By Lois McMaster Bujold
Cordelia Naismith is having fun with a baptism of fireside. Her first challenge is to captain a throwaway warship of the Betan Expeditionary strength on a project to break a complete enemy armada. gaining knowledge of deception inside of deception, treachery inside treachery, she is compelled into an uneasy peace along with her nemesis: Lord Aral Vorkosigan. researching that astrocartography isn't the soundest education for an army chief, Cordelia quickly reveals herself the prisoner of the Barrayaran Captain Aral Vorkosigan, sometimes called 'The Butcher of Komarr'. however the infamous captain isn't really really the beast Cordelia was once looking forward to and a grudging admire develops among the 2 of them. As captor and prisoner on an deserted outpost planet, the honourable captain and the resolute scientist needs to depend upon every one others' belief to outlive a trek throughout harmful terrain, therefore sparking a dating that stocks the struggles of tradition and politics among their worlds.
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Additional resources for Shards of Honor (Vorkosigan Saga, Book 1)
Cordelia tried to pull his hands away from his face. Another seizure, she thought—but then realized with a shock that he was weeping. She held his head on her lap to stop the wild rocking. The spots where the tendrils had penetrated his skin were black in the center, surrounded by rings of red flesh that were beginning to swell alarmingly. There was a particularly nasty one at the corner of his eye. Apparently the creature had been coated all over with a similar poison, for Vorkosigan was kneeling with his hand in the stream.
Nobody else seems to. He's a superb ground combat soldier. He also hates my guts, as you Betans would phrase it. He enjoys hating my guts. " Vorkosigan shrugged, amused. "Well, it's useful for me to have someone to work out with who doesn't pull his punches. Surviving hand-to-hand combat practice with Bothari gives me a real edge. I prefer to keep that phase of our relationship confined to the practice ring, however. I can imagine how Radnov might be misled into including Bothari without examining his politics too closely.
Sometimes. Over twenty years. He lay back, silent again, and she took another turn around the glade, listening at the wood's edge to a silence so profound the roaring of the blood in her ears seemed to drown it out. She filched one of the halfburned bedrolls from Dubauer and covered him up. He had evidently bathed in the stream, and used the single-application packet of depilitory he had been saving in his belt to wipe away the itchy four-day growth on his face. "I need some help with this leg.