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Prologue
The nursery was quiet and dim, lit only by a small bulb in the corner. Miles sat in a very comfortable chair, frankly dozing; it had been a long day even without the wine he'd had at dinner. Gregor, on the other side of the room, gazed into the crib, his own wine glass cupped casually in one hand. The Emperor seemed disinclined to talk, and Miles was willing to leave him to his thoughts. He knew well enough the anxieties that could beset a man suddenly a father--and it seemed sudden, even with the nine-month lead time.
"He's so small," Gregor said softly. Miles blinked and sat up straighter. "I can't believe he'll ever be big enough to survive what his life will bring."
"Of course he will," Miles said, struggling out of the embrace of the chair. It called to him, softy, as he crossed the room to stand at Gregor's side. In the near-dark, Serg Teodor was hardly more than a deeper shadow. "You and I got big enough."
"Did we?" Gregor asked. There was no bitterness in his tone, only sad knowledge.
"Of course," Miles tried, conscious of repeating himself but unable to come up with anything better. "We're still here." Gregor gave him a sidelong look that made him suddenly uneasy, and he essayed a smile. It did not feel very sucessful.
"You know," Gregor said, a hint too casually, "if something does happen to me, you're in charge."
Miles gaped at him for a long moment, aghast. A red-letter day, you're speechless, his mind commented calmly. "Like hell!" he managed at last.
"I mean it," Gregor said. He had returned his gaze to the baby.
"Me?" Miles exclaimed, at near-normal volume--and rather higher-than-normal pitch. Gregor gave him an exasperated look and he modified his tone to a vehement whisper. "They'd never accept me!" He made a gesture that encompassed his height--or lack thereof--his too-large head, his bones which had had to be replaced by synthetics because they broke almost literally at the drop of a hat.
"Your children are normal," Gregor said quietly, implacably. "That goes a long way. It isn't thirty years ago anymore, Miles."
"Gregor, Vordarian rebelled because he was afraid my father--my father--might find a way to put me on the throne. There are still people who make the sign of the evil eye behind my back, don't think there aren't. It doesn't matter that I'm not a mutant. People think I am."
"People will just have to get used to it. The Lord Regent must have a number of specific qualities," Gregor said. He set his wine glass on the floor and straightened, to begin ticking off points on his fingers. "He must be a man of impeccable lineage. The future Count Vorkosigan will do nicely. He must have considerable military experience." He grinned at Miles, who was beginning to feel sick. "But no one knows about my--" he began. Gregor cut him off. "No one knows, but you do have the experience. He must be popular with those he commands. You can't argue that one, Miles. At least half the Dendarii I met were flat-out in love with you." Miles shook his head, denying the whole chin of reasoning rather than the specific link, but Gregor went mercilessly on. "He must be able to handle himself in the difficult situations our lovely traditions create. You're a master of that. He must be no older than middle-aged. He must preferably be happily married, so we don't have to worry about Laisa's reputation. He must be willing to give up his power to an untried boy after who knows how many years of it. And most important of all, while he must be able to rule, he must not want to. Name me anyone else who fits those criteria, and I'll let you off the hook."
Miles stared at his Emperor, going through names in his mind and discarding them, one after the other. Gregor studied him in return; Miles had the uncomfortable feeling that the other man saw far more than he wished him to.
"If it is Your will, Sire," he said formally, knowing Gregor would hear the capital letter.
"It is."
Miles let the formal cadence slip. "Well I don't have to like it!" he said peevishly.
"No one's asking you to," Gregor said. He smiled, an expression which made him look even more solemn. "At least your opinion was solicited." And ignored, Miles thought sourly. "They never bothered to warn me."
"You're not, uh, sick or anything?" Miles asked. He was ashamed of the relief that swept over him when Gregor shook his head. "I'm just thinking ahead," Gregor said. "Just in case, eh?" Miles nodded obediently. "We should go back downstairs." Miles nodded again. "Miles, stop that. I have no plans to drop dead."
"No one," Miles muttered gloomily, "ever does."
"Ezar did," Gregor said, sounding almost cheerful.