The Cadet of Tildor

by Alex Lidell

  Talking her way to freedom took until the following morning. After taking a moment to greet Sasha, her once-again roommate, Renee searched out Savoy. Finding both his quarters and the salle empty, she tried Rock Lake. Spring rains had softened the down-sloped path, making the mud splotch and stick to her shoes. She cleared the trail and squinted from the blinding sun reflecting off the lake.

  “Savoy?” Her voice bounced from the rocks.

  “Yes?”

  She followed his call to a wide alcove, where he lay reclining against a gently sloping stone. Renee lowered herself beside him. “How fair the ribs?”

  “Healing.”

  Healing, not healed. “A sword may find its way into you in the west.”

  He turned his head, his eyes shut against the sun. “You lecture me on the dangers of warfare?”

  “You avoid mages. One of whom is your brother.”

  Savoy rose on his elbows and opened his eyes, his voice low. “This conversation is over.”

  “I was there.” She made herself lie relaxed against the stone but knew the nonchalance fooled neither of them. Her heart raced, threatening to trip her words. “I saw. I know. And I’ll make this easy for you. You go see Grovener, or I will, and I’ll tell him everything. You have until the noon bell two days hence.” With that, Renee swallowed and closed her eyes, unable to meet the fury raging in his.

  When she opened them, Savoy was gone.

  * * *

  “All packed?” Connor asked, trotting Lava beside Kye. They rode down a wide stretch of dirt road, cooling the horses after a run. Back in the Academy, the Seventh took on supplies and readied to ride out.

  Savoy shifted in his saddle. His side ached. “I’m always packed.”

  “And Diam? If you still seek a guardian . . . ” Connor shrugged, silently extending the offer without insisting.

  Savoy stared at the tree line. The decision had to be made, but the right answer continued to elude him. Each melting hour made it more urgent but no clearer. “Be his friend, Connor. He needs one as good as you.”

  Connor nodded. “Of course. Do you plan to ask Verin? I know he’ll agree.”

  “No.” The answer came out sharper than Savoy intended. “I don’t believe Diam’s heart would fit a military life.” Dropping the topic, he navigated Kye into the stable and stiffened at the sight of a velvet-clad fat man who awaited him there. “Lord Palan.”

  “Will you not call me Uncle?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, Lord Korish—stop wincing at the name, it’s yours by birth—will you walk with me?”

  The news of his father’s past still spun Savoy’s head, although it explained some of Lord Palan’s earlier behavior. Now an odd mix of distaste and curiosity made Savoy leave Kye in Connor’s care and fall in step with the man. Lord Palan remained silent until Savoy finally spoke.

  “You’re a criminal,” Savoy said. If the lord expected pleasantries, he was mistaken.

  “The Family traffics contraband, yes,” Palan answered without hesitation. “Master Verin knew as much when he took you on as a foster. He wanted a swordsman and I wanted to secure your future. We struck a bargain.”

  A bargain. With himself as commodity. Savoy ran a hand through his hair. Verin had always been up front about taking Savoy in for his sword arm. Did it matter that there was more to the arrangement? Of course it bloody well mattered. It saved him from becoming Tanil. Savoy looked back at Palan. “You orchestrated the fire in Catar.”

  “Yes.”

  “That was no contraband trafficking, my lord. That was murder. Dozens died.”

  “You, however, escaped.” Lord Palan’s voice flowed honey-smooth, without a hint of agitation or doubt. It was also the controlled, professional tone of a man who stood by his decisions. “But yes, others died. Others who were less important to me. Tell me, have you not killed dozens of enemies? If a man of the Seventh was captured, would you not kill dozens to free him?”

  The man twisted words. “You didn’t attack an enemy; you killed Tildor’s own people.”

  “Ah, but you define enemies by the Crown’s priorities, which, mind you, tend to shift. I define the enemy by my own values. Those people were enemies because their existence threatened you. They were also enemies because they were Vipers, whose business threatens ours.”

  “I serve the Crown. Do you expect me to endorse your views?”

  “Of course not.” Palan held up a hand. “But, despite our disagreement on goals, do consider our similarity in tactics. After all, can you not respect a swordsman who fights for the other side? Can you not learn from each other when you step foot on neutral ground?” He twisted a ring. “Speaking of learning, I hope that when you return to Atham next, you will find time for your cousin.”

  Savoy blinked. “Tanil? I will find a blade for him, my lord.”

  “The flat of one, if you wish. The boy’s discipline does lack.” Palan caught Savoy’s eyes. “But he is your family and he is young. He will not find a path in the Crown’s Service nor in the Family’s leadership, but I hope you will help him find his honor in as much as it is possible.”

  Savoy glared and was still contemplating the words when Lord Palan spoke again.

  “Diam—”

  “You will not have him.”

  “Of course. I only meant to tell you he is heading this way. Ride safely to the west.” The older man smiled, bowed, and walked away.

  Savoy glanced behind him. The boy really was coming. Shaking his head, Savoy started back toward the stable. He’d check on Diam after seeing to Kye. The promise made it to the tip of his tongue when he realized the footsteps had stopped. He turned to find Diam standing several yards away.

  “You saw me and walked the other way.” The boy narrowed his eyes.

  “I was going to brush down Kye. Do you wish to help?”

  “No, you weren’t. You were walking away from me. You’ve done it all week.”

  “Diam—” he started to say, but his brother turned and ran. The receding footsteps remained imprinted in the soggy ground, and for many hours, in Savoy’s mind.

  * * *

  The Academy bell tolled noon when Renee approached the Healer’s office to exchange Savoy’s friendship for his well-being. Her feet dragged in the mud. She watched her toes and stumbled when another pair of boots cut across her path.

  “You still intend to carry out your threat?” Savoy crossed his arms over his chest. His voice was cool.

  “Yes.” She pushed around him and walked on.

  “Wait.” Light footsteps caught up to her and a hand touched her shoulder. “We go together.”

  “Have you come to your senses or to destroy more of my furniture?” Healer Grovener peered at Savoy over his glasses. It was the dry, unamused look he granted everyone, but Renee sensed an understanding lurking behind his eyes. He was no fool and, Renee realized, had known Savoy a great deal longer than she.

  “Neither. But I did come to you.” Savoy drew himself up. “For two separate matters, sir.”

  “One is your ribs. What’s the other?”

  “My brother. Would you consider an apprentice?”

  Renee drew a breath and held it as long seconds stretched on before the man replied.

  “What of his page and cadet studies?” Grovener removed his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “A boy cannot answer to two masters.”

  “I will withdraw him from the Academy rolls. He’s years away from registration, and even then your tutelage would fulfill the mandate.”

  Grovener steeped his hands in front of his chest. “You are a fighter, Commander. I will neither teach the boy combat nor arrange for such lessons.”

  “Understood. I ask only that he see Master Verin once a week.” Savoy paused. “And the same with Lord Palan.”

  “An interesting combination.” The Healer’s fingers tapped each other. Another eternity came and went. “Very well. I will take the child.” The glasses returned to his fa
ce. “And now, finally, will you remove your shirt and sit still?”

  Savoy obeyed, stripping to the waist and pulling himself onto the table. Dark bruises covered the left side of his chest but Renee knew that the tension in his shoulders had nothing to do with physical discomfort. She stepped closer and heard him draw breath.

  “This may not go as smoothly as it should, sir,” Savoy said quietly, running a hand through his hair.

  “Mmm.” Grovener washed his hands in a basin. “Do you trust the girl?”

  “Yes.”

  The mage turned, a blue flame playing around his fingers. “Then she will stand guard over me as we work.”

  Savoy flinched once at the sight of the mage fire, then schooled his face and turned to Renee. “Will you?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

  Renee’s hands gripped together behind her back. Saying nothing, she took up a stance beside the wall. It didn’t matter that she trusted Grovener, or that Savoy was the better fighter, or that they were on friendly grounds. A friend asked her to stand watch. And she would.

  Beyond the infirmary wall, the din of cadets’ voices blended together. The Academy was moving on—it paused neither for Renee’s departure nor her return. In two days, when Savoy took his leave, it would not pause for him either.

  * * *

  The morning of the Seventh’s departure, the mess hall, as usual, swarmed with uniforms. Cadets shouted over the heads of their friends and shoved closer to the food platters. Renee snatched a piece of bread and cheese and headed to a small table in the corner where Savoy and Seaborn sat together. Like her, both men wore full uniforms, an odd change from their days in Catar. It would be odder still in a few hours, when Savoy and his team rode out, leaving Renee to reclaim her spot in the classroom.

  As she approached Savoy’s table, students shot Renee questioning looks. Cadets stayed clear of instructors and officers. She hurried to pull out a chair and sit.

  Savoy stole her cheese.

  She kicked him under the table.

  He chuckled, but there was a finality to the laugh, as if it were the last to be shared. The commander pins on his collar loomed over the table, casting an invisible shadow. A moment later Savoy pushed himself back. “I must check on the men. Connor, de Winter.” He bowed to each and strode away, the mob of cadets parting before him.

  Renee picked at her bread, spreading the crumbs over her plate.

  “A burden of the uniform.” Seaborn took a drink of his coffee. “You will grow used to it.”

  “Friendship subject to wardrobe?”

  “Only the display of it.” Seaborn moved back his chair. “The commander left a sword for you. He said you wore it to the palace on Queen’s Day. Pick it up at your convenience.”

  Renee’s brows arched. “Was it not from the armory?”

  “No, it was his throughout the Academy.” Seaborn rose and took his plate. “I will see you in class, Cadet de Winter.” He tilted his head at her. “And, if memory serves, you owe me a paper.”

  * * *

  Commander Korish Savoy guided his horse beyond Atham’s city walls, toward the awaiting group of fighters. “Fall in!” he called, and the men formed their columns.

  Cory trotted up on his bay, his gaze lingering on the city behind them. “She’s quite a lass, isn’t she?”

  Savoy chuckled. “Spare the efforts, Sergeant. De Winter is out of your reach.”

  Cory raised his hands. “I’ve a rule not to court friends and siblings of anyone who can skin me alive.” He paused. “Ye think we’ll work with her again?”

  Savoy nodded his head. “That one, Cory, will one day command us all.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A humongous thank you to:

  Crit partners SM Blooding, Ralene, and Jay, for staying with me chapter by chapter.

  Agent Leigh Feldman, for always giving me perspective.

  Editor Jess Garrison, to whom King Lysian owes his life.

  Assistant editor Claire Evans for all the quiet things she did.

  The Tildor Herald Cadets, the best novel street team ever.

  The Lucky 13s for shared trust.

  My husband, who put up with my “need to go write” disappearing act.

  Bloggers who revealed my cover and re-tweeted my news.

  All of you who’ve let me bounce ideas, talk writing, and run scenes by you “just real quick.”

  THANK YOU, TILDOR TEAM.