The Cadet of Tildor (19 page)

“Duke Leon is hosting a ball tomorrow night.” Renee took a breath. It was better to just say it. “I’ve committed to going, with a guest. Thus . . . do you dance?”

Savoy blinked while Seaborn’s laugh filled the room. “He dances, Renee. And if he doesn’t, I’ll teach him myself.” 

* * *

It wasn’t that Renee disliked dresses; it was that the trio in the other room had never seen her in one. Worse yet, she couldn’t reach the back ribbons. She ran her hands over the recent purchase, smoothing the slippery rose-and-white bodice that tapered out to a sea of skirt. In the Academy, she all but stripped in front of the boys, yet the walk to the other room now daunted her.

“Are you done yet?” Alec called through the closed door.

Adjusting a hair tie, she contemplated appropriate retorts to the inevitable jests. Conjuring none of value, she sighed, commanded her hands to stop fidgeting, and opened the door.

They stared.

Her cheeks heated as she fingered the skirt, clutching the material like a dolt. Her eyes studied the worn, wooden floorboards.

Clapping startled her. Lifting her head, she saw the three of them lounging around the room, grinning like ten-year-olds and applauding. Savoy, sitting atop the bureau, radiated juvenile amusement. Someone whistled.

Renee retreated, her eyes beginning to sting.
I enjoy being a girl,
she yelled inside her mind while pleading with the gods to make her disappear.

Savoy hopped down and caught her elbow before she reached the door. Mirth she did not share danced on his face. “Renee, you look . . . feminine.”

“I
am
a girl.” 

“Figures,” he said dryly. “I thought there was something odd about you.”

He held her gaze until her mind resolved to smile at the boys’ stupid humor. She twisted, turning her back to the crowd. “Will one of you tie this, please.”

At first, nothing happened. Several seconds later, she felt pointless tugging on the back lace, and losing patience, turned her head.

Savoy winced. “Must it be tied?”

“I think that hooks there,” Seaborn suggested, while Alec came up to lend a third set of hands. She twisted back around and endured more tugging. On the fourth “let’s try this,” Renee thanked them for their efforts and went in search of a female.
Any
female.

She returned to find Savoy dressed in flowing black pants and a dark shirt that she and Seaborn had picked out for him. The outfit accented his athletic build and blond hair, which brushed the back of his shoulders. Wearing a suffering expression, he listened to Seaborn’s lecture.

“Connor, shut up, please.” He massaged his temples. “A description of a waltz won’t help. I’ll manage.” He faltered and looked toward Renee, his face growing serious. “Plus, I don’t believe we’ll be spending much time on the dance floor.”

She picked up the cue. “The hosts will expect you to dance with me at first and then yield me to other gentlemen. You’ll have free rein for a while before you come back to ensure my well-being.” Ignoring his rolling eyes, she continued. “When you do, I’ll feel faint. We’ll make our apologies as you take me to get fresh air, at which point we’ll enjoy minimal scrutiny while walking the grounds. We can’t bring swords in, but perhaps Duke Leon’s halls have something to . . . borrow.”

He repeated the instructions back to her and rose, addressing their companions. “We’ll see you later tonight. Alec, if you find a way to release Khavi inside the estate gardens, it would help narrow the search.”

Alec nodded but kept his hands buried in pockets and eyes on the floor. Renee swallowed a sigh. It wasn’t as if this was a courtship outing or one to which Alec could come instead. Nodding a thank-you to Savoy, who opened the door, she headed out of the room.

Walking to Duke Leon’s estate, Renee tingled with excitement. This was
her
plan. Even Savoy had listened, approved, and now heeded her lead. In a way, she had done the job usually reserved for him, and they were about to test how well she had done it. She opened her mouth to bring up the topic, but the tension in his face deflected her thoughts. “Are you nervous?” She touched his arm. “I can back-lead you in dance, and since you’re but my escort, no one will pay attention to you. It all sounds grander than it is.”

Steering himself away from her touch, Savoy gave her a sidelong glance, but kept silent.

The seductive voice of a violin escaped through the gilded doors. Beside them, a tall, weedy butler examined invitations.

“A pleasure, my lady.” He bowed without so much as looking at her companion.

She murmured her thanks and glided into the marbled hallway, noticing that Savoy’s were the only footsteps making no sound on the glistening stones. In the ballroom, flickering candle and lantern light reflected off the polished dance floor. Flowers poured from wide vases, bright ponds of color amidst the green velvet drapes.

Renee shook her head to reject a boy’s offering of honey wine, and glanced at Savoy. His face was void of emotion.

“I need to thank the host,” she whispered.

“Of course.” Savoy bowed and stepped back at once, while she navigated among dresses and long coats, many of them green, to make the prescribed greetings. The noble guests unlikely belonged to the Vipers directly; the choice of color was tribute. Was the tribute offered in respect or fear? She marked the thought and, her introductions made, held her hand out to Savoy.

He materialized by her side and bowed again. “If I may,” he said, and led her forward, dignity filling each motion.

The music started. Renee felt the strength of his frame the moment she laid her left palm on his shoulder. She smelled the soap in his hair. His hand gripped hers and pushed away, engaging a gentle tension between them. He swayed, weight changing from foot to foot.

One, two, three. One, two, three. The music called in high, flowing notes.

Savoy shifted his weight once more, and with the next strong beat, stepped through her, propelling them down the dance floor. The chandeliers spun, the room swaying to the song while they circled, rising and falling with the pulsing rhythm of the waltz. Renee’s heart pounded, exhilaration filling her chest.

Humility claimed her when, several songs later, they returned to the sideline chairs. Savoy’s eyes, on the other hand, sparked with impish amusement.

“You did that on purpose.” She glared. Dance instruction was typically limited to noble circles; it had been reasonable to expect Savoy ignorant of it. “Where did you learn?”

“My father. I don’t know where he learned it. Did I spoil your fun?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You were enjoying having the upper hand on me.”

Recalling the comments she made earlier, Renee blushed and stroked the velvet armrests. While she searched for a way out of her self-dug hole, Savoy moved on to a different topic.

“You seem at ease here.” He waved his hand to encompass the room. “Why the Academy?”

She brushed the velvet again, used to the question and embarrassed of the answer. “I wish—
wished
—to make a difference. To keep Tildor safe.” She squirmed and flickered her fingers in dismissal. “Just a childish fantasy.”

Savoy snorted. “Horse shit.
Why?
”

She sighed. “The Family destroyed a wagon carrying my mother and brother when my father refused to pay tribute. I should have been in that wagon . . . ” Her fingers touched the scar and she clamped her hand shut around it. The career she pursued to honor their memory was gone now. “I don’t wish the likes of it to happen again, anywhere in Tildor.” Holding her breath, she awaited his laugh at what her father dubbed delusions of self-importance.

Savoy leaned his chair back until it teetered on its hind legs. He studied her, his face unreadable. “Don’t let yourself feel shame for living,” he said quietly, glancing at her closed fist. “As for changing the world, that begins with deciding you can.”

She lowered her face and nodded. The night was bowing to introspection. “What about you?” she asked. “Why do you do it?”

“I fit. I like the freedom of running missions in the middle of nowhere.” He paused, shrugging, then jerked his chin toward the dance floor. “You better go meet some suitors. It’s getting late.”

She rose but paused and spun toward him. “Horse shit, sir,” Renee whispered. “Why did you become the Crown’s Servant?”

The corners of Savoy’s mouth twitched. “Because otherwise,” he said, letting his tipped chair return to the floor, “I’d be its criminal.”

CHAPTER 25

“P
r
eened-out peacocks,” Savoy said under his breath as they stepped into the snow-covered gardens behind the ballroom.

“They didn’t see you come out?” Renee waited for his nod and let out a breath of relief. “Here comes Khavi.” The approaching dog’s white fur reflected shimmers of moonlight. She fingered her pale pink dress and cringed at her color choice. Dark fabric better melted into the night.

Savoy pushed her into the shadows and wrapped his black cloak around her shoulders. His blond hair disappeared under a dark hat he produced from nowhere. His hand reached for a sword that was not there and he looked at Renee. She shook her head. There was no way to steal one from the manor. They’d have to do with the knives they brought. Savoy nodded once, and slid out to follow Khavi, whose paws crunched on the frozen grass.

Manicured grounds gave way to an untamed forest. Renee’s initial indignation at the duke’s careless abandon of his backlands changed to suspicion. The dense, wild vegetation, an inky black tangle in the dark of night, discouraged trespassing. Leafless branches struck Renee’s face and snatched at her clothes. She pulled her knife from under her dress and cut away the underskirt.

A quarter hour into the hike, the dog stopped at what seemed a random clearing in the woods and scratched at the frosty ground.

Renee crouched and felt a prolonged crack. “It’s a door.” She pulled up on a wooden edge.

Steep, slippery stairs led them underground. The air, heavy with mold and moisture, hung like fog. Renee lowered the hinged cover over their heads, shutting away the moonlight. The door clicked shut and flashed with a small speck of blue.

Cursing, Savoy tried in vain to reopen the exit. They were trapped.

Darkness hugged them. Savoy’s breath warmed the back of her neck. “Wait.” He halted her with a hand on her shoulder.

She felt him crouch, then heard a muffled crunch, like glass breaking beneath cloth. Savoy moved in front of her, a small pouch glowing blue in his hand.

“Light sac,” he whispered. “The Mage Council divined them for the Seventh last year.”

The stairway spiraled down, yielding to a lantern-lit corridor. A pair of leather bracelets lay discarded on the floor of a small alcove to their left. On closer look, Renee saw blue tinted metal strips interwoven with the leather bands. Mage work. She tossed the thing back into the corner.

Khavi jogged forward, his claws ticking against the stone. The walls were uneven here, far enough apart in some places for several men to walk abreast, in others so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. After a while, Renee and Savoy spilled into a wider, main corridor.

“Memorize the layout,” Savoy whispered. His voice was calm. “Keep it basic. Count the paces. Note odd markings.”

She repeated his words in her head. She and Alec had practiced mapping this past autumn—she shook her head; was it truly so recent?—but basics were easier at the Academy, when her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest and she wasn’t counting footsteps that echoed against underground walls.

Savoy’s hand halted her again. He pointed to his ear, then forward to where another hall joined the main artery from the east. Stuffing the light sac into his boot, he pulled out his knife.

Renee had to close her eyes to catch the approaching footsteps. Once she did, they seemed deafeningly loud. Several paces ahead, Khavi froze in his tracks, turned his head, teeth glowing with reflected light.

“I heard you taming the wild child,” said a gruff, self-satisfied voice.

“Life’s small pleasures,” answered a baritone. “I told ’em months ago that market’s ripe for eight-yearers, if you train ’em right.”

Savoy, expressionless, held up two fingers.

Renee’s hands curled into fists. Gripping her knife, she stepped forward toward the junction. It was two on two, with surprise on their side. The footsteps grew louder. The speakers were nearing. Little longer until confrontation. Renee looked at Savoy, realizing that she had passed him and now held point.

He motioned her behind him.

Renee’s heart sped. Someone close cleared his throat. She took a quick breath and found Savoy’s eyes. “Let me,” she mouthed.

His lips tightened—and Renee’s heart sank. Was he recalling her loss to Tanil? Or her panic over a
paper
? Or her struggles during the Queen’s Day dinner? She waited, motionless, and had just resigned herself to rejection when Savoy raised his brows and nodded, flattening against the wall behind her. Renee grinned. She twisted the knife in her hand, aligning the blade parallel with her forearm. She could hear rough breathing closing from the right. An instant later, two sloppy, bearded men stepped out, one of them scratching his armpit.

Now!
Renee pushed away from the stone and gripped the first guard’s tunic. They crashed into the opposite wall, the wood baton falling from his belt and skittering away. The man’s wide eyes grew larger still when her forearm pressed against his jugular. The knife felt hot in her other hand. All she had to do was plunge it into her immobilized prey. She hesitated. His lip curled.

A thud against her back slammed through her. She twisted around to see Savoy pull the second guard off her back and snake an arm around his neck.

Renee’s opponent used the moment to wrench himself free and now circled her. She cursed silently, watching his shoulders. He was unarmed but carried twice her weight. This fight she’d win on speed—she knew enough to understand that now. She feinted with her knife. He recoiled and swung his fist, raising his elbow too high and exposing his ribs.

Renee saw the opening, saw where her blade must plunge into real, living flesh. And wavered once more. Flesh was a far cry from the pads they used in the salle. The opening vanished.

“Get it done,” Savoy’s voice demanded. “Or I will.”

The guard rushed her, pinning her against the wall, his toothy snarl catching the dim light. Decayed breath hit Renee’s face. He grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the stone. She cried out. He grinned, prying the weapon from her fingers. Now armed, he trailed the point of her own knife down her body. The blade stopped at her chest, pressing until a small crimson circle soaked the cloth by the blade’s tip.

Blood drained from her face. Her eyes jerked in search of Savoy.

He met her gaze with a challenging one. Letting his now limp victim slide from his grasp, Savoy crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.

Renee swallowed.

The guard holding her smacked wet lips together. “I like fiery kittens,” he hissed, leaning closer. A smile distorted his mouth. He licked her cheek. “Salty.”

That did it. Renee’s knee shot up between the pervert’s legs, sending him yelping to his knees. He groped for her, the knife slicing the air in wide, clumsy strokes. On its downward swing the blade bit into her arm.

A surge of anger roared through her. Her hand grabbed the guard’s wrist and snapped it backward. Her fingers forced the knife from his. She flipped the blade parallel to her forearm, twisted around, and slit his neck.

The world stopped. The silence of finished battle settled around her. The knife in her hand was wet. A man dead.

“Clean off the blade,” Savoy said.

She crouched over the body and wiped the blood off against her dress. Bile rose in her throat.

“This is what you signed up for.” Savoy took her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Let me see to your arm.”

She frowned at the gash he was wrapping with a ripped hem of his shirt. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“At the moment, I doubt you’d feel an amputation.” He secured the knot. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we not leave a trail of blood.”

They moved on. With two bodies behind them, time pressed. Khavi ducked into a side passage and led them, by Renee’s sense, eastward. Twists and intersections grew more frequent. Savoy stayed ahead, jogging the straightaway, pausing before corners and turns. She caught his rhythm. Stop. Look. Clear. I go. You go. Count the paces. Remember the turns.

The underground network rivaled the city above in its complexity. Specks of blue glow shimmered at several junctures, betraying amulets tucked into the walls. The Crown could never afford such a setup, not with the materials and mage hours involved.

The corridor bent right again, this time revealing an alcove similar to the one they saw earlier. Metal bars stretched across the stone opening. Inside, a small blond boy hugged his knees, rocking himself with slow, shaking movements. The dirty blanket on which he sat was the cell’s only furniture.

“Diam!” Savoy sprinted to the bars.

The boy scrambled forward to the barred door. “Korish?” he whispered, as if unsure of what he was seeing. Then his eyes widened. “Korish. Korish!” he cried, certain that now he was here, Savoy would purge all evil from the world. Renee felt a pang. She used to think Riley omnipotent too.

She shook away memory’s shadow and returned to work examining the cell. She saw no lock, but a blue light shone around the door’s edges.

Savoy threw his weight against the bars. No result. He pulled. The metal doorframe remained immobile. He rubbed his shoulder and stepped back.

“I don’t like it here,” Diam said. Favoring his left side, he lowered himself to the floor.

“Neither do I.” Unsheathing his knife, Savoy traced the outlines of the metal door. He found the glowing amulet twisted into the metal and pounded against it with the hilt of his weapon. The knife vibrated on impact but made no dent in the construction. He glanced at Diam and pounded harder, the growing violence doing little beyond making a racket.

Renee touched his shoulder. “It’s not working.”

“And you know what would?” He shook her off. His hands jerked the bars.

A slide of white fur caught her attention. Looking down, she saw Khavi crouching. Diam sat on the floor beside him. Their gazes locked.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. “Savoy, move.” She caught his wrist and pointed at the pair.

The intensity growing between boy and dog dried her tongue. She stepped from them. Somewhere far away, footsteps ticked against the stone. Renee’s fingers tightened around Savoy’s wrist, whether to comfort herself or to keep him at bay, she did not know. Echoes of voices—many voices—joined those of footsteps, still too distant to discern. She opened her mouth to ask Diam about the coming patrols, but clamped it shut. Khavi shimmered with a pearly, blue glow.

“Gods,” Savoy whispered.

Renee gripped her arms. She knew what Khavi was, but knowing was as far from seeing as the tap of a wooden sword was from a knife in a man’s throat. Even now, watching the event unfold before her, she was unsure she believed, much less understood, its nature.

Khavi’s glow pulsated like a beating heart. The amulet’s light brightened in reply. Two mirrors feeding each other. The blue glow grew painful to watch, flared, and died.

Savoy jerked the cage door. It opened. Rushing inside, he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Imp.”

“Korish!” Diam clamped skinny arms around Savoy’s waist. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“I’ll tell you tonight.” He motioned Renee forward. They needed to stay ahead of the coming patrol. “Diam, there is another ward locking the exit. Can Khavi open it?”

“We’ll try.” The boy stumbled. Khavi’s tongue lolled from his exhausted muzzle. 

Savoy sheathed his knife to scoop up his brother. They hurried back the way they came, staying ahead of the approaching footsteps.

They ran hard. The now familiar twists of the underground tunnels, the still-splayed bodies of the two guards, the lanterns lining the walls, all disappeared in a streak behind them. Renee had not expected they would get far. But they had.

Just not far enough.

Less than a hundred spans, a hundred running steps, to the exit remained when a horde of guards burst into the corridor behind them. Swords glimmered in the lantern light like fireflies in the night’s darkness. Even if they made it to the door, there was no time to disarm the ward.

Savoy’s jaw tightened. “Over there.” He pointed to a narrowing in the passage, twenty paces ahead. Thrusting Diam into Renee’s arms, he pulled his knife and herded them forward.