The Cadet of Tildor (13 page)

“At least you know she’s alive.” With a sigh, Renee leaned back on outstretched arms and studied the cracks in the ceiling. She recalled little of her own mother, but the memories she had were warm. “So, your mother is registered, your bloodlines are mage-filled, and you Control . . . And instead of skulking in the shadows of your village, you got yourself to Atham, defying registration under the Crown’s—and Mage Council’s—very noses. You’re hiding in plain sight.”

His jaw tightened. “But I’m not hiding. I’m making a choice to be a fighter Servant instead of yielding to a mage’s impulse. You do the same, choosing to train instead of surrendering to your size or your father’s decrees. Anyone can conscript as a common soldier or purchase an officer’s commission, but becoming a Servant—that proves something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “All Servants have their reasons.” A hint of a smile twitched across his face. “Even Savoy, I’m sure.”

She smiled back. Alec was right. The Servants’ code inspired her, but different yearnings drove different people—whether for opportunity, or challenge, or to uphold a family tradition. They all had potential to be good officers.

Alec shook his head like a dog and leaned back. “Where is the Seventh this fine day? You like running with them over training with Savoy alone?”

A knock at the door halted her growing blush. She missed the regular morning sparring, but Savoy still found an hour for her now and again. “Enter,” she called instead of answering Alec.

A small girl in a page’s uniform appeared long enough to say that Headmaster Verin wished Renee to attend him in his office immediately.

Alec’s face was carefully neutral. He looked out the window.

Renee waited until the girl’s footsteps receded. “I didn’t say anything,” she told him, her mouth dry.

His shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t think you would, but . . . ” He frowned. “Diam? I like him, but he’s eight.”

“I’ll give you warning if they know.” Renee leaned her forehead against the doorframe before stepping out. “It may be something else altogether.” She headed out before he could ask what.

The late afternoon sky was still crisp and clear. The administrative building towered above Renee, casting its shadow over the Academy grounds. Its white marble steps, thick columns, and strict, smooth walls radiated grandeur and intimidation. No one, except perhaps for those who entered it daily, could walk inside without feeling the significance of her own existence dwarfed by the immensity of the institution.

Holding her breath, Renee pulled open one of the doors, so heavy that for the first few years as a cadet she couldn’t open it by herself. Not that she had much practice. Mischief that sucked most of the boys into trouble and a headmaster’s summons had politely avoided her. Until now. The door closed behind her with a puff of cold air, shutting out the courtyard noise and leaving her to climb the stairs in dooming silence.

From the top stairway window, she saw Savoy approach the building and forced herself to maintain composure. He’d expect that of her. He was near the entrance now and seemed unaware of Seaborn rounding the corner. Without warning, Seaborn grabbed Savoy and spun him around. A suicidal move. Renee held her breath.

Savoy stiffened, but allowed himself to be shoved.

Seaborn’s finger jabbed Savoy’s chest until the latter turned away and entered the building.

“Make no mistake about it, Korish.” Seaborn’s voice echoed up the stairs. “We both know who’s responsible.”

“Yes,” Savoy answered.

Renee stepped farther away from the landing, as getting caught eavesdropping was unlikely to improve her situation. Her thoughts raced as quickly as her heart. The exchange below shed little light on which of her recent misdeeds put her here. It was possible that Diam had told his brother the truth, and Verin now planned to force her into bearing witness against her friend. Or that Seaborn had realized the essay she turned in was not of her writing. Or . . . she clasped her hands behind her back to still them.

Savoy crested the stairs, looking as pale as Renee felt. Whatever had happened, he was unhappy about it. That made two of them. She forced a ghost of a smile to her face to encourage them both.

“Face the wall, cadet,” he said.

It was as though he’d doused her with freezing water. Renee turned toward the wall, too humiliated to meet either his eyes or Seaborn’s. Footsteps sounded behind her as the two men walked past, toward Verin’s office.

“What about her?” Seaborn asked as the door started to creak closed.

“She stays outside,” said Savoy. There was a click, and conversation became too muffled to discern.

Renee’s palms were slippery with sweat by the time they came out an hour later, Savoy in the lead. He walked toward her, stone-faced, while Verin watched from a few paces back. “With me.” Savoy tapped her writing journal against his leg and shoved her toward the steps. Seaborn and Verin followed.

CHAPTER 18

R
enee stumbled as Savoy thrust her into the training salle. She slid on the sandy floor, catching sight of Seaborn and Verin taking posts at the wall while she regained her balance. Seaborn’s slumped shoulders sank farther.
Seaborn. The essay.
At least she knew what it was about now. Her heart sped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered toward him, but it wasn’t Seaborn who rounded on her with disappointment, and something else, flaring in his eyes. It was Savoy.

He opened her journal, ripped out a fistful of pages, and threw the bundle at her. Paper separated in mid-flight and glided to the ground, fluttering in and out of the squares of late-day light that fell from the windows onto the sand.

“What in the Seven Hells possessed you?”

Blood drained from her face. She glanced back at Seaborn, but found herself unable to meet his eyes. Savoy towered over her. Swallowing, she bent to pick up the pieces of her essay. No, not her essay, just the one she handed in.

“I—I didn’t have time,” she stammered, containing herself to the task of collecting the rubbish. She wished the ground could open and let her disappear into oblivion.

“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.