Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

He poked her ribs. “So, what did ye do?”

“Not saying. Savoy was a bastard about it, though.”

Cory stiffened. “I’m nay the person to say such to.”

“What? I can’t call Savoy a bastard?”

He pulled away. The familiar lightness of voice and poise disappeared. “Commander Savoy. And no, ye can’t. Not in front of me, anyway.”

Renee sat up, indignation bubbling. “You don’t even know what happened. How can you choose a side?”

“I’m nay choosing a side, Renee. I chose it three years past, when I joined the Seventh.”

“Savoy can do no wrong, then?” She hugged her arms around herself. “You just yes along with anything he says?”

“If I dinna agree with him, I’d tell him. Not you.”

They sat without speaking. Clouds moved to cover the stars, and it started to drizzle, the rain disturbing Rock Lake’s still surface. Renee stared at the colliding ripples.

“I need to get back to me squad,” Cory said quietly. He put the lantern by her feet.

“You won’t see the trail.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “I just walked it a few hours back, and no one is shooting at me. If I couldna retrace me steps under these conditions, the commander would skin me alive.”

“Right,” she mumbled, and turned away to avoid watching him leave. Let him go if he wanted to.

Later that night, Renee curled herself in a deep cleft between man-sized boulders on the far shore of Rock Lake. The climb to get there, clambering around the lake and maneuvering over the wet slippery rocks in the darkness of night, had taken hours. Blissful hours of worrying only about finding the next stone and keeping her footing and moving farther into the shadows. The lantern had fallen and broken. She barely noticed.

The thought of facing Alec or Sasha, or worse, Savoy, nauseated her. A fighter brushed away bruises as irrelevant hazards of the trade. What did it say of her that she could not? She pressed her forehead against the cool wall of her stone circle. The night grew colder and the boulders sucked up whatever heat her body had. A dampness hanging in the air broke again into rain that fell on her hair and face, soaking her already damp clothes. She curled into an even tighter ball, and, shivering, surrendered to fatigue and sleep.

“Wake up, kid.”

Renee opened her eyes to find Savoy crouched atop the largest of the boulders. Her drowsy eyes widened, her back pressed hard into the stone. A pang of nausea gripped Renee, her eyes darting to his hands. She jerked her gaze away, struggled to clear her sleep-addled head, but it was too late, he’d seen.

Savoy shook his head and uncurled his fingers to show empty palms. “I am not here for round two.”

Not even a pretense from him to guard her dignity.

Savoy took hold of the ledge and swung down, hanging on outstretched arms before dropping lightly into the stony hollow. The moisture from last night’s rain frosted the rocks and glistened in the faint rays of dawn.

Gathering her legs under her, she sat up and scooted away from him. Ache and cold clung to her like the wet clothes she wore. She balled her hands into fists and tucked them in her armpits for warmth.

He took off his coat and held it out to her.

“I’m fine, sir.”

“It’s not a suggestion.”

Swallowing, she stripped off her damp tunic and pulled the coat over a sleeveless undershirt. The welts his blade had left on her arms had turned a deep shade of red.

“Still hurting?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She met his eyes.

His shoulders pulled back into a stretch. “You deserved what I gave you.”

“Yes, sir.” Renee drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. Disgrace filled her. And not just disgrace, she knew, as her heart drummed beneath the cold, but fear too. She knew what he could do now and, to her shame, knew she could not face it again. Holding her breath, she prayed that he would leave.

Savoy’s brows narrowed as if in contemplation, but he shook his head. “It’s done, de Winter, and they’re just bruises.” He ran his hand through his hair. “They’ll heal. No one died for your mistake.”

She studied her feet.

“You know the only way to never miss a parry?” He waited until she looked up. “Don’t spar.”

She blinked, rubbing her arms. A tear gathered rebelliously in the corner of her eye. Several seconds passed in a silent, losing battle for composure. Renee dropped her head to her knees. “Please leave.”

Clothes ruffled as he shifted his weight. “Stop. Crying.”

Go away.

“Please.” The plea escaped him through clenched teeth. “Do something else.”

She looked up to find Savoy’s own eyes closed as he sat with his head tipped back against the stone. She took a breath of cold air and wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. “You don’t cry.”

His eyes opened. “No.”

No, of course not. She lifted her face toward the open sky. The chill tingled. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

He startled, then shook himself. “You’re out of line.”

“Yes, sir.” She closed the coat tighter and leaned back, trying to melt into the rock behind her. She did not need Savoy, she reminded herself, and rubbed her shoulders. She needed no one but herself. In the clouds above her, a gaggle of geese flew in formation, making a circle above the lake. She made herself think of them, forming a picture in her mind of how their ordered V reflected in the water.

“You know it.”

She blinked as his voice disturbed her drawing.

“At least I presume you know it,” he continued with an odd mix of nonchalance and resignation. “Unless you divined a way to copy text without reading it.” He cocked his head to one side, an eyebrow lifted in question.

“I read it,” she said. “Two boys took a pair of the Crown’s prized horses and got into an accident. The uninjured boy was charged with . . . ” Renee jerked upright, staring at him. “With theft.” An unlikely start for a decorated commander of the Seventh, especially since the boy thief had ended in a dungeon. She shook her head. “But you’re here,” she said dully.

“Thank you. I was wondering where I was.” He sighed. “Verin left me in the cell for months before making his offer.” His eyes took in the walls around them, but he spoke calmly. “He said he wasn’t ready to give up on my sword arm yet, but he was not about to underestimate the limits of my stupidity either. If I fostered with him, obeying his rules, I could continue at the Academy. Should I graduate and become a Servant, I was free.”

Sasha’s essay had concluded the court’s sentence unfair and, though the words had been her friend’s, Renee agreed with them. She was glad to know that a generous offer had balanced the injustice. Renee leaned forward, bracing her elbows into her knees. “He was unable to save you the lashes?”

“They were his idea. I near got Connor killed, I deserved every one of those. Just ask Guardsman Fisker. It still chafes him I got off at all.”

Renee scratched her nose. The two boys—it was difficult to think of them as Savoy and Seaborn—had run into bandits. The outcome of that struggle was no more Savoy’s fault than it had been her mother’s when her wagon had ridden into an ambush.

“That ride had not been my first exploit, or even my tenth,” he said as if aware of her thoughts. “Verin was correct both about my fighting and my discipline.” He glanced at her arms, now hidden inside the heavy woolen sleeves of his coat. His voice was that of experience, not speculation. “The worst of the soreness will ease by tomorrow, but you will wear the marks for two weeks or so.”