The Cadet of Tildor

  “Too busy reading?”

  “Grow up, Korish.” He paused. “I did.” Saying nothing further, Seaborn walked around Savoy and left.

  Savoy watched his friend disappear down the path, then twisted around and slammed his fist into the nearest tree. He struck again and again, seeing different faces appear in the trunk. Connor’s. Lord Palan’s. His own. That of the idiotic, unknown official who hauled him back to this cursed place.

  A snort from behind got his attention. Kye had stopped frolicking and now pawed the ground, ready for battle. Savoy knotted Lava’s reins and sent the gelding toward the stable before vaulting into Kye’s saddle and, heedless of the setting sun, kicked him into a gallop.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lightning ripped through the early autumn sky, startling clouds into a downpour. Alec snatched the half-finished mapping assignment from Renee’s hands and tucked it into his tunic. “Figures.”

  Renee shielded her face. “We can still memorize the pace count.” Daylight had dimmed behind the clouds, and night approached swiftly through the rain.

  Alec took her shoulders and turned them toward the main Academy grounds. “We’ll finish it tomorrow. It isn’t as if either of us has Queen’s Day plans.” He sighed. “That’s it, isn’t it. That’s what’s spurring today’s masochism?”

  Renee shrugged. Queen’s Day was for family, and even the Academy suspended classes to welcome parents onto its grounds. Not Lord Tamath de Winter, of course, but he had been absent for three years anyway. It was for the better. She didn’t need Savoy informing her lord father that all the failures he assigned to his daughter were, in fact, accurate. And her mother . . .

  Alec squeezed her arm. His own family never came to Queen’s Day, his grandmother being too old for the trip and his mother estranged since his birth. The situation seemed to bother him little, however, as, poking her shoulder, Alec offered up his miracle solution to most of life’s issues. “Let’s eat.”

  Despite having rolled her eyes, Renee found that a bowl of hot porridge did improve her spirits, enough even that after returning to her room and hanging damp clothes up to dry, she could ask Sasha’s plans without fighting a hitch in her own voice.

  “Palace.” Sasha, who saw no reason to pull her nose out of the thick volume weighing down her desk, traced her finger down the page. “I’m going to tell Lys he’s an idiot.”

  “Some Servant you are.”

  “As a Servant, I enforce his laws.” Sasha tapped a line and picked up a pen. “As his cousin, I tell him he’s an idiot. And tomorrow, I’m his cousin.” She scratched out a note and looked up, her face flushed. “Do you know what he did when the Vipers burned down that registration post? He denied audience to the Madam’s emissary and turned the arrest decrees into death warrants. That’s . . . that’s like lighting a match in a barn full of straw, Renee! Walks around like a rooster now, saying he won’t bow his head to criminals.”

  The liberties Sasha took in discussing the Crown, though only in private, made Renee blanch even after years of exposure. “My father pays the Family to leave his wagons alone,” Renee offered. “The price grows each year. You think that’s better?” She fell back on her bed.

  “Victory in war does not come from fighting battles. It comes from winning them.” Sasha tapped her book. “Lys’s just fighting. And you think that’s great because you like the cause. And I think the Crown is about to get a bloody nose or worse!” She paused for breath and blinked, rubbing her forehead. “Speaking of tomorrow, I near forgot to ask . . . Would you be my Queen’s Day dinner bodyguard?”

  Renee raised her brows. The Palace Guard was responsible for palace security and hated outside interference, especially from the military. “The Palace Guard will never permit it.” She could already see Fisker’s face darken at seeing a cadet interfere with his work. “And why bodyguards at a family dinner to begin with?”

  “A compromise. With the recent unrest, the guard captain wanted extra palace security in the dining room and Lys didn’t. They finally agreed that Fisker’s team will remain outside and each guest will choose his own bodyguard to bring inside. I asked that you be mine. If you don’t mind, of course—”

  Renee vaulted up to hug her friend, not bothering to muffle a cry of glee. She was going on her first field assignment. In the palace. With the Crown himself in attendance. “Do you know who will stand behind King Lysian?” she asked upon reclaiming some semblance of dignity.

  “Last I heard . . . ” Sasha made a show of rubbing her lip in thought. “Who was it? Oh. Right. Servant Commander Korish Savoy.” She smiled. “He wanted you to come see him tomorrow. You two are the only ones coming from the Academy.”

  “The only ones?” Renee echoed, licking her lips. The only ones. Just her and the commander of the Seventh.

  Excitement roused Renee from bed before dawn the next morning. Her sword, sharpened and polished, hung on her hip. She ran her hand over the pommel, engraved with the crest of the de Winter estate. The sword had been intended for her brother, but Lord Tamath had gifted it to her back when he believed her capable of graduating, when he thought she’d grow as strong as Riley had once promised to be.

  Still, it was her blade now, and together they were heading to their first real mission. Renee smiled. Her uniform was pressed. Her boots polished. And, despite her stomach’s rebellion at the thought of food, she was ready. She was not, however, suicidal, and thus confined herself to loitering outside Savoy’s quarters instead of waking him.

  She was still there when a whirlwind of a boy in a nightshirt raced through the corridor and vaulted past her into the room.

  “Korish!” Diam’s voice escaped into the hallway. “Korish! There’s someone under my bed.”

  A pause. Renee held her breath.

  The bed creaked. “Go kill it,” said Savoy.

  “I don’t wanna kill anyone.”

  A sigh. “Ask de Winter to do it. She clearly has no better activity for this hour of the morning. Guarding my room notwithstanding.”

  Her cheeks heated. Taking the comment for invitation, Renee edged her way inside. With the furniture back in place, the quarters looked almost normal, except for the small boy curled at Savoy’s side.

  “There’s somebody under my bed,” Diam informed Renee gravely, then turned back to his brother. “A page said Mother and Father couldn’t come today ’cause mercenaries aren’t allowed.”

  Mercenaries? Renee kept her face still. Soldiers for hire held little reputation for honor.

  “Horse shit.” Savoy spoke to his brother but looked at her, daring a comment. When she made none, he extracted himself from the bed and tossed a blanket over Diam’s head. “They don’t come because they have a contract in the west, at the Devmani border, guarding a merchant caravan from unwelcome neighbors.”

  “Why?” The wool muffled the question.

  “Because a new king is an appetizing target.” He turned to Renee and sighed. “You’re attending this evening’s farce with me, aren’t you? All right. One—eat. Two—it’s Queen’s Day dinner. Early is good, this early is ridiculous. The day is yours until the second afternoon bell. I will meet you by the practice courts then. Three”—he pointed to a weapon standing beside his—“you will carry that blade and not the club you’ve strapped to your hip.”

  Her heart sank. It was a junior sword, the kind carried by young cadets not strong enough to wield the real thing.

  * * *

  Half an hour before the appointed time, Renee pulled herself up on a practice court fence to await Savoy, who still spoke with parents and students. It was odd to hear his voice blending with dozens of others. Usually, when Savoy spoke, no one else did.

  She stood to stretch her shoulders and froze. Walking beside two well-dressed nobles was her father. His gaze passed through her as if she were fog. She waited a
few moments, but the group continued toward the main courtyard, quickly leaving the practice courts—and her—behind.

  “Father!”

  He walked on.

  She called out again, starting toward him.

  One of his associates pointed in her direction. Her father hesitated before turning. She slowed her step. This was her world, not his study.

  They halted two spans from each other. Just two large steps, but it could have been a league. Renee didn’t expect hugs and smiles. Neither did she expect him to look as if he had swallowed a leech.

  She bowed formally at the waist, like an officer. “My lord father. Gentlemen.”

  Her father pursed his lip. “Cadet.”

  One of his companions cleared his throat. “Forgive my manners, my lady, I did not know to expect you.” A smile spread over the man’s face as he turned back to her father. “Why, my lord Tamath, I believe I understand how you were able to secure passage onto these grounds. And why you insisted we come today.”

  Understanding gripped her stomach. Her father wasn’t here to see her at all. He was here to call upon the administration, likely in an attempt to sell the estate’s crops. Lord Tamath had not so much as told his colleagues of Renee’s existence.

  He scratched his mustache. “My time is spoken for today, Renee. I do not wish my presence to distract from your training.”

  A chill settled over her.

  The other of his companions, a short man with a trimmed goatee, rubbed a finger down the side of his pointy nose. “Tell me,” he said, peering toward the practice courts behind Renee, “is it true that they allow commoners to enroll?”

  She bowed to him. “Yes, my lord. No distinction is permitted among Servants.”

  He huffed. “Gods help me, Tamath, if the lady insists on playing soldier, why did you not simply purchase her a commission as befitting your station?”

  Renee blinked. The man compared a purchased commission to an Academy education? A Servant earned her place. Not that the mustached tree trunk would value that. Very well. She would speak his language. “The two positions are not identical, my lord. Consider the Crown’s top advisors, for instance,” she said. “How many non-Servants do you see in their ranks?”

  “You will use your . . . great knife . . . to cut a path to the Crown’s favor, my lady? Your strength must be scarcely matched.” He nodded at the junior sword Savoy had insisted she wear and chuckled. “Let us forgo today’s business, my lord Tamath, for your daughter’s grand plans will surely bring good fortune to our estates.”

  Lady Renee knew better than to enter into spitting matches with idiot lords. Unfortunately, Cadet de Winter, who happened to inhabit the same body, could not hold back. “I believe one can do more to protect Tildor’s land by attaining a Servant’s post than by rubbing gold into criminals’ palms.” She turned her face toward her father. “Although I understand opinions on this matter differ.”

  He slapped her.

  Renee touched her tingling cheek, then made her hand drop away. It was her fault; she had gone too far. Now she struggled not to disgrace her uniform with tears. She felt the eyes on her, curious people waiting to see whether she would meekly accept the humiliation, or run off like a child, or start a scandal. Such things attracted an audience as surely as carcasses called to vultures. Tanil smiled from the safety of the crowd.

  “Touch my cadet again, and I will break each one of your fingers,” said a quiet voice behind her. “One at a time.”

  Renee swallowed as Savoy, in his midnight black instructor’s uniform, stepped up beside her. He stood motionless, but nothing could conceal the fury spilling from his gaze. Around them, spectators stopped pretending to be otherwise occupied and stared openly. His words repeated themselves in her mind. She was his cadet. He wasn’t her friend, he thought her weak, but he would stand beside her without asking what the quarrel was or how it came to be. Servants protected each other’s backs because sometimes, too often, there was no one else.

  Renee’s father cleared his throat, indecision playing in his eyes. He was a good spokesman. Would he apologize that a trivial misunderstanding created such a disturbance? Or puff his chest in indignation? He squared his shoulders. “I apologize, young master. My daughter and I found a poor place for a family squabble.”

  “Servant,” said Savoy.

  “I beg pardon?”

  “Servant.” Savoy crossed his arms. “The proper address is Servant or Commander, not master. You seem to have forgotten where you are, my lord.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Tamath bowed just deep enough to avoid discourtesy. “My partners and I have business to attend to. Please do not let us impose on your time further. Renee, come along and guide us to the clerk.”

  Savoy put his hands behind his back and shifted his weight just enough to give her freedom of movement.

  She took a breath. “I am needed elsewhere, my lord. I will see you . . . ” She paused, stumbling on the words. If there had been any chance of regaining a welcome to her father’s estates, she had destroyed it. “I will see you at another time.”

  Savoy’s weight shifted back. A small movement but unmistakable.

  Alec’s face appeared at the edge of the crowd and moved toward her. A moment earlier, Renee was a girl outnumbered. Now she had the whole Crown’s army behind her.

  At least until midyear exams.

  * * *

  A long table stretched down the palace family dining room. Flickering chandelier candles reflected in the polished wood. King Lysian sat at the head of the table, his back to the door. The night beyond pressed at the glittering window across the room from him until Savoy opened the glass, reached out, and swung the shutter closed. Lysian sighed but said nothing.

  With Queen’s Day’s emphasis on family, the guests were just that—people who were cousins and grandparents and uncles as deeply as they were esteemed members of the royal household. Sasha’s parents sat together, holding hands like enthralled lovers despite their years. Renee swallowed and looked away. A large-eyed toddler clutched a wooden puppy doll and reminded everyone that her name was Claire, pointing a chubby finger at her chest and rocking her raised chair until Sasha tickled the girl into silence. Sasha’s attempt to carry a political conversation over Claire’s bobbing form earned shushing noises. Lysian inclined his head toward her. “This isn’t the forum, cousin,” he said quietly, his eyes as cool as Savoy’s. The topic was not raised again.

  Renee rocked back on her heels, studying King Lysian as he fed a scrap to a dog beneath the table. Although Lysian did not appear to remember her, she had seen him with Sasha a few times before, when he was a prince. Once, he had pulled his cousin’s braids. Then he grew taller and pulled back her chair instead. Now he silenced her with a look. He was her liege and her cousin, like a gold coin twisting in midair, showing one face, then the other.

  The room erupted in laughs at someone’s jest. Renee wondered how soon Lysian’s easy smile would become a relic, buried beneath duty. Her eyes cut to Savoy, who stood poised, like a stalking cat, behind his king.

  By the dessert course, many of the bodyguards slouched where they stood behind the guests’ chairs. Renee hid her dismay behind squared shoulders. Savoy, whose gaze roved the room, motioned her to come beside him.

  “Something amiss?” he asked quietly.

  She inclined her head toward the dozing woman wearing the colors of a wealthy local noble and theoretically protecting the royal grandmother.

  Savoy shrugged. “A farce, as I said. Let us hope the Palace Guard outside know their duty. Most of the guards in here stand as marks of favor, not skill or experience.” He frowned at a maid who had brought in fresh candles and now loitered by the large window that faced King Lysian. “Before you give your thoughts voice, realize that that is how you came to be here as well.” He tilted his head, spe
aking quieter still. “Your friend’s favor does not change your skills. You struggle amongst fighter cadets, but you would best most anyone here. You—” He didn’t finish. Savoy’s hand flew to his sword side, thrusting Renee away. His voice pitched clear above the bustle of the room. “Latch the shutter back up.”

  The maid froze, her face pale. “’Tis beautiful stars out tonight, Servant.” She faltered, her fingers plucking her shirtsleeve.

  Without warning, Savoy shoved the king’s chair back from the table, spilling Lysian to the floor. A startled cry rose around the room. The king grunted, a trickle of blood forming where his brow struck the chair’s edge. The shouts grew, crackling with sudden panic. Renee took Savoy’s action on faith and yanked Sasha down. A mug of scalding coffee doused them both. Renee’s heart began to pound. The guests wailed, Claire’s shriek rising above the rest. The dog streaked across the room, frenzied and baying.

  “What’s happening?” Sasha yelled into her ear.

  Renee twisted in search of the danger that had triggered Savoy’s action, but saw only a terrified maid fleeing from the window and the flushed face of King Lysian. He blotted his brow with his sleeve and blinked at the stain. Frowning, Renee readied to let Sasha rise.

  Which was when the window shattered and an arrow meant for the Crown lodged itself in Savoy’s shoulder. He staggered back, and the guests’ screams changed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Shrill, frightened yells filled the air. Guests stampeded toward the door. Porcelain cascaded to the floor and crunched underfoot. Bodyguards, shaken from their trance, shouted to their charges, their raised voices blending.

  “Close the window shutter.” Savoy’s cold command rose above the noise.

  Renee spun toward the far wall. Glass fragments littered the floor beneath the broken window, its shutter ajar. Another arrow whistled inside, bursting a wine cask and feeding the panic. The royal guests pressed against the door, fists pounding the unyielding oak. Someone must have sabotaged the lock, Renee realized with indrawn breath. It wouldn’t be long before the horde presented a target so large that even the most inexperienced shooter couldn’t miss.