Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

She slid down to the ground. Hawk was watching her again, eyeing her up and down. He was eighteen or nineteen, with broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and a smile that refused to surrender even at Savoy’s sharp call of “Sergeant!”

She wondered if she should bow in greeting.

“We have an essay to write.” Alec touched her elbow. “Something about thieves and motives that I know you’ve not touched in three weeks. Let’s go.”

Right. Seaborn’s essay. Free time was scarce of late. Guilt crept over her, and Renee rubbed her arms. Still, her probation was in combat arts, not academics. And she had to prioritize. Papers didn’t save lives.

“Eh, you two!” An unfamiliar voice cut through the air. Hawk waved them over. “Come here.”

Alec sighed and shot her a scowl, but there was nothing for it now. They trotted over to the group.

“The commander says ye’re his students,” said Hawk. He smiled like a boy hiding a frog in his pocket—a frog he planned to drop down a victim’s shirt.

She bowed. “Yes, sir.”

“He’s ‘sir.’ ” Hawk jerked his head toward Savoy. “I’m Cory Kash.”

Renee blushed. The army reserved sir for commissioned officers. Common soldiers, including sergeants—as Cory’s sleeve insignia named him—were not extended the courtesy. Since all fighter Servants were officers, Renee was unaccustomed to seeing other warriors on Academy grounds, so the slip of the tongue was understandable. But from Cory’s perspective, she must seem either blind or an idiot. The Seventh could have only one officer—and Savoy was it.

She drew herself taut and bowed. “A pleasure, Sergeant Kash.” At least the words came out crisp. “Renee de Winter, fighter cadet, senior class. My classmate Alec Takay.”

Cory whistled at Savoy. “Next thing ye’ll be wanting us to talk like that.”

“I’d settle for you not talking at all,” Savoy told him, drawing chuckles from everyone, including his victim. “Don’t mind Cory, Renee. We try keeping him gagged, but he chews through everything.”

Renee. That felt good.

“Can you run?” Cory loomed over her, his shoulders clearing her head.

She met his dark eyes. “Can you?”

His grin grew wolfish, like Khavi’s, but he looked at Savoy before speaking again. At the latter’s nod, he turned back. “Will you join our wee jog then, fighter cadets?”

Renee accepted quickly, before Alec could bring up homework once more. This was not an opportunity to let pass. He’d thank her later. Maybe.

The lightness of excitement faded within a half hour. Savoy set a hard pace up a never-ending, winding hill. The men ran in a shifting cluster and not, as she had imagined, a military formation. Cory paced her and Alec for a few minutes before speeding up to Savoy’s side. Another man with a sergeant’s insignia followed suit. Although she heard none of their conversation, she marveled at their ability to speak during this run and implored the gods to keep her from falling behind.

Her lungs burned by the time Savoy called a halt. The men dropped to the chilled ground the moment they stopped, and she too collapsed, gratefully gasping air. A sense of someone watching made her look up. The entire squad, including Alec, held a push-up position and waited, all eyes fixed on her. Seven Hells.

“Not yet,” said Savoy. “But we’ll get there.”

Realizing she had spoken aloud, Renee turned deep red and scrambled to imitate the others. Alec chortled. She elbowed his ribs the next chance she got. Hard. But the remorseless goat only chuckled at her again. At least he was enjoying himself.

The “wee jog” Cory promised proved an exercise in masochism. Run. Stop. Drop to the ground and work. Run again. She soon discovered the contents of the men’s backpacks.

“Sandbags?” she asked, crunching up and passing the sack to Cory, whose sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead. Her burning abdominals threatened to spasm. He nodded, did a sit-up with the burden, and passed it back.

“Better than rocks, aye?” His hand gently pressed on her shoulder. “Keep moving.”

Renee lay back, uncertain she could rise again. Her body shook, fighting gravity.

“Move, girl!” someone growled into her ear. She turned to see the other sergeant, an older man with a shaved head, kneeling next to her, partnering Alec in the same drill. “Sit-up! Now!” Alec grimaced at her side. By now, he was keeping up little better than she was.

She sat up. And then did it again. And again. She ran, collapsed, got up, and ran more. She passed the sandbag. She carried it in her arms. She pulled herself up on tree branches. And, despite the agony of each motion, a deep happiness seeped into her bones. She and Alec were with the Seventh, and the Seventh was not giving up on them. The toughest warriors in Tildor encouraged, shoved, yelled, but never dismissed either of them as the irrelevant tagalongs they were. When they returned to Academy grounds, Renee’s prayer thanked the gods not just for the training’s conclusion, but for its beginning. She lowered herself to the sand to stretch.

“You two keep walking another twenty minutes.” Savoy’s voice turned all heads toward her and Alec.

“We’re fine, sir, real—”

Severe looks from several fighters dissuaded her from contradicting their commander and she swallowed the rest of her protest. The older sergeant stalked toward her, but Cory beat him to it.

“I’ll come with ye,” he offered, smiling and extending her a hand to pull her up. “Maybe you can show me this sacred Academy that trains you Servants?”

Hiding a smile, Renee suddenly didn’t mind the prescribed cooldown.

Alec scowled.

“You should come back,” Renee told Alec, who, despite her urging, had declined to return to the Seventh’s morning training. The three weeks since the team’s arrival had flown by in a rush of wind, and undone homework now hung thick in the early winter air.

“I get enough of Savoy during the day.” Alec scrawled another line of his essay, assigned a month and a half ago and now, suddenly, due to Seaborn the following morning. “Extra time with him has given you nothing but blisters and moves you’ve no intention of using. Plus, I don’t enjoy the same sights you do.” The last was mumbled under his breath.

Renee’s head jerked up. “Sights?”

Sasha chortled and answered in a singsong voice, “Cory and Savoy.”

Renee threw a pillow at each of them.

Alec let it hit him, his head unwavering from his work. He had made no secret of disliking Savoy since day one, when the man had cracked his blade across Renee’s forearm, but Alec’s animosity toward Cory made little sense. Everyone liked Cory. Alec straightened and made a valiant attempt at a smile. “Go with the sergeant. Savoy isn’t your friend.”

She sat on the floor beside him. The heat from the fireplace warmed the stone, and they had spread a quilt atop that. “ You are my friend,” she said. “Are we going to work on the assignment or not?”

Five hours later, Renee rubbed her eyes. “I can’t take much more,” she mumbled, steeling herself for the all-night experience of transforming notes into paragraphs. If she forwent sleep and food, she would just make the deadline.

Alec peered over her shoulder. “Well, you but need to start and finish.”

She scowled, but before she could reply, the door burst open and a pale Diam stumbled inside. She rose, but he sidestepped her and made a beeline for Alec.

“Someone hurt Khavi,” Diam whispered.

When Alec remained seated, Renee frowned at her animal-loving friend and crouched by the child. “I’ll come. What happened?”