Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

Savoy rolled his eyes, stroking the hilt of his sword. “This here be a sharp, pointy thing. Move.”

“Korish, don’t.” Connor gripped his shoulder. “What will you do if the guard comes?”

“Run,” Savoy and the youth said simultaneously.

Connor huffed. “It delights me that you found a playmate, but perhaps you could delay your amusement until after we find the Yellow Rose?”

The youth whistled, his smile dissipating. “Yellow Rose? Mayhap I’ll sell you what you need right here. Prime seats too. Good for any fight with new pups this month. Take your bets now too. You be lucky meeting Mot today.”

Savoy took a gold crown from his purse and twisted the coin in his fingers. “We’re looking for a boy.”

Mot’s smile returned, showing a mouth of teeth. “That be premium, after the fight. What age?”

Savoy had to master his voice to coolness before daring to answer. “A particular boy. Where is the Yellow Rose Inn?”

He laughed. “Mot thinks you best buy the tickets.”

Ignoring Connor’s pointed looks, he tossed the coin into the air. The youth caught it, handed over two round chits, and disappeared into a nearby doorway.

“Predator tickets.” Connor raised his brows. “Your notion of recreation?”

“No, I simply can’t walk past a law without breaking it.” Savoy examined the newly acquired round bits of painted metal, his stomach clenching as if struck with a blow. “The Yellow Rose isn’t an inn.” He turned the cold chits in his fingers to display the markings that confirmed beyond a hope of doubt what Mot had implied. On the other side from the strokes indicating the fight time, shone a painted rose with lush yellow petals. “It’s a Viper Pit.”

Connor let out a breath. Collecting the chits, he slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll get you details. Give me a few hours.”

Savoy narrowed his brows. “Lead on.”

The tightness around Connor’s lips suggested that Savoy’s company had not entered his plans, but he was smart enough to avoid futile protests. Shrugging, he led the way down a busy street and ducked into a taproom. Savoy followed through the door to find his way blocked by the guard. By the time he shoved the larger man aside, Connor had disappeared out the back. Bloody hero proving his courage.

Savoy cursed.

“A Viper Pit?” Renee turned the chit over in her hands, as much to examine the specimen as to distance herself from the storm of Savoy’s fury.

The target of the assault, bruised and cut, sat shirtless on one of Hunter’s Inn’s beds. From what she gathered since the shouting started, Seaborn had taken the initiative to disappear into Catar alone and ran into trouble that concluded with a loss of purse, cloak, and Renee’s sword. To her surprise, Renee found the loss of her family weapon didn’t distress her. The blade had been a poor fit. She’d get a new one.

“What in the Seven Hells were you trying to prove, Connor?” Savoy raked a wet towel over the shallow grazes on his victim’s side. “The vastness of your stupidity?”

Seaborn gritted his teeth and stared at the wall. The lacerations were shallow, more ugly than serious. In fact, of the two men, the pale Savoy looked worse.

Renee found a long strip of cloth to wrap Seaborn’s torso.

He smiled at her before reaching for his shirt and wincing. “Thank you.” He started on the buttons. “Cease yelling, Korish. I’m all right. You’ve hurt me worse sparring.”

“You don’t risk death when we spar.” Savoy hit a washbasin, which shattered against the floor into a fountain of water and porcelain debris. Staring at the destruction, he ran a hand through his hair and moved away to perch himself on the bureau. By the time he spoke again, his voice was collected. “Very well. What did your birdies tell you?”

“The Yellow Rose is a local Viper lair. They run Predator fights and deal in human trade. A boy matching Diam’s description came in a few days ago from their dealer in Atham—a viper-tattooed man named Vert—to be held for ransom, or sold if none is paid. Not unusual, except for the ransom itself, which is Lord Palan’s head.”

Savoy leaned forward. “The Vipers want me to go after Palan?”

“Not the Vipers.” Seaborn shook his head. “The Vipers do not seem to know Diam’s name, much less his relation to you personally. Someone delivered the boy to Vert, left ransom instructions, and said no more. Probably the same someone who left the note in your room. Everyone believes the ransom to be a joke, but they have nothing to lose.”

“Someone . ” Savoy crossed his arms. “ Someone wanted me out of Atham, or hunting Palan, or both. So he used my brother as bait, and the Vipers as jailers. Who?” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. “Not the Family, since Palan is a target, and not the Vipers, since they neither know who Diam is nor would they want to draw my attention to their home base . . . No, whoever he is, the bastard who arranged this game knows me well enough to know my relatives. If I were still heading the Seventh, I’d suspect a plot to sabotage the unit, but . . . ” He shook his head, then straightened, pinning Seaborn with a stare. “Your birdies sing well.”

“They do.” Seaborn ran his hand over the bandage and sighed. “Unfortunately, it would be unwise to contact them again. For everyone’s sake.”

Renee suppressed a shiver.

Savoy tapped his finger on the windowpane. “What happens if I visit the Rose and start smashing heads?”

“You get dead; Diam becomes a liability and also gets dead,” Seaborn replied dryly.

In the corner of the room, Alec cleared his throat but gestured to Renee when faces turned toward him.

She nodded. “Khavi found Diam’s scent near Duke Leon’s estate. The place spans several acres, complete with guards and walls.”

“We can scale the wall at night,” said Savoy.

“Or, perhaps, walk in through the front door.” Renee’s face heated as she forced herself to meet Savoy’s eyes. “Do you dance?”

“What?”

“I went to the governor’s manor, where the nobles assemble to share news.” Seeing Savoy tense, she shook her head quickly. “No one thought twice of it. De Winter is a minor house, but an out-of-town visitor is a novelty. It would raise greater questions if I didn’t go.”

“Then why do you look as if you fear I’ll strangle you?”

“Duke Leon is hosting a ball tomorrow night.” Renee took a breath. It was better to just say it. “I’ve committed to going, with a guest. Thus . . . do you dance?”

Savoy blinked while Seaborn’s laugh filled the room. “He dances, Renee. And if he doesn’t, I’ll teach him myself.”

It wasn’t that Renee disliked dresses; it was that the trio in the other room had never seen her in one. Worse yet, she couldn’t reach the back ribbons. She ran her hands over the recent purchase, smoothing the slippery rose-and-white bodice that tapered out to a sea of skirt. In the Academy, she all but stripped in front of the boys, yet the walk to the other room now daunted her.

“Are you done yet?” Alec called through the closed door.

Adjusting a hair tie, she contemplated appropriate retorts to the inevitable jests. Conjuring none of value, she sighed, commanded her hands to stop fidgeting, and opened the door.

They stared.

Her cheeks heated as she fingered the skirt, clutching the material like a dolt. Her eyes studied the worn, wooden floorboards.

Clapping startled her. Lifting her head, she saw the three of them lounging around the room, grinning like ten-year-olds and applauding. Savoy, sitting atop the bureau, radiated juvenile amusement. Someone whistled.