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Chapters (54)
  1. Miles Errant
  2. Lois McMaster Bujold
  3. "THE BORDERS OF INFINITY"
  4. Brothers in Arms
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. Mirror Dance
  22. CHAPTER ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWO
  24. CHAPTER THREE
  25. CHAPTER FOUR
  26. CHAPTER FIVE
  27. CHAPTER SIX
  28. CHAPTER SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER NINE
  31. CHAPTER TEN
  32. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  33. CHAPTER TWELVE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  35. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  36. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  37. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  38. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  39. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  40. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  41. CHAPTER TWENTY
  42. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  43. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  44. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  45. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  46. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  47. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  48. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  49. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  50. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  51. CHAPTER THIRTY
  52. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  53. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  54. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

For the first time in his life, he was going home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Miles eyed the old mirror in the antechamber to the library of Vorkosigan House, the one that had been brought into the family by General Count Piotr's mother as part of her dowry, its frame ornately carved by some Vorrutyer family retainer. He was alone in the room, with no one to observe him. He slipped up to the glass and stared uneasily at his own reflection.

The scarlet tunic of the Imperial parade red-and-blues did not exactly flatter his too-pale complexion at the best of times. He preferred the more austere elegance of dress greens. The gold-encrusted high collar was not, unfortunately, quite high enough to hide the twin red scars on either side of his neck. The cuts would turn white and recede eventually, but in the meantime they drew the eye. He considered how he was going to explain them. Dueling scars. I lost. Or maybe, Love bites. That was closer. He traced them with a fingertip, turning his head from side to side. Unlike the terrible memory of the needle-grenade, he did not remember acquiring these. That was far more disturbing than the vision of his death, that such important things could happen to him and he didn't, couldn't, remember.

Well, he was known to have medical problems, and the scars were almost neat enough to look medical. Maybe people would let them pass without comment. He stepped back from the mirror to take in the general look. His uniform still had a tendency to hang on him, despite his mother's valiant attempts to make him eat more these last few weeks since they'd arrived home. She'd finally turned the problem over to Mark, as if yielding to superior expertise. Mark had grinned with amusement, and then he had proceded to harass Miles without mercy. Actually, the attentions were working. Miles did feel better. Stronger.

The Winterfair Ball was sufficiently social, without formal governmental or military obligation, that he was able to leave the dual dress sword set at home. Ivan would be wearing his, but Ivan had the altitude to carry it off. At Miles's height, the long sword of the pair looked damned silly, practically dragging on the ground, not to mention the problem of tripping over it or banging his dance partner in the shins.

Footsteps sounded in the archway; Miles turned quickly, and swung one booted leg up and leaned against a chair-arm, pretending to have been ignoring the narcissistic attractions of his reflection.