The Cadet of Tildor

  His eyes flashed. “We don’t. I do. You are a tagalong liability who can’t tell reality from grand adventure.”

  She went to slap him. He caught her wrist in mid-motion. The next instant, he released it with a hiss of pain, cradling his bandaged hand to his chest. It was not funny at all, but Renee smiled anyway and walked away.

  After cooling off enough to be passable company, Renee went to inspect Alec’s kitchen adventures. He was not there, but Seaborn, sitting on a fallen trunk near the fire, extended a mug of tea to her. He held up another one and called to Savoy, but the man shook his head and headed to the opposite edge of the clearing.

  Savoy dug out a small jar and braced it between his knees to open the lid, then unwrapped the bandage. When the salve touched the lesion, he closed his eyes and rocked over the cradled palm for a breath, before refastening the dressing.

  “Do you think burns hurt more than arrow wounds?” Renee asked Seaborn, who glanced over at Savoy and winced.

  “I think no one should be that skilled at tying a bandage one-handed.”

  “If he behaved like a normal human being, he wouldn’t have to,” she mumbled. After making certain that Savoy showed no signs of listening, she turned back to Seaborn. “Was he different as a cadet?”

  “He was the Seven Hells’ personal representative to the mortal realm. Gods, I don’t know how the Academy survived us both.” Seaborn’s smile faded and he stirred the fire with a stick. “I left for a while at fourteen. When I returned, Verin had him on a leash and he wasn’t talking much to anyone, me included.”

  “He still doesn’t.”

  He shook his head. “Relatively speaking, he does.”

  “You stopped being friends after the horse incident?” When several seconds passed without an answer, she looked up to see Seaborn watching her, his brows raised. She tried to cover her words.

  He shook his head. “Too late. When did he tell you what that essay was really about?”

  The heat rising in her face had nothing to do with the fire. “After what he did to me in the salle.”

  “After what he did to you in the salle?” Seaborn sat back and looked at her incredulously. “Renee, what he did to you in the salle was save you from getting thrown out of the Academy on the spot. He and Verin went head to head for half an hour over it. And then another quarter hour because he would not let Verin touch you.”

  She swallowed. Thrown out on the spot. Bloody gods. Her face burned despite the cold. She was on probation, yes, but in combat arts, not academics. “Expulsion for one mistake? My first?”

  “You chose a poor time for it.” He spread his hands. “Verin had to cut a senior cadet in a few weeks anyway. You were making a difficult decision very easy, Renee.”

  She hadn’t considered that. She glanced at Savoy. “Why didn’t he just tell me I was getting off easy?”

  Seaborn tilted his head back. “I would wager,” he said, emphasizing the last word, “he did not wish to make excuses for his actions.”

  Renee’s stomach twitched in familiar frustration. His actions. Exactly. They were back to that. “Master Verin handles such things in private. Why did Savoy wish to humiliate me?”

  Seaborn chuckled. “Is that what you think?” He braced his elbows on his knees and cocked his head at her. “Humiliate you how, Renee? By besting you in a sparring match? I doubt there is anyone in Atham who could hold his own for more than a minute with the man.”

  She looked at Savoy and back. “He had wanted to deliver the blows himself. If it wasn’t to prove a point, then why?”

  Seaborn glanced at his friend. “He’s a fighter, Renee. He’d wish to face what comes with a sword in hand, even a battle he could not win. Perhaps he believed the same true for you?” He wrapped his hands around his mug and lowered his already quiet voice. “Plus, Korish is not one to let others handle his dirty work. He considered your fate his fault.”

  “That’s—” Seaborn’s hunched shoulders made her swallow the word ridiculous. She frowned. “Does . . . Does he hold himself accountable for your injuries in the riding accident?”

  “I believe he always has.” Seaborn snuffed out a stray ember with his boot. “I also believe having to hurt you reopened that wound.”

  * * *

  Renee rose before dawn the following morning. Savoy had the watch and was in the midst of morning chores, flowing through the camp like a dancer across the floor. A pot of stew was already heating on a makeshift stove and a stack of fresh wood waited by the fire. On this miserably cold morning, in the middle of the forsaken woods, he looked more at home than she recalled ever seeing him at the Academy.

  “What should I do?” she called out, searching for unfinished tasks.

  He unbuckled Kye’s hobbles and stowed them in a saddlebag. “Whatever you wish.”

  A log cracked in the fire, lighting the silence. Savoy lifted Kye’s heavy hoof, awkwardly balancing it atop his right forearm while his other hand worked the hoof-pick. His sword hung from the wrong hip, a change Renee had failed to notice until now.

  She lowered her head and bent to pet Khavi, who slept curled in a ball. The dog lumbered up in greeting, moving with uncharacteristic stiffness. She furrowed her brows at his lethargy and had just reached out to pet him when a snow-laden branch broke from a tree and crashed to the ground beside Savoy. The stallion jumped in place, despite Savoy’s arm still supporting a hoof. Gasping, he dropped the hoof pick and cradled his bandaged hand before leaning on his horse for support.

  He turned his head before Renee could look away and their eyes met across the campsite.

  “Enjoying the show?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  Savoy returned to his task, leaving her to stare at his back and regret her smile of the previous evening. It was time to mend things.

  Ten minutes later, Renee sat atop the fallen tree trunk by the fire and filled two mugs with steaming coffee. She took a second to savor the rising steam and called to Savoy, “Peace offering?”

  “There isn’t a war.” He did not sit, but at least he took the coffee.

  “How’s your hand?”

  “What do you want?”

  She looked at the fire. It was easier to watch the flames than his face. “Our best swordsman can’t grip his blade. My teacher’s worried about his brother. And . . . ” She gathered herself. “And my friend’s hurt, and no one will even help him tie the bandage.”

  He said nothing for a while, and the crackle of the burning wood filled the silence. “I’m not your friend,” he said quietly, long after a thick log charcoaled in the center and broke in two. “And you wouldn’t wish me as one.”

  “I understand the risks.” She smiled tightly, then drew a breath. “Seaborn told me that Headmaster Verin had wished to dismiss me.” She didn’t look at him still. In retrospect, she was daft to not have at least suspected the truth. Dafter still to have done the deed, but it was too late for that line of thought. Her head bent over her cup, the hot fumes warming her face. It was gentler on my pride to blame you than to thank you. I’m sorry. She opened her mouth, but the words would not come. She nodded at his bandage instead. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She smiled at him.

  Savoy blinked, then chuckled back.

  She set her cup down into the snow, regretting the loss of heat. “May I see?”

  He shrugged wearily but sat beside her and surrendered his hand. The muscles on his forearm coiled when she pulled away the layers of cloth that stuck to the wound. The unveiled raw, blistered flesh made Renee suck in a breath and turn away. Blood rushed from her head. She lifted her face to the sky and counted to ten until the wave of dizziness passed. “Gods.”

  He pulled his hand back and flexed his swollen fingers. “It looked better yesterday.” r />
  “Maybe Alec can—”

  “Meddle within my Keraldi Barrier without any training? No.” Savoy pulled the small jar of salve from his pocket and opened it. Seen up close, the viscous white liquid inside was tinged with a pale blue shimmer. “Mage-made.” He answered her unspoken question. “They say it fights off corruption. Seven Hells, it should fight off bears the way it stings.”

  She peered inside and recoiled from the rank smell. The salve had to cost double its weight in gold. Meanwhile, Savoy braced his forearm against his knee and fumbled in his pocket for a clean strip of linen.

  “Do you want help?” She made herself sound steady. Even a pair of inexperienced hands had to be better than changing a dressing one-handed.

  “No.” He paused and then his good hand halted her rising. “But I will take the company, if you do not mind.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Catar drowned in green. Dirty green coats on loitering young men. Thin green headcloths on girls who winked and purred on street corners. Mismatched green store signs. The shades varied from one ragged cloth to the next, but the color itself was there, slithering through the narrow streets. Viper color.

  Growing up in the countryside, Renee learned the Family’s game. Their veesi dealers titled themselves merchants, their thugs claimed the name private guard. Even nobles like Lord Palan feigned legitimacy. Calling a tribute a donation made little financial difference, but compared to the naked disrespect for the law that the Vipers showed, it was genteel.

  “The Family sprung from nobility.” Seaborn’s voice had a classroom cadence that made Savoy roll his eyes. Ignoring him, Seaborn added, “Overt crudeness would upset their more delicate maneuvers. The Vipers breed in prisons and slums—their approach is bludgeon.”

  Bludgeon. Like shooting arrows into the palace and setting mage buildings aflame. Renee sighed. Bribing the Crown at a time of barren treasury, like the Family was doing, was certainly more refined—and more devious as well. “Doesn’t the Madam realize that brash actions push King Lysian toward an alliance with the Family? He would save face if nothing else.”

  “The Madam rose to her place through blood and must champion her cause in a manner her people approve. Her Vipers crave to see men cower and break in the Predator arena and the streets alike. To hold respect, the Madam must make the Crown capitulate from fear, not from some mutually beneficial arrangement,” said Seaborn.

  “And the Family?” asked Renee.

  “They desire coin. All else, from veesi sale to extortion and blackmail, is but a means to that end.”

  A rat of a man with an unshaven face made a kissing noise at Renee. She cracked her knuckles but kept her pace steady. Frosted sewage crunched underfoot, the cobblestones as foul as the gazes upon her.

  Alec, who had developed a habit of keeping pace at the fringe of the group, stepped toward her. Savoy started in the same direction, and Alec veered back to his place, looking straight ahead.

  “Take off your scarf.” Savoy stepped up beside her, Kye shouldering away Seaborn.

  Her fingers touched the woolen scarf hugging her neck. Wide bands of blue and red, representing the Academy’s two tracks, stood proudly against black wool.

  “Do it,” he hissed into her ear.

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she unwound the cloth. The wind invaded her collar.

  “Throw it into the sewage, not into your pocket.”

  She jerked her chin up toward his face, the symbol of Tildor clutched in her fist. Her nostrils flared. “No.”

  “Then get the bloody hells away, before you expose me as well as yourself. Or did you plan to stand in the public square and demand Diam’s release in the Crown’s name?”

  She stepped away from him but let the wool slip from her fingers. Her eyes closed to avoid watching Kye’s hooves trample the scarf. When she brought herself to turn back, she saw that the expensive cloth was buried in filth. How could a Tildor city have so forsaken the rule of law that a flag of justice became a liability?

  Seaborn put a hand on her shoulder. “I doubt the Seventh blows trumpets before an assault. We would likewise do well to keep our loyalties hidden.”

  She took a breath of rank air and let her heart catch up to her mind. Lady Renee and her entourage traveled on personal business. They were no one to the Crown, useless as political hostages, pointless as symbols for vengeance. Shivering, she maneuvered over to Alec and they walked in companionable silence.

  At Seaborn’s suggestion, the group lodged at Hunter’s Inn. It was a modest place in a clean part of town, the type of place suitable for a visiting young noble. The innkeeper apologized for a lack of private quarters for the lady, but offered two adjoining rooms where tall walls tried to compensate for stingy floor space. Nonetheless, after five days of a winter march—the storm had doubled the usual travel time—they had real rooms and real beds. A silver coin even bought connection to a courier who’d bring a note with Renee’s location to Sasha.

  “You’re quiet, even for you,” Renee told Alec while she readied for bed. Her friend had spent the day mumbling to Khavi, who had staggered along at his side. He hadn’t volunteered an explanation for the dog’s lethargy, and she had feared to ask. Now, still in his travel clothes, Alec lay atop his bedspread, fingers interlaced behind his head. Outside their window, stars glistened against a moonless sky, twinkling like fireflies. Navigating between the two narrow beds to a small wash table, Renee poured some water from a chipped pitcher into the basin. She touched it and sighed. “It’s cold.”

  Alec looked at her, his eyes as distant as the outside stars. His gaze shifted to the basin and his hand flicked forward, a blue glow hugging his fingers like a glove. A moment later, a hair of light extended from his palm toward the water. It touched the basin for several heartbeats before melting away into nothingness. “Try it now.”

  Swallowing, Renee dipped a finger into the wash water. It warmed her skin. She frowned and wiped her hand on her nightshirt. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?” The indifference in his voice chilled her. “You know what I am. As they do.” He frowned at the closed door separating the rooms. Since the incident with the sword, neither Savoy nor Seaborn had brought up Alec’s nature, but neither did they go out of their way to speak to him. To be fair, Alec avoided them as well, especially Savoy.

  “You said you didn’t want to be a mage.”

  “I don’t.” Alec sat up and crossed his arms. “I gave half my life to the Academy, did all the Crown asked of a Servant.” His voice rose. “You were there. You know. They bleed your soul until you can hardly move and then discard you if you trip. I didn’t trip. I gave all they wanted. And do you know what? They’d have shackled me anyway, for being born as I was, for not wishing to let some Mage Council decide whether to train me into a Healer or a weapon or whatever else.” Alec’s nostrils flared, his face darkening with unbridled anger that Renee had never seen in him before. “I thought I could win, prove that I could make my own choices! I couldn’t. If Tildor will always treat me as a mage first and a person second, why forfeit the few advantages there are?”

  “Because you can’t have it both ways, Alec! If you want to Control, then register and follow the rules. Else, don’t use it absent an emergency.”

  “Register?” His eyes flashed and he rose from the bed. “Forfeit my life to the council? You know why they burn the registration symbol over a mage’s heart. So you couldn’t amputate the marked body part if you wanted to. Once they brand you, they can find you anywhere. They can make the symbol kill you.”

  “Which the Crown orders only if you turn murderer or something of similar nature,” Renee pointed out.

  “I don’t need a death threat to keep me from hurting others,” he shouted. “I’ve never done it and never will!”

  “Seen Savoy’s hand lately?” she yelled to match h
is tone.

  “Savoy.” Alec rolled his eyes. A moment later, his jaw clenched tight. “I kept him from stabbing you, Renee. And I touched his sword, not him.” He paused. “Why do you stare?”

  Renee stepped back from the blue mage flame that ravaged the air around Alec’s palms, seemingly without his knowledge. Her heart sped. When attacking Savoy, Alec had been unable to stop the assault without Khavi’s help. “Alec.”

  He advanced toward her. The flame encircling his hands pulsated and intensified with each breath. “What’s wrong with you?” he growled.

  “Stop!” Renee’s back struck the wall. She slid along it toward the door. “I had it wrong.” She forced calm into her voice and extended her hands in front of her. “You are right. You are right.”

  His flaming hand extended and blue flame shot forth. It struck the wall beside Renee’s head, leaving a scorch mark on the reddish plaster. She gasped.

  The door connecting the rooms crashed open. “What goes on?” Seaborn boomed.

  Alec jerked from the noise and stared at his hands, eyes growing wide. “I . . . I’m not certain,” he stammered. He looked from the scorched wall to Renee, froze a moment, and backed away. “Gods.” Retreating to his bed, he drew up his knees and cradled his head on them. His body twitched.

  Renee let out a breath and licked dry lips. She was exhausted, as if she had just run for leagues, and her knees threatened to wobble. A hand touched her shoulder. Savoy watched Alec, but leaned against the wall by her side.

  Seaborn fished veesi from Alec’s pack and put several leaves to the boy’s lips, whispering something soothing about Control taking time to harness. Alec cringed, but she felt no sympathy for him now. An untrained mage was like a child with an armed crossbow. Now I wish him to chew veesi? Alec could not keep himself drugged all his life. She rubbed her face and leaned toward Savoy. “Could you walk with me?”

  “You should care for your friend,” he answered for her ears alone.