by Alex Lidell
“What should I do?” she called out, searching for unfinished tasks.
He unbuckled Kye’s hobbles and stowed them in a saddlebag. “Whatever you wish.”
A log cracked in the fire, lighting the silence. Savoy lifted Kye’s heavy hoof, awkwardly balancing it atop his right forearm while his other hand worked the hoof-pick. His sword hung from the wrong hip, a change Renee had failed to notice until now.
She lowered her head and bent to pet Khavi, who slept curled in a ball. The dog lumbered up in greeting, moving with uncharacteristic stiffness. She furrowed her brows at his lethargy and had just reached out to pet him when a snow-laden branch broke from a tree and crashed to the ground beside Savoy. The stallion jumped in place, despite Savoy’s arm still supporting a hoof. Gasping, he dropped the hoof pick and cradled his bandaged hand before leaning on his horse for support.
He turned his head before Renee could look away and their eyes met across the campsite.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Savoy returned to his task, leaving her to stare at his back and regret her smile of the previous evening. It was time to mend things.
Ten minutes later, Renee sat atop the fallen tree trunk by the fire and filled two mugs with steaming coffee. She took a second to savor the rising steam and called to Savoy, “Peace offering?”
“There isn’t a war.” He did not sit, but at least he took the coffee.
“How’s your hand?”
“What do you want?”
She looked at the fire. It was easier to watch the flames than his face. “Our best swordsman can’t grip his blade. My teacher’s worried about his brother. And . . . ” She gathered herself. “And my friend’s hurt, and no one will even help him tie the bandage.”
He said nothing for a while, and the crackle of the burning wood filled the silence. “I’m not your friend,” he said quietly, long after a thick log charcoaled in the center and broke in two. “And you wouldn’t wish me as one.”
“I understand the risks.” She smiled tightly, then drew a breath. “Seaborn told me that Headmaster Verin had wished to dismiss me.” She didn’t look at him still. In retrospect, she was daft to not have at least suspected the truth. Dafter still to have done the deed, but it was too late for that line of thought. Her head bent over her cup, the hot fumes warming her face. It was gentler on my pride to blame you than to thank you. I’m sorry. She opened her mouth, but the words would not come. She nodded at his bandage instead. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She smiled at him.
Savoy blinked, then chuckled back.
She set her cup down into the snow, regretting the loss of heat. “May I see?”
He shrugged wearily but sat beside her and surrendered his hand. The muscles on his forearm coiled when she pulled away the layers of cloth that stuck to the wound. The unveiled raw, blistered flesh made Renee suck in a breath and turn away. Blood rushed from her head. She lifted her face to the sky and counted to ten until the wave of dizziness passed. “Gods.”
He pulled his hand back and flexed his swollen fingers. “It looked better yesterday.”
“Maybe Alec can—”
“Meddle within my Keraldi Barrier without any training? No.” Savoy pulled the small jar of salve from his pocket and opened it. Seen up close, the viscous white liquid inside was tinged with a pale blue shimmer. “Mage-made.” He answered her unspoken question. “They say it fights off corruption. Seven Hells, it should fight off bears the way it stings.”
She peered inside and recoiled from the rank smell. The salve had to cost double its weight in gold. Meanwhile, Savoy braced his forearm against his knee and fumbled in his pocket for a clean strip of linen.
“Do you want help?” She made herself sound steady. Even a pair of inexperienced hands had to be better than changing a dressing one-handed.
“No.” He paused and then his good hand halted her rising. “But I will take the company, if you do not mind.”
CHAPTER 23
Catar drowned in green. Dirty green coats on loitering young men. Thin green headcloths on girls who winked and purred on street corners. Mismatched green store signs. The shades varied from one ragged cloth to the next, but the color itself was there, slithering through the narrow streets. Viper color.
Growing up in the countryside, Renee learned the Family’s game. Their veesi dealers titled themselves merchants, their thugs claimed the name private guard. Even nobles like Lord Palan feigned legitimacy. Calling a tribute a donation made little financial difference, but compared to the naked disrespect for the law that the Vipers showed, it was genteel.
“The Family sprung from nobility.” Seaborn’s voice had a classroom cadence that made Savoy roll his eyes. Ignoring him, Seaborn added, “Overt crudeness would upset their more delicate maneuvers. The Vipers breed in prisons and slums—their approach is bludgeon.”
Bludgeon. Like shooting arrows into the palace and setting mage buildings aflame. Renee sighed. Bribing the Crown at a time of barren treasury, like the Family was doing, was certainly more refined—and more devious as well. “Doesn’t the Madam realize that brash actions push King Lysian toward an alliance with the Family? He would save face if nothing else.”
“The Madam rose to her place through blood and must champion her cause in a manner her people approve. Her Vipers crave to see men cower and break in the Predator arena and the streets alike. To hold respect, the Madam must make the Crown capitulate from fear, not from some mutually beneficial arrangement,” said Seaborn.
“And the Family?” asked Renee.
“They desire coin. All else, from veesi sale to extortion and blackmail, is but a means to that end.”
A rat of a man with an unshaven face made a kissing noise at Renee. She cracked her knuckles but kept her pace steady. Frosted sewage crunched underfoot, the cobblestones as foul as the gazes upon her.
Alec, who had developed a habit of keeping pace at the fringe of the group, stepped toward her. Savoy started in the same direction, and Alec veered back to his place, looking straight ahead.
“Take off your scarf.” Savoy stepped up beside her, Kye shouldering away Seaborn.
Her fingers touched the woolen scarf hugging her neck. Wide bands of blue and red, representing the Academy’s two tracks, stood proudly against black wool.
“Do it,” he hissed into her ear.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she unwound the cloth. The wind invaded her collar.
“Throw it into the sewage, not into your pocket.”
She jerked her chin up toward his face, the symbol of Tildor clutched in her fist. Her nostrils flared. “No.”
“Then get the bloody hells away, before you expose me as well as yourself. Or did you plan to stand in the public square and demand Diam’s release in the Crown’s name?”
She stepped away from him but let the wool slip from her fingers. Her eyes closed to avoid watching Kye’s hooves trample the scarf. When she brought herself to turn back, she saw that the expensive cloth was buried in filth. How could a Tildor city have so forsaken the rule of law that a flag of justice became a liability?
Seaborn put a hand on her shoulder. “I doubt the Seventh blows trumpets before an assault. We would likewise do well to keep our loyalties hidden.”
She took a breath of rank air and let her heart catch up to her mind. Lady Renee and her entourage traveled on personal business. They were no one to the Crown, useless as political hostages, pointless as symbols for vengeance. Shivering, she maneuvered over to Alec and they walked in companionable silence.
At Seaborn’s suggestion, the group lodged at Hunter’s Inn. It was a modest place in a clean part of town, the type of place suitable for a visiting young noble. The innkeeper apologized for a lack of private quarters for the lady, but offered two adjoining rooms where tall walls tried to compensate for stingy floor space. Nonetheless, after five days of a winter march—the storm had doubled th
e usual travel time—they had real rooms and real beds. A silver coin even bought connection to a courier who’d bring a note with Renee’s location to Sasha.
“You’re quiet, even for you,” Renee told Alec while she readied for bed. Her friend had spent the day mumbling to Khavi, who had staggered along at his side. He hadn’t volunteered an explanation for the dog’s lethargy, and she had feared to ask. Now, still in his travel clothes, Alec lay atop his bedspread, fingers interlaced behind his head. Outside their window, stars glistened against a moonless sky, twinkling like fireflies. Navigating between the two narrow beds to a small wash table, Renee poured some water from a chipped pitcher into the basin. She touched it and sighed. “It’s cold.”
Alec looked at her, his eyes as distant as the outside stars. His gaze shifted to the basin and his hand flicked forward, a blue glow hugging his fingers like a glove. A moment later, a hair of light extended from his palm toward the water. It touched the basin for several heartbeats before melting away into nothingness. “Try it now.”
Swallowing, Renee dipped a finger into the wash water. It warmed her skin. She frowned and wiped her hand on her nightshirt. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” The indifference in his voice chilled her. “You know what I am. As they do.” He frowned at the closed door separating the rooms. Since the incident with the sword, neither Savoy nor Seaborn had brought up Alec’s nature, but neither did they go out of their way to speak to him. To be fair, Alec avoided them as well, especially Savoy.
“You said you didn’t want to be a mage.”
“I don’t.” Alec sat up and crossed his arms. “I gave half my life to the Academy, did all the Crown asked of a Servant.” His voice rose. “You were there. You know. They bleed your soul until you can hardly move and then discard you if you trip. I didn’t trip. I gave all they wanted. And do you know what? They’d have shackled me anyway, for being born as I was, for not wishing to let some Mage Council decide whether to train me into a Healer or a weapon or whatever else.” Alec’s nostrils flared, his face darkening with unbridled anger that Renee had never seen in him before. “I thought I could win, prove that I could make my own choices! I couldn’t. If Tildor will always treat me as a mage first and a person second, why forfeit the few advantages there are?”
“Because you can’t have it both ways, Alec! If you want to Control, then register and follow the rules. Else, don’t use it absent an emergency.”
“Register?” His eyes flashed and he rose from the bed. “Forfeit my life to the council? You know why they burn the registration symbol over a mage’s heart. So you couldn’t amputate the marked body part if you wanted to. Once they brand you, they can find you anywhere. They can make the symbol kill you.”
“Which the Crown orders only if you turn murderer or something of similar nature,” Renee pointed out.
“I don’t need a death threat to keep me from hurting others,” he shouted. “I’ve never done it and never will!”
“Seen Savoy’s hand lately?” she yelled to match his tone.
“Savoy.” Alec rolled his eyes. A moment later, his jaw clenched tight. “I kept him from stabbing you, Renee. And I touched his sword, not him.” He paused. “Why do you stare?”
Renee stepped back from the blue mage flame that ravaged the air around Alec’s palms, seemingly without his knowledge. Her heart sped. When attacking Savoy, Alec had been unable to stop the assault without Khavi’s help. “Alec.”
He advanced toward her. The flame encircling his hands pulsated and intensified with each breath. “What’s wrong with you?” he growled.
“Stop!” Renee’s back struck the wall. She slid along it toward the door. “I had it wrong.” She forced calm into her voice and extended her hands in front of her. “You are right. You are right.”
His flaming hand extended and blue flame shot forth. It struck the wall beside Renee’s head, leaving a scorch mark on the reddish plaster. She gasped.
The door connecting the rooms crashed open. “What goes on?” Seaborn boomed.
Alec jerked from the noise and stared at his hands, eyes growing wide. “I . . . I’m not certain,” he stammered. He looked from the scorched wall to Renee, froze a moment, and backed away. “Gods.” Retreating to his bed, he drew up his knees and cradled his head on them. His body twitched.
Renee let out a breath and licked dry lips. She was exhausted, as if she had just run for leagues, and her knees threatened to wobble. A hand touched her shoulder. Savoy watched Alec, but leaned against the wall by her side.
Seaborn fished veesi from Alec’s pack and put several leaves to the boy’s lips, whispering something soothing about Control taking time to harness. Alec cringed, but she felt no sympathy for him now. An untrained mage was like a child with an armed crossbow. Now I wish him to chew veesi? Alec could not keep himself drugged all his life. She rubbed her face and leaned toward Savoy. “Could you walk with me?”
“You should care for your friend,” he answered for her ears alone.
The men left the room, leaving Renee and Alec to their soup of shame and confusion.
Alec sat cross-legged on his bed and stared at his feet.
She sat next to him, rested her elbows atop her knees, and watched her fingers interlace in meaningless patterns. Perhaps she had done something to trigger the episode. Did it matter if she had? Alec had to bear responsibility for his power if he did not wish the Crown to take up that burden.
He spoke first. “You like him, don’t you?” he said quietly. “Korish Savoy.”
Her heart paused.
“You know he’s twenty-three and you still like him, even when he was our instructor . . . In a way you don’t like me.”
Blood drained from her face. Seven Hells, curse her blindness. Alec’s protectiveness, his hatred of Savoy and Cory, his post by her side growing stronger each year. She touched his arm. “Alec, you’re my best, dearest friend.” Her mouth tripped over the words. He was more her family than her father had ever been. She loved him in a way no other attraction could diminish. “You are . . . my brother. Savoy cannot compete with that.”
“He doesn’t have to.” The words came under his breath. He shook himself and slid off the bed. “My apologies for earlier. I’ve not tried living veesi-free before. The energy currents get . . . overwhelming.”
“Alec . . .”
He shook his head to cut off her words and spoke quickly of Catar and its streets. They tortured the conversation for a quarter hour before declaring surrender and claiming their beds. Renee drifted to sleep pondering the unnerving nature of friendship, and what exactly she felt about Korish Savoy.
CHAPTER 24
In Hunter’s Inn’s stable the next morning, Savoy poured a scoop of grain into Kye’s feed and reached for a currycomb. Care for animals, then gear, then self. The burn on his hand slowed his progress, but with a wild mage in their midst, Savoy was lucky to have gotten off as lightly as he did. Renee’s decision to keep her friend’s confidence and all but blackmail him and Connor into doing the same was an interesting one, displaying the kind of calculated recklessness Savoy was prone to himself. Which was not a compliment to either of them.
A stable hand shuffled his feet nearby, disturbing Savoy’s thoughts. “The stable boys can—”
“Get their ribs broken.”
A mare whinnied nearby and Kye kicked the wooden stall partition, shaking the housing. The hostler disappeared.
Savoy patted the stallion’s neck and went back to his work, letting the facts roll across his mind. Although the growing Viper presence in Atham led to many crime-of-opportunity kidnappings, Diam’s abduction was deliberate. A means to force Savoy to Catar. Why? Unknown. Regardless, the boy—or someone who knew his whereabouts—was somewhere in this city. At least that was the operating assumption. Alec had promised to take Khavi on a sweep of the terrain and Renee planned to mingle in what passed for Catar’s noble court. This left him free to walk into whatever ambush Diam’s captors
had planned for him at the Yellow Rose Inn, wherever and whatever that was.
“Riding out?” Connor frowned from the stable’s entrance and made his way forward. The ease with which he had navigated to Hunter’s Inn the previous day belied more knowledge of Catar than books and documents could account for. “I thought to accompany you for fear you’d start three fights by sunset.”
“Afraid I’ll lose?”
“Afraid you’ll win.”
Savoy snorted, then remembered the original question. Connor would have made an exceptional swordsman, but a fighter could ill afford to fear horses. If the fear even stopped there. And whose fault lies at the root of that? Savoy busied himself with the task at hand. Kye’s slick black coat had grown to rich velvet in cold winter months. “I’ll walk.”
Seaborn leaned against the wall. After several minutes of silence, he crossed his arms and looked out toward the courtyard beyond the stable. “I disappointed you when I quit the fighter track.”
Savoy lifted Kye’s water bucket with his good hand and hung it on a hook inside the stall. There had to be a worse time for this conversation, but one did not come to mind. He fed the horse a stashed apple and stepped past his friend to replace the borrowed brushes.
Connor cleared his throat. “You think fear guided my choice.”
The brushes clacked against each other. “Yes. Did it not?”
There was a pause. “It did. But it was the right choice nonetheless.”
“A fear-forced choice is not a choice at all.” Savoy spun around. “Why do you speak of this now?”
Connor opened his mouth, then shut it. “No reason.” He shook his head. “My apologies.”
“Hand me a flake of hay.”
Connor did, but unsaid words charged the air like a knocked arrow in a ready bow. He may have laid the subject of their careers to rest, but he was not done speaking things Savoy did not wish to hear. Savoy rested his elbows on the gate of Kye’s stall. “Say it, Connor. Or don’t.”
Connor motioned to the bandage on Savoy’s hand. “If you need a mage Healer . . . it can be arranged.”
