Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

“Father!”

He walked on.

She called out again, starting toward him.

One of his associates pointed in her direction. Her father hesitated before turning. She slowed her step. This was her world, not his study.

They halted two spans from each other. Just two large steps, but it could have been a league. Renee didn’t expect hugs and smiles. Neither did she expect him to look as if he had swallowed a leech.

She bowed formally at the waist, like an officer. “My lord father. Gentlemen.”

Her father pursed his lip. “Cadet.”

One of his companions cleared his throat. “Forgive my manners, my lady, I did not know to expect you.” A smile spread over the man’s face as he turned back to her father. “Why, my lord Tamath, I believe I understand how you were able to secure passage onto these grounds. And why you insisted we come today.”

Understanding gripped her stomach. Her father wasn’t here to see her at all. He was here to call upon the administration, likely in an attempt to sell the estate’s crops. Lord Tamath had not so much as told his colleagues of Renee’s existence.

He scratched his mustache. “My time is spoken for today, Renee. I do not wish my presence to distract from your training.”

A chill settled over her.

The other of his companions, a short man with a trimmed goatee, rubbed a finger down the side of his pointy nose. “Tell me,” he said, peering toward the practice courts behind Renee, “is it true that they allow commoners to enroll?”

She bowed to him. “Yes, my lord. No distinction is permitted among Servants.”

He huffed. “Gods help me, Tamath, if the lady insists on playing soldier, why did you not simply purchase her a commission as befitting your station?”

Renee blinked. The man compared a purchased commission to an Academy education? A Servant earned her place. Not that the mustached tree trunk would value that. Very well. She would speak his language. “The two positions are not identical, my lord. Consider the Crown’s top advisors, for instance,” she said. “How many non-Servants do you see in their ranks?”

“You will use your . . . great knife . . . to cut a path to the Crown’s favor, my lady? Your strength must be scarcely matched.” He nodded at the junior sword Savoy had insisted she wear and chuckled. “Let us forgo today’s business, my lord Tamath, for your daughter’s grand plans will surely bring good fortune to our estates.”

Lady Renee knew better than to enter into spitting matches with idiot lords. Unfortunately, Cadet de Winter, who happened to inhabit the same body, could not hold back. “I believe one can do more to protect Tildor’s land by attaining a Servant’s post than by rubbing gold into criminals’ palms.” She turned her face toward her father. “Although I understand opinions on this matter differ.”

He slapped her.

Renee touched her tingling cheek, then made her hand drop away. It was her fault; she had gone too far. Now she struggled not to disgrace her uniform with tears. She felt the eyes on her, curious people waiting to see whether she would meekly accept the humiliation, or run off like a child, or start a scandal. Such things attracted an audience as surely as carcasses called to vultures. Tanil smiled from the safety of the crowd.

“Touch my cadet again, and I will break each one of your fingers,” said a quiet voice behind her. “One at a time.”

Renee swallowed as Savoy, in his midnight black instructor’s uniform, stepped up beside her. He stood motionless, but nothing could conceal the fury spilling from his gaze. Around them, spectators stopped pretending to be otherwise occupied and stared openly. His words repeated themselves in her mind. She was his cadet. He wasn’t her friend, he thought her weak, but he would stand beside her without asking what the quarrel was or how it came to be. Servants protected each other’s backs because sometimes, too often, there was no one else.

Renee’s father cleared his throat, indecision playing in his eyes. He was a good spokesman. Would he apologize that a trivial misunderstanding created such a disturbance? Or puff his chest in indignation? He squared his shoulders. “I apologize, young master. My daughter and I found a poor place for a family squabble.”

“Servant,” said Savoy.

“I beg pardon?”

“Servant.” Savoy crossed his arms. “The proper address is Servant or Commander, not master. You seem to have forgotten where you are, my lord.”

“Indeed.” Lord Tamath bowed just deep enough to avoid discourtesy. “My partners and I have business to attend to. Please do not let us impose on your time further. Renee, come along and guide us to the clerk.”

Savoy put his hands behind his back and shifted his weight just enough to give her freedom of movement.

She took a breath. “I am needed elsewhere, my lord. I will see you . . . ” She paused, stumbling on the words. If there had been any chance of regaining a welcome to her father’s estates, she had destroyed it. “I will see you at another time.”

Savoy’s weight shifted back. A small movement but unmistakable.

Alec’s face appeared at the edge of the crowd and moved toward her. A moment earlier, Renee was a girl outnumbered. Now she had the whole Crown’s army behind her.

At least until midyear exams.

A long table stretched down the palace family dining room. Flickering chandelier candles reflected in the polished wood. King Lysian sat at the head of the table, his back to the door. The night beyond pressed at the glittering window across the room from him until Savoy opened the glass, reached out, and swung the shutter closed. Lysian sighed but said nothing.

With Queen’s Day’s emphasis on family, the guests were just that—people who were cousins and grandparents and uncles as deeply as they were esteemed members of the royal household. Sasha’s parents sat together, holding hands like enthralled lovers despite their years. Renee swallowed and looked away. A large-eyed toddler clutched a wooden puppy doll and reminded everyone that her name was Claire, pointing a chubby finger at her chest and rocking her raised chair until Sasha tickled the girl into silence. Sasha’s attempt to carry a political conversation over Claire’s bobbing form earned shushing noises. Lysian inclined his head toward her. “This isn’t the forum, cousin,” he said quietly, his eyes as cool as Savoy’s. The topic was not raised again.

Renee rocked back on her heels, studying King Lysian as he fed a scrap to a dog beneath the table. Although Lysian did not appear to remember her, she had seen him with Sasha a few times before, when he was a prince. Once, he had pulled his cousin’s braids. Then he grew taller and pulled back her chair instead. Now he silenced her with a look. He was her liege and her cousin, like a gold coin twisting in midair, showing one face, then the other.

The room erupted in laughs at someone’s jest. Renee wondered how soon Lysian’s easy smile would become a relic, buried beneath duty. Her eyes cut to Savoy, who stood poised, like a stalking cat, behind his king.

By the dessert course, many of the bodyguards slouched where they stood behind the guests’ chairs. Renee hid her dismay behind squared shoulders. Savoy, whose gaze roved the room, motioned her to come beside him.

“Something amiss?” he asked quietly.

She inclined her head toward the dozing woman wearing the colors of a wealthy local noble and theoretically protecting the royal grandmother.

Savoy shrugged. “A farce, as I said. Let us hope the Palace Guard outside know their duty. Most of the guards in here stand as marks of favor, not skill or experience.” He frowned at a maid who had brought in fresh candles and now loitered by the large window that faced King Lysian. “Before you give your thoughts voice, realize that that is how you came to be here as well.” He tilted his head, speaking quieter still. “Your friend’s favor does not change your skills. You struggle amongst fighter cadets, but you would best most anyone here. You—” He didn’t finish. Savoy’s hand flew to his sword side, thrusting Renee away. His voice pitched clear above the bustle of the room. “Latch the shutter back up.”