“You found time to play with swords and the Seventh,” Savoy shot back. “I trusted you to act responsibly, de Winter, to act worthy of the office you strive for.”
She straightened to face the sting of his words, finding none of her own.
Savoy grabbed the pages from her grip and ripped them apart, letting the shreds fall like bits of dirty snow. She watched them cover the sand, not looking away until she felt something hard shoved into her chest. Her hands gripped the proffered practice blade, her sweaty palms slipping on the hilt.
“This here is fun, right, de Winter?” His wooden blade struck her thigh. “Unlike doing your own work.”
She flinched.
He struck again, landing the blow on her upper arm. “You plan on just standing there now? Did your sword turn into a fashion piece?”
She brought up her weapon but could not meet his gaze.
Savoy swung at her head.
His attack was too clean, too obvious. Renee raised her sword to block.
He circled her blade and struck her side, laying a welt across her exposed ribs. Blood pooled beneath unbroken skin. Renee gasped and clamped her free hand over the pulsing bruise. The instant she did, Savoy hit her crooked arm just above the elbow. Numbness, then fire shot up her shoulder and through her side. She hunched over in pain, knowing she was presenting her already throbbing shoulder for another blow. It came.
Renee backed away, staring at Savoy wide-eyed. The systematic savageness of the attack frightened her in a way sparring with him never had. He followed her retreat. A belly strike snatched her breath and Savoy’s blade rose up again, his face promising this was but the beginning.
No reprieve. No pause. Granting her a sword had been a mockery. Savoy powered though her parries or else manipulated her moves to expose bruises. He branded new stripes over hurt flesh. Good gods. She whimpered. He ignored her cry. The attack kept coming. Forever.
Renee fell.
Savoy grabbed her tunic and jerked her up. “We aren’t done.”
Her stomach clenched. She suddenly cared for nothing except avoiding another blow. Not skill, not pride, not dignity. Nothing. This wasn’t punishment, she realized through growing fear, it was humiliation. And it wasn’t stopping.
Renee’s legs buckled. She couldn’t do this. Clutching her sword, she sank to her knees, knowing Savoy would force her up again, but shrinking back anyway. She was too weak to block, too small to attack, and too afraid to stand another moment before him. She prayed he wouldn’t strike her unless she rose. And she never wished to rise again.
His hand reached forward and she flinched away, cowering into the sand. “Please,” she heard her voice whisper, and breathed in shame.
No jerk came. Renee looked up at her teacher but saw his eyes moving past her, toward the two men on the sidelines. She followed his gaze in time to see Verin nod.
Savoy’s shoulders relaxed. He squatted by her and tugged at the practice blade in her grip. When she held on, he shook his head and touched the back of her hand. “Let go. It’s done.”
Renee searched his face for emotion and found none. “I’m sorry,” she said again as he took the blade from her, but his face remained a stone.
She staggered up, her feet looking for solid ground. And fled.
Outside, Renee found Diam waiting by the door. His eyes locked on the tears running down her cheeks. Turning away, she headed to the well. A moment later, feet pounded the ground behind her, and a small hand slipped into hers. The boy did not ask what happened.
Despite the beginning of the winter cycle, the evening was the warmest they’d had in weeks, and the breeze felt good on the back of her neck. She ladled frigid water from the well-bucket, gulping and wiping her face. Then she sat on the ground, letting the wind dry her skin. The sun was setting over a bloody horizon as the evening journeyed toward darkness. Inside her, misery, shame, and anger battled with the ferocity of fire consuming kindling.
Diam plucked at her shoulder. “Cory’s comin’. ”
She turned in the direction of the boy’s pointing finger, but could not make out the identity of the shape moving toward them. Diam, scratching Khavi’s ears, looked certain.
The shape materialized into the tall, dark-haired sergeant. Saddlebags slung over his shoulder, he strode up to the well and paused, surprise playing across his face. “Dinna expect ye here,” he said, setting down a lantern before drawing a bucket of water and gulping. “Just rode a patrol.” He smiled in apology and drank again.
Diam wrinkled his nose and turned away, his face full of contempt. Renee heard him muttering something about kissing as he detached himself from them. If Cory heard Diam’s prediction, he didn’t let it show.
“So.” Cory surveyed the dimming landscape. “I heard you have a beach here . . . ”
The remaining strands of sunlight had disappeared by the time Renee and Cory picked their way toward Rock Lake. She had expected the tameness of the Academy grounds to disappoint a fighter like Cory, who practically lived on the battlefield, but he drank in each new sight with Diam-ish enthusiasm. The lantern in his hand swung to and fro, casting odd shadows on the uneven slopes. Branches, disturbed by the wind and evening birds, rustled around them.
“You all right?” Cory asked, offering a hand down a steep part of the trail. “You seem stiff.”
Renee swallowed, grateful for the darkness’s veil. The deep ache in her limbs moaned. “Stiff,” she repeated, clinging to the word. “Yes, over-trained, I think.”
He patted her shoulder. “Aye, been there meself. I know something that’ll help.”
The trees opened without warning, revealing a sky full of stars. The glowing specks of light reflected off the lake as the last brown leaves floated from their tethers to drift on the water’s surface.
Cory froze. “Och.”
Renee smiled, the humiliation of the evening suddenly distant, left behind in some other time, some other world. With the trees blocking the wind, the warmth of the mild evening wrapped around them. “I know.”
Without taking his eyes off the water, Cory settled onto the sand. Renee lowered herself by his side and the two sat in silence, drinking in the night. A leaf fluttered close, teasing the lantern light. Cory’s hand reached out to catch it, and, failing, settled onto Renee’s shoulder. Her skin tingled under his fingers.
Holding her breath, she reached up across her chest and touched her fingertips to his. His chin hovered just above the crown of her head, disturbing her hair. Warmth from his body hugged her like a cloak of thin wool. She lifted her face to find his eyes looking down into hers.
Cory leaned toward her. His lips touched hers with a brief gentleness that seemed impossible in a boy so big. When he pulled away, he smiled like a cat who stole cream for his supper and gathered her in his arms. “I promised something for stiffness,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. A strong hand kneaded into the base of her neck.
“Mmm . . . ” Renee leaned into his touch, her heart palpitating faster with each second. She sensed his grin.
He squeezed her shoulders, fingers searching for knots. Then his hand slid down her arm.
Renee jerked away, gasping.
“What’s wrong?” He held her at arm’s length. “Did I hurt ye, then?”
She shook her head, uttering denials, but he was already pushing up the loose sleeves of her tunic.
He lifted the lantern and whistled. “Och. Quite a sunset ye’ve got there.” Shaking his head, he checked the other arm.
All energy left her. At a loss for words, she stared at the sky, awaiting the destruction of the night’s enchantment. Cold nipped at her skin as he moved away. Shame rushed to fill the void. She had cowered on the salle floor and even now, her breath quickened with remembered fear. The camaraderie Savoy had extended her on Queen’s Day,
and while training with the Seventh—it had been a jest. The man she had thought her friend had, in but a quarter hour, reduced her to a crumpled, frightened heap. It meant nothing to him; his face had said so. He had never intended to let her keep a shred of dignity. And she had not.
Something rustled behind her, and Cory’s warm hand returned to her shoulder. She leaned away despite herself.
“Easy.” Cory showed her a small jar labeled Bruise Balm. His dark gaze caught hers, and a finger brushed against her cheek. “Just bought the wee thing from a peddler. Let’s test it.” Without waiting for a response he cradled her against him and spread the viscous substance over her upper arms. She doubted the balm’s medicinal properties, but Cory’s touch worked miracles on its own.
The toll of a late evening bell found Renee and Cory lying on their backs, staring at the stars. It would be curfew soon. But not yet. Renee smiled, her neck resting on Cory’s outstretched arm. The near three hours they had spent together had whispered by.
“So, what did ye do, then?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Hmm?”
He chuckled and rose onto his elbow, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I wish to know what mischief tickled your fancy.”
“Just sparring,” she answered, glad for the darkness that hid her blush.
Cory laughed. “Och, aye.” He tugged up her sleeve again, and traced the welts gently. “You dinna appreciate the finesse of these, but trust me, a wee bit in either direction and ye’d have broken bones in place o’ yer bruises. Perfect shots. All of them are. And I know but one man who is that good with a blade.”
He had known all along. A smile crept onto her face. “You have me there,” she said, catching his hand in hers.
He poked her ribs. “So, what did ye do?”
“Not saying. Savoy was a bastard about it, though.”
Cory stiffened. “I’m nay the person to say such to.”
“What? I can’t call Savoy a bastard?”
He pulled away. The familiar lightness of voice and poise disappeared. “Commander Savoy. And no, ye can’t. Not in front of me, anyway.”
Renee sat up, indignation bubbling. “You don’t even know what happened. How can you choose a side?”
“I’m nay choosing a side, Renee. I chose it three years past, when I joined the Seventh.”
“Savoy can do no wrong, then?” She hugged her arms around herself. “You just yes along with anything he says?”
“If I dinna agree with him, I’d tell him. Not you.”
They sat without speaking. Clouds moved to cover the stars, and it started to drizzle, the rain disturbing Rock Lake’s still surface. Renee stared at the colliding ripples.
“I need to get back to me squad,” Cory said quietly. He put the lantern by her feet.
“You won’t see the trail.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “I just walked it a few hours back, and no one is shooting at me. If I couldna retrace me steps under these conditions, the commander would skin me alive.”
“Right,” she mumbled, and turned away to avoid watching him leave. Let him go if he wanted to.
Later that night, Renee curled herself in a deep cleft between man-sized boulders on the far shore of Rock Lake. The climb to get there, clambering around the lake and maneuvering over the wet slippery rocks in the darkness of night, had taken hours. Blissful hours of worrying only about finding the next stone and keeping her footing and moving farther into the shadows. The lantern had fallen and broken. She barely noticed.
The thought of facing Alec or Sasha, or worse, Savoy, nauseated her. A fighter brushed away bruises as irrelevant hazards of the trade. What did it say of her that she could not? She pressed her forehead against the cool wall of her stone circle. The night grew colder and the boulders sucked up whatever heat her body had. A dampness hanging in the air broke again into rain that fell on her hair and face, soaking her already damp clothes. She curled into an even tighter ball, and, shivering, surrendered to fatigue and sleep.
* * *
“Wake up, kid.”
Renee opened her eyes to find Savoy crouched atop the largest of the boulders. Her drowsy eyes widened, her back pressed hard into the stone. A pang of nausea gripped Renee, her eyes darting to his hands. She jerked her gaze away, struggled to clear her sleep-addled head, but it was too late, he’d seen.
Savoy shook his head and uncurled his fingers to show empty palms. “I am not here for round two.”
Not even a pretense from him to guard her dignity.
Savoy took hold of the ledge and swung down, hanging on outstretched arms before dropping lightly into the stony hollow. The moisture from last night’s rain frosted the rocks and glistened in the faint rays of dawn.
Gathering her legs under her, she sat up and scooted away from him. Ache and cold clung to her like the wet clothes she wore. She balled her hands into fists and tucked them in her armpits for warmth.
He took off his coat and held it out to her.
“I’m fine, sir.”
“It’s not a suggestion.”
Swallowing, she stripped off her damp tunic and pulled the coat over a sleeveless undershirt. The welts his blade had left on her arms had turned a deep shade of red.
“Still hurting?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She met his eyes.
His shoulders pulled back into a stretch. “You deserved what I gave you.”
“Yes, sir.” Renee drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. Disgrace filled her. And not just disgrace, she knew, as her heart drummed beneath the cold, but fear too. She knew what he could do now and, to her shame, knew she could not face it again. Holding her breath, she prayed that he would leave.
Savoy’s brows narrowed as if in contemplation, but he shook his head. “It’s done, de Winter, and they’re just bruises.” He ran his hand through his hair. “They’ll heal. No one died for your mistake.”
She studied her feet.
“You know the only way to never miss a parry?” He waited until she looked up. “Don’t spar.”
She blinked, rubbing her arms. A tear gathered rebelliously in the corner of her eye. Several seconds passed in a silent, losing battle for composure. Renee dropped her head to her knees. “Please leave.”
Clothes ruffled as he shifted his weight. “Stop. Crying.”
Go away.
“Please.” The plea escaped him through clenched teeth. “Do something else.”
She looked up to find Savoy’s own eyes closed as he sat with his head tipped back against the stone. She took a breath of cold air and wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. “You don’t cry.”
His eyes opened. “No.”
No, of course not. She lifted her face toward the open sky. The chill tingled. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
He startled, then shook himself. “You’re out of line.”
“Yes, sir.” She closed the coat tighter and leaned back, trying to melt into the rock behind her. She did not need Savoy, she reminded herself, and rubbed her shoulders. She needed no one but herself. In the clouds above her, a gaggle of geese flew in formation, making a circle above the lake. She made herself think of them, forming a picture in her mind of how their ordered V reflected in the water.
“You know it.”
She blinked as his voice disturbed her drawing.
“At least I presume you know it,” he continued with an odd mix of nonchalance and resignation. “Unless you divined a way to copy text without reading it.” He cocked his head to one side, an eyebrow lifted in question.
“I read it,” she said. “Two boys took a pair of the Crown’s prized horses and got into an accident. The uninjured boy was charged with . . .
” Renee jerked upright, staring at him. “With theft.” An unlikely start for a decorated commander of the Seventh, especially since the boy thief had ended in a dungeon. She shook her head. “But you’re here,” she said dully.
“Thank you. I was wondering where I was.” He sighed. “Verin left me in the cell for months before making his offer.” His eyes took in the walls around them, but he spoke calmly. “He said he wasn’t ready to give up on my sword arm yet, but he was not about to underestimate the limits of my stupidity either. If I fostered with him, obeying his rules, I could continue at the Academy. Should I graduate and become a Servant, I was free.”
Sasha’s essay had concluded the court’s sentence unfair and, though the words had been her friend’s, Renee agreed with them. She was glad to know that a generous offer had balanced the injustice. Renee leaned forward, bracing her elbows into her knees. “He was unable to save you the lashes?”
“They were his idea. I near got Connor killed, I deserved every one of those. Just ask Guardsman Fisker. It still chafes him I got off at all.”
Renee scratched her nose. The two boys—it was difficult to think of them as Savoy and Seaborn—had run into bandits. The outcome of that struggle was no more Savoy’s fault than it had been her mother’s when her wagon had ridden into an ambush.
“That ride had not been my first exploit, or even my tenth,” he said as if aware of her thoughts. “Verin was correct both about my fighting and my discipline.” He glanced at her arms, now hidden inside the heavy woolen sleeves of his coat. His voice was that of experience, not speculation. “The worst of the soreness will ease by tomorrow, but you will wear the marks for two weeks or so.”
She frowned at him. Perhaps he’d had no choice in her punishment. “Did Master Verin make you discipline me as you did, sir?”
“No.” The crisp answer ensured no room for doubt. If anything, Savoy’s intense gaze claimed the act as a personal boon. “I requested it.”
Renee was silent. At last she understood.
Him. Savoy. The man she foolishly considered a friend, was just a bully who, having received a pounding from a larger kid, turned around to pass it on to a smaller one. She had stolen Sasha’s paper, a dishonorable, shameful act that ate at her guts. But instead of leaving the matter to a poor grade and the school’s routine discipline—down-rating, work details, quarters confinement, even a paddling from Headmaster Verin as younger students faced—Savoy had wanted to rub her face in her physical weakness, to make her surrender, humiliate her in front of others. Just as he had been. It was not discipline, it was retaliation. And it had come from the one person whose opinion she had permitted to matter so much. Too much. Alec had warned her. She should have listened and kept her distance.