter any more than you do. He’ll forgive you eventually.”
Mark favored Miles with a glare he hoped conveyed how dead his brother would be if a multitude of people, himself included, hadn’t literally just expended thousands of hours – not to mention literal blood, sweat, and tears – to return him from that state. Miles, naturally, completely failed to notice, instead scrambling to his feet, and marching over to Mark’s wardrobe; some servant had unpacked his clothing upon their arrival at Vorkosigan Surleau as surreptitiously as they had packed it up at the Hassadar residence.
“Do you have anything festive to wear?”
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to be festive?”
Unleashing his best Admiral Naismith grin, the one that seemed to sneak past almost everyone’s defenses, and common sense, even Mark’s, Miles said: “Fake it ‘til you make it, brother!”
“There’s a green one,” Mark replied sullenly. “That’s the best I can do.”
“Ah!”
Miles reached in to retrieve a linen suit so dark green it was nearly black. He tsked quietly but didn’t offer any overt criticism. Then from somewhere in the depths of the huge wooden cabinet, he produced a dress shirt of subdued gold that Mark was very certain he’d never seen before; he wouldn’t take a bet on whether it was his size or not. Whoever had procured it could be counted on to know his measurements to the millimeter, regardless of how much weight he gained or lost.
As he had informed Miles last Winterfair, Mark had settled on a weight, at least for the time being. But he hadn’t counted on how assiduously he would have to work to maintain it with Gorge and Howl as constant companions. A couple month in, he’d given in and obtained several different types of diet drugs from an apothecary in the District capital, but it was still a virtual arms race.
He couldn’t wait to get to Beta Colony where he could learn some better methods for dealing with his Black Gang. He loved them, honestly, for what they had done to preserve him in those horrifying days as prisoner of Ryovol, but they were also quite a nuisance in ‘normal’ life.
Miles had finished selecting his outfit, including a belt and shoes, and laid everything out on the bench at the foot of the bed. “It really should be hung on the clothes valet,” he remarked, jerking a thumb at the ornate wooden stand next to the wardrobe. “But I make a terrible batman.”
Thinking of the clutter his progenitor-brother left wherever he went, Mark quipped: “You don’t say.”
Miles’ face scrunched briefly in offense then smoothed out in an amused smile. “You sound like Mother.”
Having no witty reply to that, Mark hid his awkwardness in an injudicious swallow of his coffee. It burned on the way down; Howl smirked with Mark’s face. Knock it off! he scolded.
Belatedly blowing on the beverage, he eyed his brother sourly. “Are you going to stay and watch me get ready?”
“Only long enough to make sure you get up.”
Mark glared more daggers. Miles shrugged unrepentantly.
“Fine!” Mark forced himself to set the coffee down and throw aside the covers. Then, taking the mug up again, he stomped over to the fresher.
“I’ll be back in half an hour,” his brother said cheerfully, letting himself out of the room.
Mark almost ran over to lock the door, but Miles would probably have an override. Because Miles was the Heir after all. And Mark was just the lowly, unplanned Spare.
With these black thoughts spinning in his head, he turned the water on as hot as it would go.
********
As promised, or threatened, Miles returned for him at 0900. It wasn’t really necessary as Mark knew his way around the lake house, but his brother seemed to feel obliged to escort him. He took them out to the deck, where a table was set for breakfast.
The Count and Countess were already present, along with newly minted Commodore Jole, who was visiting his mentor and friend while on leave. He had arrived late the night before and would be shipping out to return to his fleet about the same time as Miles.
“Good morning, Mark!” the Countess caroled in far too cheerful a voice. “And happy birthday!”
“Yes, happy birthday, boy!” the Count echoed.
“Happy birthday, Lord Mark,” Jole said politely, with a nod of his blond head.
“Thank you, Commodore,” Mark replied in much the same tone.
“We weren’t sure whether we would see you this morning,” Count Vorkosigan added. “You could have slept a little longer. Cook would have saved a plate for you.”
“I was not given a choice, sir,” Mark complained, shooting a look at Miles. His brother merely grinned infuriatingly and took a seat at the Count’s right hand. Mark settled in a chair opposite him.
Their mother smiled at him. “Well, Miles does tend to overexuberance,” she said, in a mock-confiding voice. “You get used to it.”
“Hey!” Miles protested. “I’m right here!”
The Countess ignored him, winking at Mark as if they were sharing a private joke. Mark smiled back a little shyly, his chest filling with an unfamiliar warmth. Contentment? Happiness? Affection? He was not quite sure but he definitely wanted to feel it more often.
The Count made the morning even better by announcing: “Ivan just messaged to say he is running late and won’t be here until lunch. So we might as well start.”
“And what excuse did Lord Vorpatril give for being late this time?” the Countess asked, sounding only mildly put out.
“Last minute summons to the Residence,” Vorkosigan replied amiably. “He claims to be retrieving something. A likely story.” That last was said with unmistakable skepticism.
“He could be picking up something from Aunt Alys,” Miles suggested. “Since she couldn’t get away this week.”
“If you had given her more than a few days’ notice…” their mother began.
Miles held up a defensive hand. “Yes, yes, I already got it from her, thank you, Mother.” His face cleared of annoyance rather quickly, so Mark was certain it hadn’t been completely in earnest. Well, he had learned Miles was rarely so easily abashed, even by his - their - mother. “I have a present for you, at any rate, Mark.”
A present? Somehow he hadn’t expected that.
Miles extracted a brightly wrapped package from his inner jacket pocket and handed it across the table with as much gravity as if he were presenting the Emperor’s Birthday gift. Mark took it somewhat hesitantly and just stared at the beribboned item.
The wrapping job was suspiciously neat for his progenitor-brother; Mark allowed this thought to drown out the realization that, for only the second time in his life, he’d been given a no-strings-attached gift. Even the ship the Countess had procured for him had come with the expectation of attempting to find his MIA older sibling.
“Go on and open it!” Miles said when Mark showed no sign of doing so.
“Don’t pressure him, Miles,” their mother chided.
Conscience-pricked, Mark finally tore open the paper to find a book.
“Advanced Cryptography?”
Mark’s bafflement prompted Miles to start babbling. “Captain Illyan gave it to me. First of many oddly useful tomes he foisted on me over the years. Always printed for some reason no matter how many times I protested that a reader-copy was much lighter. I still have most of them, actually. I thought, if you’re serious about the whole ImpSec analysis business, you might as well start where I did.”
“Well, at least I’ll have something to read on my way to Beta Colony,” Mark said, not wishing to sound ungrateful but unable to resist some snark.
To his astonishment, Count Vorkosigan barked a laugh. “Miles said almost exactly the same thing when Simon handed that to him,” he explained.
Miles dipped his head in an approximation of embarrassment.
“That was very thoughtful of you, Miles,” the Countess added.
Mark took the hint and muttered: “Yeah, thanks, Miles.”
“We have surprise for you, too,” their mother went on. “But it is coming later.”
“You don’t have to get me anything,” he protested weakly. “You’ve already done so much….”
“Nonsense!” she shot back. “I think we’ve discussed the family economy before.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Glad you recall. Now enough of that. Let’s eat.”
The rest of breakfast passed pleasantly with the Count and Countess regaling them with family memories of the lake retreat and discussions of future plans with their sons and the Commodore.
After they rose from the breakfast table, Armsman Pym brought a four-seater ATV around to the front of the house. The Count, Miles and Mark climbed in and the Countess and Jole waved them off from the deck.
Pym drove them into the village to collect a keg of a local microbrew directly from the brewer. It was an excuse for father and son bonding, Mark knew, since any of the Armsmen could have run this errand far more efficiently without their lord and his sons in tow. But since he had rejected Miles’ suggestion of a riding lesson and the Count’s offer of sailing, he felt he couldn’t turn down another activity.
The morning being fine, the Count insisted they walk back to the residence, sending Pym on ahead. As they passed, the villagers greeted their Count and his heir with unfeigned enthusiasm. To Mark’s surprise, they also gave him best wishes on his birthday, apparently sincerely.
A strange amalgam of elation and anxiety dogged him for the rest of the way.
********
Miles’ shiny red lightflyer, piloted by Ivan, arrived just before luncheon, with two unexpected passengers. Or at least two people Mark hadn’t been expecting. By the smug look on the Count and Countess’ faces, they certainly had. The first was Elena Bothari-Jesek, her familiar form and features rendered strange by the unfamiliar dress she wore in place of her merc uniform. The second passenger, to his extreme delight, was Kareen Koudelka.
He forced himself to wait patiently on the deck with his brother and their parents while the canopy opened and Ivan helped Kareen down. Armsman Prentice knowing better than to try to help Elena even though she wore skirts, waited at attention until she alighted on her own, then went to remove the cases from the passenger seat.
Kareen mounted the stairs, greeted the Count and Countess with hugs and kisses.
“Kareen, nice to see you,” Miles said when she came to him.
“I’m deputizing for the rest of the family,” Kareen replied as she bent to kiss his cheek. “They’ll be here at the weekend.”
She turned to Mark next, hugging him a little awkwardly. “Happy birthday!”
Their friendship had been continuing to grow over the months since he returned from Jackson’s Whole with the new burden of his Black Gang. Which had been exciting, until recently when Grunt had suddenly tired of being suppressed.
Kareen had absolutely noticed the new little distance Mark tried to keep between them, but he wasn’t ready or willing to explain it to her yet.
Well, they’d both be on Beta Colony for a year. Hopefully they could hash things out more thoroughly without all the parental units breathing down their necks.
“Thank you. I’m so pleased to see you. It’s a wonderful surprise!” And he smiled gratitude at his mother, getting a conspiratorial smile in response.
“Tante Cordelia thought it might be,” Kareen replied smugly. “We would have been here for breakfast, but someone delayed us.” She shot a meaningful look at Ivan.
“Hey!” Ivan protested. “It was a summons from the Emperor! What was I supposed to do?”
“Never mind, Ivan,” the Countess soothed, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing them.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Mark murmured, scuffing at the deck with one toe.
Ivan nodded though without looking directly at Mark. “Yes, well, I’ve been charged with a particular mission from Gregor.” He trailed off. “About which I need to speak to the Armsman Commander.”
The Count raised an inquiring eyebrow at this statement but when Ivan just shrugged, he waved a hand in Esterhazy’s direction. Muttering something unintelligible, Lord Vorpatril stepped aside with the Armsman.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Elena,” Miles said very pointedly. “Didn’t you swear never to set foot on this planet again after the last time?”
Bothari-Jesek shrugged. “Escort duty,” she explained equably. “I’ve been contracted to personally assure that a certain asset gets to his next assignment without any detours for unscheduled rescue missions.”
The Countess’ smirk said just who had “contracted” her services.
“Hey!” Miles started to protest, though not too firmly due to the glare he received from Elena the second he opened his mouth.
The merc captain gave Mark an apologetic nod. Kareen, who was not in the know about Lieutenant Vorkosigan’s alter-ego but knew enough to understand he was no simple ImpSec courier officer, pretended to ignore the whole exchange. Excitedly, she captured Mark’s arm and dragged him toward the house.
“I assume I’m in my usual room, Pym?” she asked over her shoulder.
The Armsman nearly returned her bright infectious smile. “Yes, Miss Koudelka.”
“Thank you, Pym. Come on, Mark, I have something to give you.”
Grunt began muttering highly inappropriate suggestions about what Kareen could give them and Mark fought down the noise and his prick. Not the time, not the place. But Kareen didn’t allow him to hesitate, as much as he wanted to.
Because she was a well-trained Barrayaran maiden, Kareen left the door to her guest room open. Mark was relieved but still confined himself to standing just inside the doorway, rather than risking having a seat on the bed next to her.
She extracted a little gaily wrapped package out of one of her bags, which the maids had not yet had a chance to unpack for her. She took note of, but said nothing about, him not coming further into the room, simply crossing to hand over the present.
“I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.”
This time Mark didn’t need to be prompted to open it. He tore off the paper to reveal a square wooden frame fronted with a transparent panel and containing a display of little pink flowers that he recognized immediately.
He stared at it dumbfounded for a moment. “Thank you,” he breathed out.
She blushed prettily. “They’re not the exact ones, obviously,” she explained. “But they are the same kind I was wearing the night we met.”
“It’s perfect.”
“I figure it’s small enough it could go in your luggage to Beta, if you wanted,” she went on shyly. “A reminder of… home.”
He grinned and stretched up to kiss her chastely. She put one hand over the spot where their lips had met, however briefly; her smile and her blush both spread.
“I am looking forward to Beta Colony,” he said simply.
“So am I.”
She bent to kiss him, equally chastely. Then, giggling, she dragged him back out to the living room and his ostensible guests.
********
Lunch was another casual affair, made only slightly uncomfortable by Ivan glaring sullenly at him periodically. Mark wondered if Miles’ – their – cousin would ever forgive him. For, well, everything that had happened since they first met. Sometimes he wanted that absolution. Today he was riding too many other conflicting emotions to care.
“Since I couldn’t coax Mark onto a horse this morning,” Miles said to Ivan and Elena after the meal had been cleared, “do either of you fancy a trail ride?” He shot a slightly guilty glance at Jole, who, while he was technically the Count’s guest, was closer in age to Miles and the other two. “Or you, Commodore?”
Jole grinned easily and shook his head. “Thank you, Lord Vorkosigan, but I am still feeling rather jump-lagged so I’m going to have a bit of a lie down before the evening’s festivities.”
“Oh, good,” piped up the Countess. “Then I can convince Aral to have a nap as well without him using your presence as an excuse to avoid it.”
“Cordelia, I’m fine,” the Count protested, though not too vehemently.
His convalescence had been progressing rather faster than expected much to his doctors’ satisfaction, but he still tired rather more easily than he had before the heart transplant. The Countess mothered him – and Miles – outrageously, which the Count allowed with varying levels of grace.
“Come on, sir,” Jole coaxed. “I’ll play batman for you, like the old days.”
The older man scoffed but allowed himself to be led off. The Countess watched them go with a peculiar smile on her face.
“Well, I’m game for a ride,” Ivan announced, tearing Mark away from trying to parse the woman’s expression. “Elena?”
“It’s been a decade since I’ve sat a horse,” the merc captain replied doubtfully.
“I’m sure Miles doesn’t mean to take us on one of his famous death rides,” Ivan asserted with a glare at his cousin.
“Perish the thought,” Miles replied with a grin.
Elena hit him, then agreed to go along.
Mark, the Countess, and Kareen repaired to the solarium for card games and conversation.
“What are you most looking forward to during your year on Beta, Kareen?” the Countess asked during one of her turns dealing.
“Gosh, I can’t pick just one thing!” Kareen gushed. “I’ve been reading the offerings catalog for the Uni and there’s just so much!”
“There’s more to the experience than school, Kareen,” Cordelia admonished with a smile. “Exposure to a different culture and way of thinking about the world is a huge part of the reason for this program.”
“I know, Tante,” the girl replied. And if it were any other teenager than Kareen, that would have come out sounding petulant. From her, it was totally sincere. “I’m looking forward to meeting your mother,” she went on, a teasing note coming into her voice.
The Countess’ smile turned sardonic. “Yes, well, she’s looking forward to meeting you as well. She wants to make sure you know you can call on her at any time. And my brother and his kids.” A thought clearly occurred to her. “I say kids. They’re all older than you both. But I am assured they are happy to show you around.”
“What about you, Mark?” Kareen turned her radiant smile on him. “What are you looking forward to on Beta?”
Grunt of course took this opportunity to renew his litany of what he wanted to do to Kareen. Mark bit his tongue firmly to keep the words from spilling out.
Therapy, he thought. That’s what I am most looking forward to.
He wants to get rid of us! moaned Howl. I told you he did!
Gorge and Grunt started to babble in agreement. Surprisingly, it was Killer who hushed them all.
Shut up before you give us all away!
Mark had told no one but Elena about his Black Gang; not even the Countess knew, though he felt certain his mother suspected… something. She never pried though occasionally she tried to take his temperature, as Miles called it.
Uncertain how long he’d been dithering while his mother and Miss Kareen waited, Mark forced himself to say the first sensible and polite thing that came to his mind:
“I’ve been there before. Briefly. I’m looking forward to seeing more of it and at a less… hurried pace.”
His mother and Kareen both seemingly satisfied, the conversation moved on.
********
At Miles’ insistence, the Vorkosigan men all donned their House colors for the evening’s celebration. Mark would have been more comfortable in one of his own suits, but he knew Miles was sending a very unsubtle signal, so he tried not to be too annoyed by it. Countess Vorkosigan’s dress complemented her husband’s Count’s garb while Kareen was pretty in pink. Jole and Ivan wore their dress greens – this was not, thankfully, an occasion that required their red-and-blues – and Elena her dress greys, which only surprised Mark for a few seconds.
Dinner itself was formal, for which Mark was grateful, since it was far easier to keep Gorge in check when they were being served rather than eating ‘family style.’ Despite the fact that it was his birthday they were celebrating he didn’t want to be seen overindulging; everyone would politely ignore him doing so, which was almost worse than anyone mentioning it.
Whether by luck of the draw or motherly intervention, Mark found himself next to Kareen. Being seated in the place of honor on the right side of the Count probably ought to have concerned him more, but a couple of glasses of wine and reassuring smiles from the Countess kept his anxiety on the matter to a simmer. That his father seemed more inclined to talk with Jole, and make doe eyes at his wife, further spared him the need for much small talk in that direction for much of the meal.
Then as the last course was served, the Count tapped on his glass and the table went quiet.
“Mark, of all the surprises in my adult life,” he said with a grin, “you have been the most surprising.”
A susurration of laughter went around the room.
“And one of the most delightful,” the Count continued more seriously. “I have been so grateful to have had these last few months to get to know you. Your mother and I look forward to seeing how you grow.”
Mark had to remind himself that this was not a crack at his weight.
“But mostly, we hope that you find your own fount of happiness and drink your fill of it. Happy birthday!” Vorkosigan raised his glass and tilted it toward his wife.
Cordelia took the hint. “Yes, well, I am sure I can’t follow that!” she stated cheerfully. “So I will just remind you of what I say to all my wandering children.” And she winked at Elena, seated to her right. “Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”
“Hear, hear!” the young woman replied, lifting her glass. “To Lord Mark.”
“Lord Mark!”
Mark ducked his head and murmured thanks and they all turned to finishing the peach tartlet. The dessert was small and light, in deference to the fact that there would be birthday cake and ice cream – also Miles’ idea – in the den later.
They were just about to rise when Ivan shocked them all by tapping his glass. All heads turned to him as he stood.
“I don’t have a toast,” he said slightly abashed. “But I do have a charge. If you would all care to step out onto the deck, I will show you what the Emperor has sent.”
Chairs scraped and dresses rustled as they all got to their feet and made their way outside.
Miles stopped Ivan in the hall. “This isn’t one of your little jokes, is it Ivan?” he said not quite as sotto voce as he probably thought.
“I swear by my word as Vorpatril,” his cousin said, hands raised to fend off further Milesean suspicions. “Gregor set me to this task. Trust me, you’ll all like it.”
“‘Trust me’ he says,” muttered Miles but followed along with the rest of the party out to the deck.
Night had fallen while they ate, which was not surprising as the Vorkosigans, like most aristocratic families, were in the habit of dining late, even at their vacation property. What was surprising was the floodlights lined up down near the jetty. Parked under the bright lights was a float truck with a Vorbarra District seal. Men were unloading items from the back into an array of low devices that Mark couldn’t identify. He did, however, recognize the water pumps with attached hoses stretching back to the lake.
“Fireworks!” Kareen squealed. Apparently, she knew exactly what the machinery was.
Her exclamation produced murmurs of agreement and a great deal of excited chatter from the Barrayarans, except Ivan who just smiled smugly as if he had been the author of this surprise and not just a lackey. Mark inched closer to the Countess who was indulgently shaking her head while smiling fondly at her family.
“Barrayarans and their penchant for things that go boom!” she lamented quietly to him.
“They are pretty,” Mark offered.
“They are for you,” Ivan, having overheard, stated pointedly. “Though God and Gregor alone know why.”
Kareen gasped. Mark felt like the whole world was falling in on him. Killer growled. The Countess squeezed his shoulder tightly but he winced away, catching hold of his control by the fingertips.
“Ivan, don’t be an ass as well as an idiot!” she snapped.
He had been holding it together, and he might have been able to come up with an equally sharp retort given a moment. But the Countess – his mother – defending him, chiding Ivan for him, was too much.
“I’ll just be…,” he began, trailing off when no good excuse came to his lips.
He turned and scuttled inside, ignoring the exhortations of the others, even Ivan, to come back.
The birthday had been a bad, bad idea. He should have known. Damn Miles and his enthusiasms anyway. Damn Gregor for trying to make him a Vor. Damn Ivan for being a asshole. And damn him most of all for thinking he could ever be part of the human race, much less this family.
The den was along the route to his room. He ducked in and cut himself a huge slice of the waiting cake, not bothering to look at it except to calculate how much would fit on two of the conveniently placed plates. He scuttled off to his room to indulge Howl and Gorge for a while.
********
A quarter of an hour later, Count Vorkosigan found him there, sprawled belly up on his bed, the evidence of his lack of control all over his face and the sheets.
“I was bringing you some ice cream to go with the cake,” came a rumbling voice as the door cautiously opened.
God, do Vorkosigans not know how to knock?
Regardless, Mark sat up too abruptly and his stomach lurched. Howl and Gorge both grunted in satisfaction, Howl at the pain, Gorge from the sight of the bowl of said frozen confection in the older man’s hand. Mark fought them both to silence. The Count set the dish down on a side table by the door, too far away for Mark to reach, too near for his comfort.
“But perhaps you’ve had enough of your anesthetic of choice,” the Count opined.
“I realize alcohol is more traditional, sir,” Mark said when he’d regained control of his mouth.
“Not much to recommend it, however,” was the half-amused response. “And a hangover doesn’t become any less an endurance with familiarity, trust me.”
“I do, sir.”
Months he had been on Barrayar and he still wasn’t sure how much those sirs that fell so easily from his lips when speaking to the Count were from habit formed by playing Miles or courtesies he truly felt were due this man who was, nominally, his father. They felt right whatever the cause.
“I apologize for my nephew,” the older man ventured. “He’s basically a decent lad, if not always the brightest.”
“To be fair, I left him with certain… impressions about me that have to be hard to shake.”
“He’ll get over it,” Vorkosigan asserted, sounding so much like Miles that it made Mark snort out loud. The old man smiled indulgently at him. “But seriously, he could do with forming a new impression from more current information.”
“I… don’t know quite how to answer that,” Mark replied bluntly.
“Not required,” the Count assured him. He paused thoughtfully. “Ivan confessed to me, when I had taken him to task for his incivility, that he was rather jealous. Not just of the gift that Gregor sent but all the fuss over your birthday.”
Mark cringed, feeling suddenly very foolish for running away from 'all the fuss' in his honor. “I didn’t ask for any of it,” he said in rather weak self-exculpation.
“I know,” the Count replied. “So does Ivan, really. And though it doesn't excuse anything, especially given most of his life has been very comfortable, but, well, he took you to that plaque, for his father, my cousin?” Mark nodded. “So you know how his birthdays go.”
Mark groaned and let his head fall into his hands. “No one’s ever put on a fireworks show for his natal day,” he said in a very small voice.
“Indeed.”
Mark wasn’t sure, later, just why it occurred to him, nor why he voiced any of it, but he suddenly blurted: “You know, the clones I shared my creche with, they were almost all told the same bollocks background story.” He took a deep breath. “They were the son or daughter of some very important person, a prince or a tycoon or some war lord, and they were there to be kept safe until their parent could come for them.”
“Were you told the same?” Vorkosigan replied in a voice so flat neutral that Mark could practically feel the iron control required to maintain it.
“No, I was….” His voice stuck in his throat and the Black Gang scrambled over each other beneath the surface for control. He wrenched it back with a great deal of effort. “Not told anything, actually. How ironic that it was at least partly true for me.”
“We would have come for you,” the Count said quietly, an unmistakable hitch in his words. “If we’d known then that you existed and needed rescuing, we would have moved the firmament to find you.”
Mark’s breath caught again, and he swiped at his suddenly blurry eyes. “I know you would have, sir,” he said, just as quietly.
And oddly, Mark believed him, despite the Count’s admission some months ago that his interest in finding Mark’s hypothetical cryo-preserved corpse would have been academic rather than personal. His interest was certainly personal now, Mark judged.
Count Vorkosigan – Father – came to sit down next to him on the bed. Mark sat up straighter, anxious about being touched but longing for it as well. The older man kept a distance between them, one small enough for Mark to reach across if he so desired. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, but he felt warmed by this clear invitation.
After a few moments of silence, his father took out a handkerchief and handed it over silently to Mark, who accepted it without a word. He wiped his face clear of frosting. Unwilling to hand it back in its now-soiled state, he stuffed it into his own pocket with an apologetic nod.
“I want you to know that I am glad I came in from the cold at last, even if the circumstances were… less than optimal.”
His father threw his head back and laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” he said after he wound down. “That was just such a Barrayaran turn of phrase. Sounded like something I would say.”
Despite himself, Mark grinned at this unexpected point of connection.
“Oh, I have something for you,” his father said suddenly. He stood to fish a cloth-wrapped object out of a pocket before sitting again to hand the item to Mark. “It once belonged to my father.”
Yet another present? And an heirloom, apparently.
Mark took the small package and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was an odd little device resembling an old-fashioned watch – he’d seen a few of those in museums on Earth when Galen felt such excursion necessary to his training – but with far too many degree marks to be even a Barrayaran time piece. He looked a question his father.
“It’s a compass,” Father explained. “From the Time of Isolation. My mother gave it to my father as a wedding present.”
“Seems like an odd gift for one’s spouse.” Mark tried not to squirm at his own bluntness.
His father just smiled. “My mother did have a very peculiar sense of humor. But remember…. Well, maybe you never knew. Anyway, they married during the Occupation, while Father was waging guerilla war in the Dendariis. The resistance fighters couldn’t use energy weapons or any modern devices of any kind because Cetagandan scanners would pick them up instantly. So they relied on a lot of TOI equipment. This, then, was a practical gift. Though not solely. Look at the back.”
Mark turned the little object over and saw the inscription.
That you may always find your way back home.
Love,
Olivia
His eyes went wide.
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t possibly…!”
The Count scoffed. “Of course you can!” he asserted firmly.
“But surely this is something you should give to Miles!”
“Miles has and will have many, many things from old Piotr. Not the least of which is the District he’ll inherit someday.” His father grinned ruefully at him. “And if anyone needs a reminder of how to make his way home, it’s you.”
“Ah, so it’s not so much a gift as a leash,” Mark joked through the return of the lump in his throat.
"Belike." The Count’s lips twitched up. “Though a very loose, very long one.”
“Message received, sir!” Mark gave a mock salute.
“Right!” Father stood up again. “Shall we go watch some fireworks?”
“Wait, they delayed for me?” Mark asked in consternation.
Grey eyes examined him closely with a mix of concern and amusement. “Of course, the show is for you.”
“Oh.”
Gingerly, Aral Vorkosigan laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. Mark Vorkosigan didn’t flinch.
“Come on boy, let’s go.”
“Yes, sir!” Mark said with a grin.
Father and son returned to the deck and their guests to watch the show.