Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

According to Seaborn, the note that appeared in Savoy’s room after the exams directed him to the Yellow Rose in Catar City. There was no signature. The fresh trail the men had followed, until the storm destroyed the tracks, confirmed recent travel toward Catar, the Vipers’ home turf. Any legitimate business went by road. Renee rubbed her arms. Savoy was the true target of this mess. He had to be. No other reason to leave the note in his room. Someone had issued Savoy a challenge, and named the battlefield. And, of course, Savoy was answering it.

None of which was reason to patronize her . Renee bloody well wasn’t the kidnapper.

She coughed as cold air bit her lungs, and tightened her scarf. They trekked on. Tree limbs sagged under the weight of their white burdens. Long, sharp icicles hung from the thicker branches. Kye, whose velvety black coat shone in dazzling contrast to the white world, picked an unfortunate moment to snack on the vegetation, shaking snow from a pine onto Renee’s head.

Gasping, she jumped sideways and cringed at the small clump of wetness that made its way into her collar and snaked down her spine. Savoy’s eyes flickered in her direction. Depriving him the satisfaction of watching her squirm, Renee made no comment. To her irritation, the man showed no discomfort in the freezing weather. He strode along, leading his horse and scanning the landscape, as if his body long ago negotiated a truce with the wind and the chill. And he never called for a break.

“Korish, stop a few minutes,” Seaborn said after they crested another hill, having marched several hours upward to get there. He looked like Renee felt, exhaustion slumping his shoulders.

Savoy regarded him, then Alec and Renee. His lips pressed together in annoyance but he said nothing, and slung off his pack.

She restrained a sigh. The man consented to traveling together, so he needed to stop complaining about their inadequacy every ten seconds, however wordlessly he did so. She reached for her canteen. No water came out. A thick slab of ice blocked the vessel’s mouth. She stuffed it back with a curse. Everything she touched, it seemed, from the essay to the bout with Tanil to the gods’ forsaken water flask, had a whiff of failure to it. Of course, Savoy’s canteen suffered no such issues. Taking a swallow, he extended it to her.

“I’m not thirsty.”

He shrugged, and after offering a drink to the other travelers, stowed the canteen back in his pack. Upside down. “Ice floats,” he said, catching her gaze—just in case she hadn’t already noted his superiority.

Ignoring him, she dug a frozen hunk of bread from her pack and contemplated the chances of keeping her teeth intact if she bit it.

“Forget that, make a fire.” Savoy looked to the sky. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

“We’ll lose time,” she said, despite no longer feeling her toes. The three layers of socks she pulled on that morning failed to do their job.

“We’ll lose one of you if you don’t get something hot inside.” Of course, he excluded himself from that category. Weather and fatigue bothered only mere mortals. If Seaborn and Alec had not already started unpacking, she would have kept hiking. Or tried to.

Renee gathered her waning energy and surveyed their new campsite, building a mental list of chores.

Savoy eyed her with condescending concern. “Gather firewood, de Winter,” he ordered, as if making such decisions was beyond her. “Alec, animals and gear. Connor, you and I will put up the tents. You have a problem, de Winter?”

The words left her mouth before her brain filtered them. “Yes. It’s blond, green-eyed, and thinks it’s a god.” She shifted her weight under the penetrating stares. In for a copper, in for a crown. She glanced at Alec and Seaborn. “We’re not daft. I just said what everyone’s thinking.”

“Not me,” Seaborn said quietly, and turned to his work.

Savoy ran a hand through his hair, his face as indifferent as his tone. “Do whatever you want, de Winter.”

“I thought you liked him,” Alec whispered when they’d turned to their chores.

“I thought you didn’t.”

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “I don’t. But disliking him doesn’t bother me.”

Unsure what he meant, Renee began setting up camp, fast realizing that firewood remained the only outstanding critical task. Damn the man.

Once the fire was started, she savored its warmth for several indulgent minutes before surveying the rest of the setup. Alec brought over kitchen gear and started compiling ingredients for some sort of stew. Seaborn, armed with a small shovel, piled a windbreak mound by the first tent. Savoy anchored the second. Well, tried to anchor the second. She watched him struggle to tie a knot one-handed.

Walking over, Renee inserted herself between him and the rope. She drew it taut and secured it with easy motions. Permitting herself a content smile, she met Savoy’s eyes.

Instead of thanking her, he reached down and pulled loose her bootlaces. “You’ll freeze your feet tying them so tight. Blood can’t move.” He shook his head. “How many socks did you cram in there?”

Right. Courteous conversation was clearly beyond his skill set. She was neither his student nor his soldier. She was a friend of his brother’s and trying to save the boy’s life. And she was done with his bullying. “What’s your problem?”

“Beyond a novice crusading for democracy? A kidnapped eight-year-old boy.”

“If you bothered to mind him, we would not have that issue,” she said, knowing she went too far. And not caring.

His eyes flashed. “We don’t. I do. You are a tagalong liability who can’t tell reality from grand adventure.”

She went to slap him. He caught her wrist in mid-motion. The next instant, he released it with a hiss of pain, cradling his bandaged hand to his chest. It was not funny at all, but Renee smiled anyway and walked away.

After cooling off enough to be passable company, Renee went to inspect Alec’s kitchen adventures. He was not there, but Seaborn, sitting on a fallen trunk near the fire, extended a mug of tea to her. He held up another one and called to Savoy, but the man shook his head and headed to the opposite edge of the clearing.

Savoy dug out a small jar and braced it between his knees to open the lid, then unwrapped the bandage. When the salve touched the lesion, he closed his eyes and rocked over the cradled palm for a breath, before refastening the dressing.

“Do you think burns hurt more than arrow wounds?” Renee asked Seaborn, who glanced over at Savoy and winced.

“I think no one should be that skilled at tying a bandage one-handed.”

“If he behaved like a normal human being, he wouldn’t have to,” she mumbled. After making certain that Savoy showed no signs of listening, she turned back to Seaborn. “Was he different as a cadet?”

“He was the Seven Hells’ personal representative to the mortal realm. Gods, I don’t know how the Academy survived us both.” Seaborn’s smile faded and he stirred the fire with a stick. “I left for a while at fourteen. When I returned, Verin had him on a leash and he wasn’t talking much to anyone, me included.”

“He still doesn’t.”

He shook his head. “Relatively speaking, he does.”

“You stopped being friends after the horse incident?” When several seconds passed without an answer, she looked up to see Seaborn watching her, his brows raised. She tried to cover her words.

He shook his head. “Too late. When did he tell you what that essay was really about?”

The heat rising in her face had nothing to do with the fire. “After what he did to me in the salle.”

“After what he did to you in the salle?” Seaborn sat back and looked at her incredulously. “Renee, what he did to you in the salle was save you from getting thrown out of the Academy on the spot. He and Verin went head to head for half an hour over it. And then another quarter hour because he would not let Verin touch you.”