Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

“Renee . . . ” His hand reached for her, but she stepped back, turning away.

A gust of wind blew in, howling through the trees. Renee walked into the wall of air, holding on to her jacket, trying to think of nothing but placing one foot in front of the other. The evening moved on, at a distance. The guards called all’s well. A clique of cadets hurried to reach the barracks before curfew. A stray cat brushed her leg and scurried up a tree. Renee walked. Just walked. Nowhere in particular.

The midnight bell tolled.

“Renee?” Savoy, flanked by his two sergeants, turned into the small quad between the barracks buildings, where Renee realized she now was. With all the increased security, she should have known she was bound to run across an adult sooner or later. “Is all well?” Savoy asked.

Another instructor would have punished her for missing curfew. He wouldn’t, she knew. Savoy asked direct questions and took her at her word. And she was about to lie to him. Another betrayal. “I thought I saw a horse loose.” She gestured behind her.

“All the way over here?” Cory’s voice carried surprise, not doubt.

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her coat. Catching herself, Renee stuffed her hands into her pockets. Gods, how did Alec stand it, lying to everyone—lying to her—all these years?

“We’ll check,” said Savoy. He crossed his arms, his eyes penetrating hers. When she remained silent, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, and they walked away.

Hanging lanterns illuminated her walk back to quarters, and unfinished notes welcomed her home. Alec’s materials had disappeared. Sasha, asleep in her bed, pulled her blanket over her head in response to the creak of the door.

On the heels of the evening’s events, the impossibility of finishing her essay by tomorrow throbbed like a drip of water against a wound, simultaneously trivial and unbearable. She chuckled bitterly. Seaborn would down-rate her, and the lowered academic standing would pull her further along the spiral toward losing an already tenuous hold on her Academy slot.

Renee walked to her roommate’s drawer. There lay the assignment she needed. If caught, she’d still be down-rated and likely spend every evening for the rest of the year digging latrine holes. But the consequences of doing nothing were little different. The past four hours saw her become an accomplice to treason because of her friend’s choices. It would serve nothing to jeopardize her own for the sake of a few sheets of homework.

After she finished copying Sasha’s words, Renee spent the rest of the night washing the ink from her hands.

Savoy knew he was sleeping, but it made the dream no less vivid.

The cell stank of blood and urine. Both his. “Is he alive?” His voice cracked, echoing against the stone walls. On his stomach, he slithered toward the bars. “I’m sorry!” The taste of copper filled his mouth.

The guard snorted.

A hand from the darkness grabbed at him . . .

Savoy gripped his assailant and threw him into the wall.

The foe grunted and stayed put.

Savoy vaulted from his bed into a defensive crouch and froze in place. Sun rays poured through the window to fill his quarters with light, and the man slumped on the floor beside the bureau was Verin. His long gray coat pooled around his body and his silver-streaked hair puffed out in disarray.

Savoy drew a breath. “Gods.” Shaking away the last bits of sleep, he offered his hand to help the older man up. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I see you’ve grown a bit, lad.” Verin’s voice was composed despite its owner’s sprawl. He climbed to his feet, leaning more on the proffered arm than Savoy had expected.

Savoy’s head pounded still. If the headmaster wished to see him, courtesy demanded a summons or, at the least, a knock. He was no longer Verin’s foster to be subject to random intrusions. His gaze weighed the other man. Verin was still taller, of course—Savoy had outgrown his adolescent runtiness but still stood nearly a hand shorter than the other man—but Savoy out-massed Verin now and had the edge of recent battle on his side. He braced his hands on his hips. “You should not startle me so.”

“Ah, my mistake then.” Verin pulled down on his tunic, settling it back into place. His forehead creased. “I had been under the impression that I raised a self-controlled military officer and not a wild animal. I thank you for correcting the misconception.”

Heat rose to Savoy’s face and he turned away for a moment to let it settle. Behind him, chair legs scraped against the floor. He turned to find his former teacher and guardian seated in the room’s sole chair.

“I’ve known several people who chose to leave their quarters unlocked,” Verin said conversationally. “But you are the first to have removed the locking mechanism completely.”

Savoy glanced at the door, where his handiwork had left several holes from the extracted screws. Locks had a way of trapping you in as fast as keeping others out. He shrugged. “A good sword bests a good latch, sir.” Verin had taught him to fight, even if it had been decades since the now Servant High Constable was junior enough to wield a sword on the battlefield himself.

“Mmm. Indeed.” Verin smiled, crossing his legs. “Especially when someone else has another set of keys, eh?” A metallic jingle sounded when he patted his pocket and a bushy eyebrow rose in gentle amusement. “Were you afraid I’d lock you in?”

Savoy picked up a shirt and shrugged into it, letting the hem hang down over the battered britches in which he had slept. He started to pull himself up to perch atop his desk but changed his mind and walked back to the bed instead. With a few motions he tugged the woolen blanket tight and tucked the corners under the mattress. “Would you?”

The older man chuckled. “No. If I wished you to stay in your quarters, I believe I would have but to ask.” He tented his fingers under his chin. “That is something that differentiates a man from a boy, don’t you think? That he fulfills his obligation and follows his orders because they are obligation and orders, and not because he’s forced into obedience.” He cleared his throat to indicate a change of topic and inclined his head toward the bed. “Sit. Since I seem to have intruded on your sleep at midday, may I presume your night was otherwise occupied?”

Midday. Savoy glanced out the window for confirmation. “I drilled the Seventh until dawn, then herded cadets around the salle.” The words held an unintended ring of excuse that he didn’t care for. He scrubbed his hand over his face. The headmaster did not make social calls, so something was amiss. If previous experience was anything to judge by, the longer Savoy took to realize what that bloody something was, the worse the outcome. He sighed, remembering. The instructors’ conference to discuss the midyear exams a few weeks off had passed without the pleasure of his company. He squared his shoulders. “My apologies for the ill planning, sir.”

Verin nodded slowly before speaking. “I believe it was more a matter of priorities than plans. The needs of your men versus those of your students?”

It was a trap, but Savoy failed to see how he could avoid the bait. “A misstep for my fighters will get them killed. A misstep for my cadets will get them sent home to their parents.”

“Your dedication to your men is commendable.” Verin’s fingertips tapped each other. “Your disobedience to my orders, less so. I seem to recall holding a similar conversation with you upon your arrival, but perhaps my memory is in error.” His brows narrowed and he leaned forward. His smile faded, replaced by a steel-gray gaze that laid a heated rod along Savoy’s spine. “Let me thus revert to more primitive methods: You will keep your commitments to this Academy, Servant Savoy, or you will find your team’s behavior under a level of scrutiny they will not enjoy. Am I clear?”