The Cadet of Tildor (34 page)

Beyond the infirmary wall, the din of cadets’ voices blended together. The Academy was moving on—it paused neither for Renee’s departure nor her return. In two days, when Savoy took his leave, it would not pause for him either.

* * *

The morning of the Seventh’s departure, the mess hall, as usual, swarmed with uniforms. Cadets shouted over the heads of their friends and shoved closer to the food platters. Renee snatched a piece of bread and cheese and headed to a small table in the corner where Savoy and Seaborn sat together. Like her, both men wore full uniforms, an odd change from their days in Catar. It would be odder still in a few hours, when Savoy and his team rode out, leaving Renee to reclaim her spot in the classroom.

As she approached Savoy’s table, students shot Renee questioning looks. Cadets stayed clear of instructors and officers. She hurried to pull out a chair and sit.

Savoy stole her cheese.

She kicked him under the table.

He chuckled, but there was a finality to the laugh, as if it were the last to be shared. The commander pins on his collar loomed over the table, casting an invisible shadow. A moment later Savoy pushed himself back. “I must check on the men. Connor, de Winter.” He bowed to each and strode away, the mob of cadets parting before him.

Renee picked at her bread, spreading the crumbs over her plate.

“A burden of the uniform.” Seaborn took a drink of his coffee. “You will grow used to it.”

“Friendship subject to wardrobe?”

“Only the display of it.” Seaborn moved back his chair. “The commander left a sword for you. He said you wore it to the palace on Queen’s Day. Pick it up at your convenience.”

Renee’s brows arched. “Was it not from the armory?”

“No, it was his throughout the Academy.” Seaborn rose and took his plate. “I will see you in class, Cadet de Winter.” He tilted his head at her. “And, if memory serves, you owe me a paper.”

* * *

Commander Korish Savoy guided his horse beyond Atham’s city walls, toward the awaiting group of fighters. “Fall in!” he called, and the men formed their columns.

Cory trotted up on his bay, his gaze lingering on the city behind them. “She’s quite a lass, isn’t she?”

Savoy chuckled. “Spare the efforts, Sergeant. De Winter is out of your reach.”

Cory raised his hands. “I’ve a rule not to court friends and siblings of anyone who can skin me alive.” He paused. “Ye think we’ll work with her again?”

Savoy nodded his head. “That one, Cory, will one day command us all.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A humongous thank you to:

Crit partners SM Blooding, Ralene, and Jay, for staying with me chapter by chapter.

Agent Leigh Feldman, for always giving me perspective.

Editor Jess Garrison, to whom King Lysian owes his life.

Assistant editor Claire Evans for all the quiet things she did.

The Tildor Herald Cadets, the best novel street team ever.

The Lucky 13s for shared trust.

My husband, who put up with my “need to go write” disappearing act.

Bloggers who revealed my cover and re-tweeted my news.

All of you who’ve let me bounce ideas, talk writing, and run scenes by you “just real quick.”

THANK YOU, TILDOR TEAM.