“Sure, but they’re mostly married now. Even Dono, and Olivia would—never mind. Jealous husbands…spouses…I figured I was done dealing with that kind of excitement in my life. It’s just no fun anymore, y’know? Hasn’t been for a while.”
Both women stared at him in bemused silence; after a moment, he stirred uncomfortably and took another swallow of his wine.
Rish sat back. “What else was there? Oh yes, abuse.”
“I am not beating Tej.” Ivan Xav glowered at Rish. “You, I’m less and less sure about.”
Rish snickered. “You couldn’t lay a hand on me if you tried, natural-boy.”
Ivan Xav sighed, avoiding conceding the point. “Besides, it’d get me in so much trouble with so many people—after Mamere, Uncle Aral, and Aunt Cordelia—and Simon—there’d be Miles and Ekaterin and all the Koudelka girls lining up to deal with the remains—and their mother—and Gregor, and Desplains—God, there wouldn’t be enough left of me to carry to court in a bucket. Hell, a teacup.” Ivan Xav sat back in what, had he been of another gender, Tej would not have hesitated to describe as a flounce. A little too large and surly for the term, here.
Rish turned her head toward Tej. “That leaves it up to you.”
“But I don’t want to hit Ivan Xav! I want to kiss Ivan Xav.”
“Try it,” urged Rish. “Just for the experiment.” Her gold eyes glinted.
Reluctantly, at Rish’s gesture, Ivan Xav put down his drink and stood up. Tej bunched her hand, drew it back, and poked him in the solar plexus. Her fist made a little fump sound, bouncing off his heavy uniform jacket.
Ivan Xav just stared glumly at her. “What was that supposed to be…?”
“It’s really hard,” Tej protested. “When you don’t want to. Besides, it would hurt my hand.”
“Bloody Falco,” muttered Ivan Xav, sitting back down and retrieving his drink, which he drained.
Rish ran her hands through her hair in a ragged swipe. “Look. Think. You’re both making this too hard by trying to do the divorce thing first. It’s not necessary. Desertion, wasn’t that one of the grounds? Tej and I go off to Escobar, change our identities, disappear, you’re got your desertion right there. Tootle back to court on your own, get it done. You don’t have to drag us into it at all.”
“There are time limits about that sort of thing,” said Ivan Xav. “Three or four years, or was it seven? Or was that for declaring someone dead…?” He frowned in doubt.
“What does that mean?” asked Tej. “In Barrayaran.”
“It means that even though you were gone, I’d still be married to you. For several more years. I couldn’t, say, remarry in that time. Or even become betrothed, I suppose.”
“Oh,” said Tej. “That’s right, this place only lets people have one spouse at a time, doesn’t it? That wouldn’t be a good problem to dump on you, would it. You might meet someone you liked…” A strangely unheartening picture. Didn’t she want him to be happy?
Ivan Xav, on the other hand, sat up, brightening a trifle. “That actually could be more of a feature than a bug, come to think. My mother couldn’t very well lean on me to seriously court other women if I was already married, huh? Yeah, that docking slot would be all filled up.” His brow wrinkled. “Not sure what it would do to my hit rate, though…”
“In that case,” said Rish, rolling to her feet, “I hereby declare this a non-emergency, and would appreciate it if you two would clear my bedroom. Some of us want to sleep.”
Ivan Xav appeared to give this serious consideration. “Yeah, Miles goes all frantic and forward-momentum-y when he hits a snag in his plans, but I usually prefer to give it a bit of time. Maybe there’ll be a better idea come along, or the problem will change, or, if you wait long enough, even go away on its own, without having to do anything. If people don’t keep poking at it, that is.”
“Time would certainly do the trick, sure,” said Rish cordially. “I figure it would only take, oh, you’re a natural—maybe sixty more years? Unless you die sooner in a groundcar crash, that is.”
Ivan Xav said, in a faraway voice, “Yeah, that would be the line of least resistance, now, wouldn’t it…?”
Rish shook her head. “Go to bed. Screw what’s left of your brains out, deal with it again in the morning. Or some other time when I don’t have to listen to you two.” She departed to collect her bedding from the linen closet in the dressing room.
Ivan Xav stood up and took Tej’s hand, warm in his warmer one. “Best advice she’s offered all night. Let’s just…give it a rest. Maybe something else will come up.”
As the week wore on, Ivan contemplated the merits of inertia as a problem-solving technique with growing favor. Desplains kept him only normally occupied during his workdays, there being no real crises at Ops this week, and Ivan being quite unmoved by now by all the synthetic ones, although he did garner some enjoyment selecting snarky return memos. In the mornings, Tej continued her language studies, or games, as she seemed to insist on thinking of them, alternated with afternoon visits along with Rish to Ma Kosti. Even better, they brought back culinary homework. Ivan surreptitiously let his uniform belt out one notch.
Byerly continued to carry off Rish most evenings, a public service to which Ivan could muster no objection. The Creatures of the Night, as he began to think of them, returned at varied hours. He didn’t mind it if Rish came in quietly, although he was less fond of stumbling over Byerly at breakfast.
As Ivan was scarfing down his morning groats standing, prior to toddling off to Ops HQ, Byerly, en dishabille in shirtsleeves but slightly less bleary than usual, sipped his tea and remarked, “Interesting chit-chat last night about you and Tej. From Jon Vorkeres, of all people. Countess Vorbretten’s little brother, y’know.”
Ivan frowned, glad he’d left Tej sleeping. She didn’t need to hear anything poisonous. “What was he doing in one of your venues?”
“Hey, not all of my venues are a hazard to the morality of our Vor youth. Else I should have gently steered him out. Jon says that gossip among certain of the more fossilized high Vor dames in town is that your surprise marriage is a disaster for Lady Alys, for all that she feigns otherwise. That Tej’s haut genes and connections would render any progeny you two might pop utterly disqualified for the Imperial camp stool, should, God forbid, anything untoward happen to Gregor et al. And, presumably, you disqualified along with them, unless you could be persuaded to some second marital attempt, I suppose.”
Ivan choked on his groats. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously. Count René Vorbretten is keeping his jaw clamped shut on the discussion, naturally.” Byerly eyed him sidelong.
Ivan’s brows climbed as the full import of this slowly sank in. “Huh. That’s an advantage that hadn’t crossed my mind, but you’re right!” The corners of his mouth tugged up. “Me and my children, ducking right out of the Vorbarr Sultana political crossfire—oh, superb. Have to point that out to Mamere, next time I see her. It would cheer her up no end.”
Byerly took a delicate sip, and inquired, “What children?”
Ivan reddened. “Uh…”
Byerly patted his lips—curving in the most maddening way—with his napkin, but did not pursue the point.
It was only as he was entering Ops that it occurred to Ivan that Byerly had been watching his reaction for more reasons than just sly personal amusement. No, dammit, I have never wanted Gregor’s job! He almost turned around right there and then to go find By and a body of water to hold his head under till he stopped thinking like that.