Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

Savoy grabbed her tunic and jerked her up. “We aren’t done.”

Her stomach clenched. She suddenly cared for nothing except avoiding another blow. Not skill, not pride, not dignity. Nothing. This wasn’t punishment, she realized through growing fear, it was humiliation. And it wasn’t stopping.

Renee’s legs buckled. She couldn’t do this. Clutching her sword, she sank to her knees, knowing Savoy would force her up again, but shrinking back anyway. She was too weak to block, too small to attack, and too afraid to stand another moment before him. She prayed he wouldn’t strike her unless she rose. And she never wished to rise again.

His hand reached forward and she flinched away, cowering into the sand. “Please,” she heard her voice whisper, and breathed in shame.

No jerk came. Renee looked up at her teacher but saw his eyes moving past her, toward the two men on the sidelines. She followed his gaze in time to see Verin nod.

Savoy’s shoulders relaxed. He squatted by her and tugged at the practice blade in her grip. When she held on, he shook his head and touched the back of her hand. “Let go. It’s done.”

Renee searched his face for emotion and found none. “I’m sorry,” she said again as he took the blade from her, but his face remained a stone.

She staggered up, her feet looking for solid ground. And fled.

Outside, Renee found Diam waiting by the door. His eyes locked on the tears running down her cheeks. Turning away, she headed to the well. A moment later, feet pounded the ground behind her, and a small hand slipped into hers. The boy did not ask what happened.

Despite the beginning of the winter cycle, the evening was the warmest they’d had in weeks, and the breeze felt good on the back of her neck. She ladled frigid water from the well-bucket, gulping and wiping her face. Then she sat on the ground, letting the wind dry her skin. The sun was setting over a bloody horizon as the evening journeyed toward darkness. Inside her, misery, shame, and anger battled with the ferocity of fire consuming kindling.

Diam plucked at her shoulder. “Cory’s comin’. ”

She turned in the direction of the boy’s pointing finger, but could not make out the identity of the shape moving toward them. Diam, scratching Khavi’s ears, looked certain.

The shape materialized into the tall, dark-haired sergeant. Saddlebags slung over his shoulder, he strode up to the well and paused, surprise playing across his face. “Dinna expect ye here,” he said, setting down a lantern before drawing a bucket of water and gulping. “Just rode a patrol.” He smiled in apology and drank again.

Diam wrinkled his nose and turned away, his face full of contempt. Renee heard him muttering something about kissing as he detached himself from them. If Cory heard Diam’s prediction, he didn’t let it show.

“So.” Cory surveyed the dimming landscape. “I heard you have a beach here . . . ”

The remaining strands of sunlight had disappeared by the time Renee and Cory picked their way toward Rock Lake. She had expected the tameness of the Academy grounds to disappoint a fighter like Cory, who practically lived on the battlefield, but he drank in each new sight with Diam-ish enthusiasm. The lantern in his hand swung to and fro, casting odd shadows on the uneven slopes. Branches, disturbed by the wind and evening birds, rustled around them.

“You all right?” Cory asked, offering a hand down a steep part of the trail. “You seem stiff.”

Renee swallowed, grateful for the darkness’s veil. The deep ache in her limbs moaned. “Stiff,” she repeated, clinging to the word. “Yes, over-trained, I think.”

He patted her shoulder. “Aye, been there meself. I know something that’ll help.”

The trees opened without warning, revealing a sky full of stars. The glowing specks of light reflected off the lake as the last brown leaves floated from their tethers to drift on the water’s surface.

Cory froze. “Och.”

Renee smiled, the humiliation of the evening suddenly distant, left behind in some other time, some other world. With the trees blocking the wind, the warmth of the mild evening wrapped around them. “I know.”

Without taking his eyes off the water, Cory settled onto the sand. Renee lowered herself by his side and the two sat in silence, drinking in the night. A leaf fluttered close, teasing the lantern light. Cory’s hand reached out to catch it, and, failing, settled onto Renee’s shoulder. Her skin tingled under his fingers.

Holding her breath, she reached up across her chest and touched her fingertips to his. His chin hovered just above the crown of her head, disturbing her hair. Warmth from his body hugged her like a cloak of thin wool. She lifted her face to find his eyes looking down into hers.

Cory leaned toward her. His lips touched hers with a brief gentleness that seemed impossible in a boy so big. When he pulled away, he smiled like a cat who stole cream for his supper and gathered her in his arms. “I promised something for stiffness,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. A strong hand kneaded into the base of her neck.

“Mmm . . . ” Renee leaned into his touch, her heart palpitating faster with each second. She sensed his grin.

He squeezed her shoulders, fingers searching for knots. Then his hand slid down her arm.

Renee jerked away, gasping.

“What’s wrong?” He held her at arm’s length. “Did I hurt ye, then?”

She shook her head, uttering denials, but he was already pushing up the loose sleeves of her tunic.

He lifted the lantern and whistled. “Och. Quite a sunset ye’ve got there.” Shaking his head, he checked the other arm.

All energy left her. At a loss for words, she stared at the sky, awaiting the destruction of the night’s enchantment. Cold nipped at her skin as he moved away. Shame rushed to fill the void. She had cowered on the salle floor and even now, her breath quickened with remembered fear. The camaraderie Savoy had extended her on Queen’s Day, and while training with the Seventh—it had been a jest. The man she had thought her friend had, in but a quarter hour, reduced her to a crumpled, frightened heap. It meant nothing to him; his face had said so. He had never intended to let her keep a shred of dignity. And she had not.

Something rustled behind her, and Cory’s warm hand returned to her shoulder. She leaned away despite herself.

“Easy.” Cory showed her a small jar labeled Bruise Balm . His dark gaze caught hers, and a finger brushed against her cheek. “Just bought the wee thing from a peddler. Let’s test it.” Without waiting for a response he cradled her against him and spread the viscous substance over her upper arms. She doubted the balm’s medicinal properties, but Cory’s touch worked miracles on its own.

The toll of a late evening bell found Renee and Cory lying on their backs, staring at the stars. It would be curfew soon. But not yet. Renee smiled, her neck resting on Cory’s outstretched arm. The near three hours they had spent together had whispered by.

“So, what did ye do, then?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

He chuckled and rose onto his elbow, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I wish to know what mischief tickled your fancy.”

“Just sparring,” she answered, glad for the darkness that hid her blush.

Cory laughed. “Och, aye.” He tugged up her sleeve again, and traced the welts gently. “You dinna appreciate the finesse of these, but trust me, a wee bit in either direction and ye’d have broken bones in place o’ yer bruises. Perfect shots. All of them are. And I know but one man who is that good with a blade.”

He had known all along. A smile crept onto her face. “You have me there,” she said, catching his hand in hers.