The Cadet of Tildor

by Alex Lidell

  Savoy’s brow rose. Seeing a Crown’s mage posed too great a risk of exposure to chance, which meant the man Savoy accused of cowardliness a few breaths ago meddled in affairs that bordered treason. “For a magistrate, Connor, your relationship with the law leaves enough leeway for a herd of horses to pass abreast.”

  Connor shook his head. “My personal opinions do not affect my work, and I’ve made no secret of disliking registration.”

  “Mmm. I am certain you report contact with your . . . ” Savoy paused to find a fitting term for dangerous felons. “. . . acquaintances, to Atham.”

  “Atham benefits from my contacts well enough.”

  Savoy paused in mid-motion, then chuckled. So Connor, whom Savoy once accused of real-world ignorance, dabbled in whispers. It suited him. “You’ve always found no less trouble than I did, you know. You were just better at not getting caught.”

  “You covered for me,” said Connor.

  Savoy shrugged. “When you couldn’t sit comfortably, you did a poor job on my homework.” He straightened and glanced outside. It was time to go. “Diam first. Then we’ll visit your friends.” He clapped Connor’s shoulder. “Come. An ambush awaits.”

  The storm’s passing left piles of snow on Catar’s already narrow streets. The houses huddled together as if seeking warmth, but succeeded only in blocking the sun. If the nobles’ estates at the city’s fringes touched woods, no hint of vegetation survived in the city center. Even Atham’s worst slums welcomed trees; Catar wasn’t Atham.

  Savoy walked, keeping one hand on his sword and the other on his purse. Although he wore nothing to identify him as a Servant, he was still a stranger here, and that alone made him conspicuous. He nodded toward the sword hanging on Connor’s hip. It was Renee’s, but noble ladies seldom strolled about armed to the teeth. “Can you use it?”

  “We will find out.”

  Savoy stifled a sigh. “Try not to stab me.”

  “I’ll—” Connor’s retort cut off as an adolescent girl, scantily clad for the chill, stepped out from a small alcove, gripped his sleeve, and trailed a finger down his forearm.

  “Cold today,” she purred.

  “Go for a run.” Savoy removed her hand from Connor’s sleeve and continued walking. He made it three steps before a large youth blocked his path. Frustration bubbled inside his stomach and crept upward. He looked the roadblock in the eye. “Move.”

  “This here be a paid street. Extra for touchin’ the girl.” A malicious smile played across the youth’s lips.

  Savoy rolled his eyes, stroking the hilt of his sword. “This here be a sharp, pointy thing. Move.”

  “Korish, don’t.” Connor gripped his shoulder. “What will you do if the guard comes?”

  “Run,” Savoy and the youth said simultaneously.

  Connor huffed. “It delights me that you found a playmate, but perhaps you could delay your amusement until after we find the Yellow Rose?”

  The youth whistled, his smile dissipating. “Yellow Rose? Mayhap I’ll sell you what you need right here. Prime seats too. Good for any fight with new pups this month. Take your bets now too. You be lucky meeting Mot today.”

  Savoy took a gold crown from his purse and twisted the coin in his fingers. “We’re looking for a boy.”

  Mot’s smile returned, showing a mouth of teeth. “That be premium, after the fight. What age?”

  Savoy had to master his voice to coolness before daring to answer. “A particular boy. Where is the Yellow Rose Inn?”

  He laughed. “Mot thinks you best buy the tickets.”

  Ignoring Connor’s pointed looks, he tossed the coin into the air. The youth caught it, handed over two round chits, and disappeared into a nearby doorway.

  “Predator tickets.” Connor raised his brows. “Your notion of recreation?”

  “No, I simply can’t walk past a law without breaking it.” Savoy examined the newly acquired round bits of painted metal, his stomach clenching as if struck with a blow. “The Yellow Rose isn’t an inn.” He turned the cold chits in his fingers to display the markings that confirmed beyond a hope of doubt what Mot had implied. On the other side from the strokes indicating the fight time, shone a painted rose with lush yellow petals. “It’s a Viper Pit.”

  Connor let out a breath. Collecting the chits, he slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll get you details. Give me a few hours.”

  Savoy narrowed his brows. “Lead on.”

  The tightness around Connor’s lips suggested that Savoy’s company had not entered his plans, but he was smart enough to avoid futile protests. Shrugging, he led the way down a busy street and ducked into a taproom. Savoy followed through the door to find his way blocked by the guard. By the time he shoved the larger man aside, Connor had disappeared out the back. Bloody hero proving his courage.

  Savoy cursed.

  * * *

  “A Viper Pit?” Renee turned the chit over in her hands, as much to examine the specimen as to distance herself from the storm of Savoy’s fury.

  The target of the assault, bruised and cut, sat shirtless on one of Hunter’s Inn’s beds. From what she gathered since the shouting started, Seaborn had taken the initiative to disappear into Catar alone and ran into trouble that concluded with a loss of purse, cloak, and Renee’s sword. To her surprise, Renee found the loss of her family weapon didn’t distress her. The blade had been a poor fit. She’d get a new one.

  “What in the Seven Hells were you trying to prove, Connor?” Savoy raked a wet towel over the shallow grazes on his victim’s side. “The vastness of your stupidity?”

  Seaborn gritted his teeth and stared at the wall. The lacerations were shallow, more ugly than serious. In fact, of the two men, the pale Savoy looked worse.

  Renee found a long strip of cloth to wrap Seaborn’s torso.

  He smiled at her before reaching for his shirt and wincing. “Thank you.” He started on the buttons. “Cease yelling, Korish. I’m all right. You’ve hurt me worse sparring.”

  “You don’t risk death when we spar.” Savoy hit a washbasin, which shattered against the floor into a fountain of water and porcelain debris. Staring at the destruction, he ran a hand through his hair and moved away to perch himself on the bureau. By the time he spoke again, his voice was collected. “Very well. What did your birdies tell you?”

  “The Yellow Rose is a local Viper lair. They run Predator fights and deal in human trade. A boy matching Diam’s description came in a few days ago from their dealer in Atham—a viper-tattooed man named Vert—to be held for ransom, or sold if none is paid. Not unusual, except for the ransom itself, which is Lord Palan’s head.”

  Savoy leaned forward. “The Vipers want me to go after Palan?”

  “Not the Vipers.” Seaborn shook his head. “The Vipers do not seem to know Diam’s name, much less his relation to you personally. Someone delivered the boy to Vert, left ransom instructions, and said no more. Probably the same someone who left the note in your room. Everyone believes the ransom to be a joke, but they have nothing to lose.”

  “Someone.” Savoy crossed his arms. “Someone wanted me out of Atham, or hunting Palan, or both. So he used my brother as bait, and the Vipers as jailers. Who?” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. “Not the Family, since Palan is a target, and not the Vipers, since they neither know who Diam is nor would they want to draw my attention to their home base . . . No, whoever he is, the bastard who arranged this game knows me well enough to know my relatives. If I were still heading the Seventh, I’d suspect a plot to sabotage the unit, but . . . ” He shook his head, then straightened, pinning Seaborn with a stare. “Your birdies sing well.”

  “They do.” Seaborn ran his hand over the bandage and sighed. “Unfortunately, it would be unwise to contact them again. For everyone’s sake.”

  Renee suppressed a shiver.

  Savoy tapped his finger on the windowpane. “What happens if I visit the Rose and start smashing heads?”
>
  “You get dead; Diam becomes a liability and also gets dead,” Seaborn replied dryly.

  In the corner of the room, Alec cleared his throat but gestured to Renee when faces turned toward him.

  She nodded. “Khavi found Diam’s scent near Duke Leon’s estate. The place spans several acres, complete with guards and walls.”

  “We can scale the wall at night,” said Savoy.

  “Or, perhaps, walk in through the front door.” Renee’s face heated as she forced herself to meet Savoy’s eyes. “Do you dance?”

  “What?”

  “I went to the governor’s manor, where the nobles assemble to share news.” Seeing Savoy tense, she shook her head quickly. “No one thought twice of it. De Winter is a minor house, but an out-of-town visitor is a novelty. It would raise greater questions if I didn’t go.”

  “Then why do you look as if you fear I’ll strangle you?”

  “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

  “Preened-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.