That rebuttal stings, more than stings, and it shows on her face, the way she flinches back away from him. Instinctively she goes to clench her hands in her skirt, a familiar tic to fall back on, but she remembers she's wearing these damned fatigues and so she wrings her hands together instead, struggling.

"I cannot possibly answer that," she finally manages, because she can't, because she doesn't have the perspective needed to imagine, because -- because Byerly might be right. But the proles, they love Barrayar just as fiercely. They're fighting, too, aren't they?

The war will end. Have faith. It will end, and you will be...alright.

She feels childish now, wanting to bust into tears, but every word feels like another betrayal. "Why would you give me false hope? Why would you lie to me the way you did?"