The Cadet of Tildor (14 page)

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.

Her face carefully void of her thoughts, Renee suggested they return to campus. Savoy’s company kindled too great a disgrace to bear.

CHAPTER 19

T
wo days after Renee’s night at Rock Lake, winter’s full force slammed into Atham. Renee hid her bruises under heavy woolen tunics while she marooned herself in her quarters, burying her face in books when friends approached, and staring at the wall when alone. The Seventh left within the week, hurrying to ride out before the snow. She didn’t come out to wish them farewell. When Savoy addressed her in class, she held his gaze but bowed in silence. On the heels of Alec’s secret and Savoy’s humiliating idea of discipline, Renee’s mind pleaded for respite. Instead, it had life-altering exams to look forward to.

After a week of concerned glances and increasingly frustrated inquiries, Alec took action. “Renee,” he called, jogging down the barracks corridor to catch up. Uninvited, he followed her into her room and pulled the door closed.

Renee tensed, then reached into her desk drawer for ink. Seaborn still wanted a paper. Twenty journal pages due a week post practical exams. She needed to find a topic. And materials. The library, she should go there. “I—”

Taking the ink from her hand, Alec set it aside and took hold of her shoulders. He held on until Renee lifted her face to meet his gaze. “Whatever it is, I will not ask,” he said softly. “Neither will Sasha. All right?”

Renee’s mouth went dry. She drew her breath for another denial, but Alec’s eyes said none was necessary.

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder. It helped.

* * *

A few weeks later and with exams just six days away, the Board of Inquiry finally made its Queen’s Day rulings. Returning to their room that evening, Sasha sat herself in front of Renee, who looked up from her push-up set by way of greeting.

“The board just issued Savoy a letter of censure.” Sasha crossed her arms. “I heard all the evidence. They should have cleared him weeks ago, but Fisker kept pressing.”

Renee suppressed a twinge of perverted satisfaction. The letter would slap Savoy’s pride. It was unjust, of course, but in the colossal balance of pride infringement, it was somehow fair. If Fisker was hells bent on destroying Savoy’s career in vengeance for childhood pranks, it was the men’s problem. Her own career might face the gallows in a week. She had to focus on that.

“I think there’s a history with those two.” Sasha tipped her face to the ceiling. “It doesn’t make sense otherwise. You’d think Savoy was a Viper or Family man, the way Fisker went after him.”

Renee dusted her hands. They had a history all right, and Sasha knew it—she just didn’t know that she knew. “They don’t like each other.” Renee shrugged, trying to evict Savoy from her thoughts, and lowered herself for more push-ups. “The captain in the Palace Guard thought Savoy had something to do with Fisker losing his finger.”

For a moment, Sasha seemed as if she’d press the question, but then her brows twitched and she did not.

In the days to follow, exam anxiety loomed over all cadets—fighters and magistrates alike. For fighters, the midyear academic evaluation traditionally paled in comparison to the physical. That ratio would be reversed during end-of-year tests. At the moment, the end of year felt decades away, and so Renee disappeared into strength training. Only Diam and other young pages, who had taken to climbing the barracks’ rooftop to launch snowballs at passersby, seemed immune.

“Get back to bed,” Sasha scolded, waking during Renee’s undesired vigil the night before judgment day. Fruitless advice. One student would be dismissed the next day, and Renee had more riding on the exam marks than did her classmates.

At breakfast, Alec forced two rolls and a slice of cheese into her mouth. “You’ll see these again when I throw up,” she warned him.

He only grinned. “I’d hate to see you forgo tradition,” he said, shouldering his bag as they started back to her room to collect her equipment. “I think you’ve threatened to sick-up before every exam. And then passed.”

They found her door unlocked. Renee pushed the handle and felt her hand curl into a fist. “What are you doing in here?”

Tanil jerked and turned toward her. “You startled me,” he said, color creeping back into his pale face.

“How did you get in?”

He squinted at her. “Turned the handle, same as you. Didn’t you leave the door open on purpose?” Digging into his coat, the boy pulled out a key and flicked it to her. “I found it on the ground and didn’t wish you in trouble. Sorry. My mistake.” Without waiting for a reply, Tanil turned on his heels and left the room. The door slammed in his wake.

Renee compared the new key to the copy she and Alec made on the first day of classes. “Looks worn.” She surveyed the room for evidence of sabotage. “I think it really is the original. How long you think he’s had it?”

“Long enough to do this.” Alec held up her dress coat, freshly decorated with mud smears. “Do you have another?”

“No.” She ground her teeth. With no time for cleaning, a dress shirt alone would have to suffice. Cold but still proper. She rubbed her arms and regretted it. They were tender still. Shaking her head, she grabbed her equipment bag and hurried to the training hall.

The salle had undergone its biannual morph. Several rows of benches appeared by the door at the west end of the room. A judges’ dais draped with black and blue covers dominated the east end. Renee’s gaze flowed over the ground, raked flat and neat. Several years ago a cadet ripped his knee after tripping on a clump of sand.

A cluster of junior students buzzed around a long wooden table, arranging mugs of water. Healer Grovener, immaculate as always, settled into his designated chair, drilling the examinees with a critical gaze. Tradition mandated disqualification to any student the Healer’s hand touched.

“We have little time.” Alec steered Renee toward the far benches.

She followed his lead, pulling pads from her bag and fitting them on. They looked odd. When she realized why, every muscle in her body tensed. The laces of her gear were all severed.