"It's 1867." She says it pointlessly. Like somehow if she does it will make it real. She doesn't know who she's trying to convince, really. He keeps saying these things. "You're lying to me. Stop. I have no patience for it. Whatever game it is you're playing with me, I am not the one to do it with."

He has to be, has to. If it's not then - what is she going to do? Nothing, because she can't. Because she's some place called Barrayar, a thousand years since her home was anything she might know. She knew there was always a chance, taking up the blackwater, that she would live to see such times. But she knew what was more likely: she would die in the fight before then.