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Laisa met Cordelia at the shuttleport. The Vicereine was juggling two hand readers, a stack of flimsies with various signatures on them, and a comm call from someone who sounded like Miles. “I will absolutely see you at home, kiddo, and you need to relax about meeting me first thing. I’ll make a quick stop at the Residence and be home within two hours. I’m so glad that you’re offering to catch me up on the latest Vorbarr Sultana events—” her eyes fixed shrewdly on Laisa, “—but the Minister of Trade has set up a briefing for that in a few short hours. And yes, I will get whatever news you have before then. I promise! Goodbye, dear heart.”
She flicked the comm off, and kissed Laisa warmly on the cheek. “It’s been too long, my dear. Thank you for meeting me.”
“It’s always more exciting when you’re here, Cordelia.” Laisa smiled ruefully.
“Well, every carnival needs its dancing bear.” Cordelia grinned mischievously. She’d mellowed in her new role on Sergyar, but Laisa thought that Cordelia might still need something to rebel against from time to time.
Cordelia’s long hair hung down her back in a single silver and gold-red plait, with two combs to catch the stray hairs that threatened to fly out around her temples. Her dress and bolero were impeccable, but she wore them carelessly; Laisa envied the way she managed to look right without trying. Suddenly she felt in danger of tears; she had missed the easy conversations that Cordelia inspired.
Cordelia waited until they were settled into the groundcar before springing her attack. “Should you be out, in your condition?” she said archly, looking Laisa up and down.
Laisa glared at her, not without amusement.
“On the balance, I think you’ll get an excellent reception from the general public. Many Barrayaran subjects still can’t afford a replicator birth; you’d become accessible to the common woman. As accessible as one could expect for a Komarran, at least.” Her tone was teasing. “Sergyar thanks you; those replicators are an incredible power drain. With the grid still spotty in places, it makes sense to have more low-tech births.”
“I think we may have brought Alys around to it, or at least given her some plausible talking points. She’s actually coaching Valentina; we’re confirming the gender next week and then Valentina will announce in public that she’s looking forward to another younger sibling. We won’t formally answer any questions about replicators or body births; we didn’t with the others, after all,” mused Laisa.
“Why did you do it?” Cordelia asked her quietly.
Laisa was quiet for a full thirty seconds before she had control of herself to speak. “It was…” traditional? empowering? romantic? “…necessary,” she finished. “This feels like the right way to have a baby.”
Cordelia looked up at her sharply from lowered brows. “You have several thousand years of biology telling you that this is the right way to do it. That doesn’t make it the safe way to do it, for you or for your baby.”
“The Komarran obstetrics team is already here, and will stay for the duration. I’m the correct age, and I’m healthy. We have an heir, we have three other gene-cleaned descendants, and we adjusted Simon’s—” Laisa faltered. (She couldn’t say, even to Cordelia, that they’d tried to avoid his father’s black moods, his grandfather’s aggressive streak. Gregor had wanted that adjustment across the board; Laisa and Alys had argued against any tinkering on the heir.) “I’d say that I have the same right as any other woman.”
“That you do.”
“And I’m not carrying this baby for the stability of the Empire, or to raise the banner on some social cause. This baby is for me, and Gregor, and no one else.” She squared her shoulders. “They’ll probably call that selfish.”
“Not unless you screw it up,” Cordelia said ruefully. “Are you happy?”
“I’m tired, I’m nervous, I’m slightly ill.” Laisa’s smile broke open. “Yes. I’m quite happy about all of it.”
Cordelia nodded sagely. “Well, then, good job, kiddo. You earned it.” She reached over to squeeze her daughter-in-law’s hand, fondly. “You’ll be just fine.”