by Alex Lidell
The sergeant stiffened beside her. “Do ye know why?”
“Yes.” If any reason was enough to make the men reconsider their involvement, this was the one. Nonetheless, they deserved to make their own choice. “Verin declined my request for any official assistance, much less agreed to pull a specialty unit from its mission.”
“High Constable Verin?” Cory whistled a low tone. “And what does he make of your own presence here?”
Renee shrugged, but her fingers dug into the horse’s mane. “I made my choice.”
“Aye, I see ye did. And so did I. Three years past.” His hand brushed her arm, the touch teasing. “We spoke of this before, if in a prettier landscape.”
Heat gripped Renee’s cheeks and she scowled into Cory’s grinning eyes. The bruises of Rock Lake were a lifetime ago, when Savoy walked among immortal gods, and Cory was a sergeant who invited her and Alec to partake in the highly dangerous workout that was the Seventh’s morning jog. “Seven bloody Hells, this is not a jest, Cory.” She stepped away to where she could see his face without having to look up. Responsibility weighed her words, heavier for the fact that someone else would pay for any mistake she made. “You do this, and the Crown can charge you and your men with treason. Treason. Ensure that each of your soldiers stands clear on this point or I will burn the maps I’ve drawn and leave you twiddling your thumbs in wee circles. Am I plain on this, Sergeant?”
The grin faded from his face, and he picked up a brush. “Aye, you are.” He shook his hair away from his eyes and slid the brush along the mare’s flank. “What I mean to say is that we understood the consequences of answering the summons of an eight-year-old boy. I will gut-check each man if ye wish, but I dinna expect any will have a change of heart.”
Renee watched his shoulders bunch and straighten as he worked the road’s grime from the horse’s coat. She took a breath. “Forgive me, Cory. I gave offense.”
He tilted his face toward her and shook his head. “Ye spoke like an officer.” With a sigh, he straightened up, letting the brush hang by his side. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “’Tis a job I neither want nor envy. Officers don’t get much sleep, so far as I can see.”
She touched his arm and returned to the inn, knowing that the simple kiss they’d once shared couldn’t be again. Not like that. Not like it was. Not anymore.
* * *
The following morning, Renee returned to the governor’s manor. The wind following her had lost all courtesy, batting the rain and stench of fish from yesterday’s market all over the street. The few nobles braving the weather offered proper greetings, but Renee rushed past with haste that bordered rudeness. Was Catar ever dry and warm? Dodging Fisker with his guard team and a group of masons adding final touches to the Great Hall, she forged her way to where Seaborn and other magistrates bent over a parchment stack. “Master Seaborn!”
Fisker pushed away from the wall and headed toward her.
Seaborn straightened to survey the room. Making what appeared to be hasty apologies to his colleagues, he caught Renee before Fisker could and steered her from earshot. “What’s amiss?” he asked, the tone warning that something significant had better account for the intrusion.
“I need to see King Lysian. Alone.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Just that? And have you a plan for accomplishing that small errand?”
“Tell him I have maps of the Vipers’ underground lair and know the location of two dozen child prisoners, but will only share the information if granted an audience. Would that answer?”
Seaborn looked at her sharply and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It may.” He glanced around the hall. “What have you hid up your sleeve, Renee?”
“The Seventh and a few other details.”
Seaborn straightened, his exhausted eyes surprised as she sketched out her plan. “Bloody gods. You’re as crazy as Korish.”
“And?”
He nodded. “I will try. Wait in the gardens.” He lowered his voice further. “And watch your words in the halls. Our friend from the Pig has been skulking around too much for my comfort.”
The sun rode low on the horizon when a servant in palace livery finally appeared to escort Renee to the Crown’s chambers.
“He recalls you from Queen’s Day,” the woman confided, climbing the stairs to the king’s private apartments.
Renee nodded. The servant stopped by a carved wooden door, knocked thrice, and, upon receiving permission, announced her charge.
King Lysian sat on the windowsill, one knee drawn up and shoulders pressing into the curved stone. He was dressed simply: a pair of black breeches and a blue shirt, a few shades deeper than his eyes. Embroidery wreathed the cuffs and collar of the starched cloth. A miniature painting of a child’s profile rested in his hands. He turned his head toward Renee but stayed seated. “I am given to understand that my once future Servant now holds information hostage.”
She tightened her jaw to ward off the sting of his words and considered her next move. “Information is a coy mistress, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying. “Once met, she will not leave, even when her presence grows inconvenient.”
The king considered her for a moment, no recognition of who she was, beyond a failed cadet, apparent in his eyes. Then a spark of uncertain comprehension. He tilted his head. “You wish to tell me something, yet to have me not know it?”
“My maps of the Vipers’ lair are yours, Your Highness. As for the rest, yes, you took my words correctly.” She held her breath.
He touched the painted child’s cheek and put down the piece, then swung himself to face Renee. His head tilted and his fingers tapped each other for many moments before a grin suddenly lit his face. “Forgive my manners! How could I have failed to recognize my dear cousin’s friend?”
Renee tilted her head. Of course he had recognized her. Even the servant who led her here had said so. “Think nothing of it, Your High—”
His hand interrupted her. “His Highness refuses to grant audience to the errant Lady Renee de Winter. But it would be my honor to entertain a family friend in my cousin Sasha’s absence.” He slid to the floor and offered a bow proper for a young man’s greeting to a maiden. “My friends call me Lys.”
Her face tingled. “An honor . . . ” Unable to bring herself to call the Crown by his given name, she hid the verbal stumble in the folds of another curtsy. “I am Renee.”
“A name of beauty. May I offer you wine?”
Renee rose to her feet and accepted the goblet, catching the mischief playing in Lysian’s face as he presented the drink. Her heart pounded.
He smiled at her.
She buried her nose in the wine. “I fear I’m a terrible gossip.”
“Then I shall endeavor to believe none of it, but will listen attentively in the name of good manners. Will that answer?” Despite the jovial tone, the last was not said in jest.
Renee nodded soberly. “I believe it would.” She took an offered chair. “I heard rumor that a group of soldiers left their post to assist a friend in peril. Should their mission succeed, I believe it would serve the Crown to have authorized it. In fact, it would serve the Crown to claim the whole matter had been a pre-planned covert assault on the Vipers.”
Lysian frowned. “And should the mission fail?”
“The Crown knew nothing of it. Soldiers will always find mischief. Such things are sergeants’ concerns.” She squared her shoulders. “All the men made their choice freely. They understand the consequences.”
He hoisted himself back onto the windowsill, setting the cup beside his thigh. “We speak of Commander Savoy.” His finger rose to ward off protest. “I pay mind to the fate of the man who saved my life, and I know I have withheld aid that may save his.” Lysian lowered his face. “What you suggest will permit the Crown to reap the rewards while taking none of the risk. It sounds unjust.”
“It is.” She replaced her cup onto the tray and crossed her legs. Lives hung on her words as surely
as they did on fighters’ swords. “The rescue attempt will be made regardless—during the next Predator match in two days’ time. We have no way of knowing where Savoy has been moved in the interim. If it fails, it fails. But at least in success, the Crown’s seal would save the soldiers from punishment for abandoning their posts. That is better than nothing. The existence of official orders would also give more weight to Commander Savoy’s later testimony against the Vipers, telling the world that no group is beyond a Servant’s reach.”
“Speak to me of the underground.” Lysian sipped his wine while she described the maze of narrow tunnels and mage-locked cages. “There is not room for an army?”
“No.”
“But it is a terrain to which a few well trained fighters would be suited . . . if not occupied with rescuing their leader?”
Renee stiffened. Should Lysian order the Seventh to abandon Savoy in pursuit of Atham’s hostages, their refusal would buy them a noose.
As if aware of her thoughts, Lysian put up his palm. “I may be new to the throne, but I have learned enough not to issue orders that would not be obeyed. I spoke of a follow-on action.”
A breath of relief escaped her. “Yes. They would be both well suited and well positioned for the task.”
“Very good.” Lysian leaned back against the window and regarded her. “I will write such orders, to be made public only in the event of the Seventh’s success. I will also give you a sealed note ordering the Seventh to attempt hostage rescue upon securing Commander Savoy’s release. But I set one condition, Lady Renee.”
She inclined her head and waited.
“Upon exiting these chambers, you will once again bear the title of Servant Cadet. You will be permitted to remain in Catar until this mission ends, but must then return to the Academy and finish training. Will you accept?”
Heart pounding in her ears, Cadet Renee de Winter dropped to one knee. A warrior’s formal salute to a king she served once more, a pledge from the Crown’s champion that she would become.
CHAPTER 41
Blood was in the air. Renee could feel it. It was in the eyes of green-clad young men who diced on street corners, in their words as they muttered over cheap ale. The innkeeper at Hunter’s Inn tensed each time the king’s name sounded in the half-empty common room. Alec said the veesi trade dropped—dealers had other concerns. The armorer’s shop stood empty, its door battered open and merchandise gone. The two days since the Crown’s arrival had cleared the cobblestones of children and the elderly, drove nobles to visit relatives. Even Diam stayed put without being told.
At the end of the second day, the evening before Savoy’s fight, Lord Palan returned to Hunter’s Inn. If walking amidst snakes bothered the head of the Family, there was nothing in Palan’s face to suggest it.
“Uncle Palan!” Diam grabbed the man’s ring-ladened hand the moment he moved past the doorframe. “Come see what I can do! Do you want some water?” The boy carefully filled a large cup, but in his enthusiasm to bring it over, sloshed the contents onto Palan’s starched shirt. The lord pretended not to notice and claimed a chair, Diam settling cross-legged on the floor before him. Renee sat too, unnerved by their growing familiarity.
“Watch me,” Diam instructed, and closed his eyes. Nothing happened at first. Then, infant wisps of blue flame touched the boy’s fingertips, played there, and died away. His eyes flew open. “Did you see?”
“I did.” Lord Palan smiled. “You’ll grow to quite the mage.”
“Yes.” Renee forced her way into the conversation. “You can register in Atham. They will have the post rebuilt by that time, I wager,” she added for Lord Palan’s benefit, although whether registration would be possible given the bond, even Zev had no idea.
Palan smiled again, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Not something to worry about until your thirteenth birthday, my boy. Just stay safe and enjoy yourself for now.”
Unable to contradict him, Renee scowled.
Diam looked from his uncle to Renee, and hugged his knees as if smelling the undercurrents of the exchange. When neither spoke, he bit his lip and picked at the rug. “Uncle Palan, why doesn’t Korish like you?”
Renee stiffened.
Lord Palan sighed. “Because Master Verin does not like me.”
“Why?”
“A difference of philosophies. Yes, yes, I know you’re about to ask what kind.” He pursed his lips and brought his hands together under his silk shirt collar. Renee leaned forward to listen, but several seconds passed until he spoke. “Imagine that we have ten very sick people, but only one dose of medicine.”
Diam crinkled his nose and nodded.
“Who should get it? This is where Master Verin and I differ in opinion. I’d give the medicine to the person I cared for most. For example, you, if you were one of the ten. Master Verin, however, would choose whoever he thought most valuable to Tildor, even if his own mother ailed.”
“But what if all the sick people were bad, like bandits?” Diam asked. “What would he do then?”
Lord Palan stroked his chin. “Hmm. Destroy the medicine, most likely.”
Diam frowned. “Would Korish do that too?”
“Your brother keeps his own council,” Renee interjected, sparing them Lord Palan’s assessment of Savoy. “What would you do, Diam?”
He ran his hands through Khavi’s fur and looked out to the streets. “I’d make more medicine.”
A knock sounded at the door, announcing that Cory and the Seventh had arrived to make final preparations for the following day. The sergeant popped his head in and, seeing the lord, hesitated.
Renee rose. “Thank you for your company, Lord Palan.”
Taking the cue, the man lumbered to his feet. “Korish fights tomorrow,” he said, stopping at the door. “I do not wish for Diam to attend.”
Neither did she, but the gods damn her if she let Palan use Savoy’s fight to snare Diam closer. The boy would wait at Zev’s. “We’ve covered this ground, my lord. Diam stays with me while Korish lives.” The words made her wince.
“I do not ask to take him, only that he not watch. In fact, my lady, permit me to recommend your lack of attendance as well.”
“My lack?” The hairs on Renee’s neck stirred at his tone. “I fear I cannot fulfill that request either.”
“Not a request, my lady. Only a suggestion.” His bow encompassed her and Cory both. “Forgive my intrusion. I will leave you to your planning.” He hesitated, adjusting a ring on his finger. “One more suggestion, if I may. If you do attend tomorrow’s festivities, bring water and towels.”
Wrinkling her forehead, Renee waited until Cory’s companions filed into the room and closed the door. She glanced at him. “Towels? What for?”
Cory’s face grew dark. “To clean up blood.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe yer friend intends to leave the rescue on our shoulders alone.” He pulled the writing table to the center of the room and spread Renee’s map on it while the other men crowded around. “It will be as it will be. For now, we might review what we do know.”
* * *
Outside the arena the following day, the crowd, as big as last time, shoved and jostled. Vendors shouted their goods. Entertainment of this sort, it seemed, suffered little from the concerns otherwise plaguing the city. The scent of meat pies and honey sweets nauseated Renee. Beside her, Cory munched a bit of bread-wrapped cheese. “Lure the mage outside,” he reminded her quietly, letting her ahead of him into the arena entrance. “We’ll handle him there. I want the boy hand-walking us in. If you dinna think he’ll go, signal Mag.” He jerked his chin at the Seventh’s archer hiding a crossbow beneath his cloak. “He’ll kill the opponent if the commander can’t handle it hand to hand.”
She frowned at the cage standing in the belly of the underground while Mag took his post near the exit. “He’ll never make the shot.”
“He’ll make it. But the bolt may pierce bystanders on its way.” They pushed their way down the rows. P
eople parted for Cory the way they did not for Renee. He continued speaking. “Dinna worry about Mag. Your mark is the mage boy.”
Jasper. She looked around. None of the fighters or staff had yet arrived. Lord Palan’s warning of the previous night nagged at her, but before she could give them voice, the trumpets called out and the crowd roared in anticipation.
* * *
The trumpets blared. A hand between Savoy’s shoulder blades shoved him into the holding pen. He shielded his eyes from the light. His mouth was parched after over a day without water. The Vipers left little to chance.
“Anger Boulder; he’ll kill you quicker.”
Savoy turned and lowered his arm enough to see Den step into the pen. “Brilliant plan.”
The trainer’s head bowed. “I told you, no one leaves the Vipers.”
“Return to your fighters.” Savoy stretched his back.
“In a moment I must.” Den hesitated. “Something’s wrong with the crowd today. I cannot say what, but something feels off. And your girl came.”
Renee. Savoy forced his gaze to the stands. Hundreds of crammed bodies fidgeted in their seats. “Alone?”
“No, with a young man, broad shoulders, dark curly hair. They sit at the top.”
Savoy traced the rows of benches rising toward the ceiling. Faces and figures blended together. At the top, a cloaked figure standing beside an entrance raised a hand in signal. Friend in sight. Then, another. Target in sight.
Savoy turned to the other entrance and found a second sentry signaling his report. Military. Someone he knew? Savoy tried in vain to find who the sentries were signaling to. “Be careful, Den,” he said under his breath. “I’ve a sense that Boulder and I won’t be the only ones fighting today.”
* * *
“Mag sees Savoy,” Cory whispered to Renee. “He has a shot at the man beside him. Ye know him?”
She leaned forward, squinting over the spectators’ heads, and winced at Savoy’s worn look. Had the Vipers bothered to give him food? “Den, a trainer. Savoy trusts him. And there is Jasper.” She fingered the knife hidden up her sleeve. The boy was herding his fighters into the eastern pen. “He sat with the spectators the last time.” Renee frowned at the bars separating the fighters from the public.
