Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

He ignored her touch. “May I stay here a little longer, Master Zev?”

The old man nodded and, that evening, Hunter’s Inn was emptier still.

An hour after the midnight bell echoed through Catar, Renee headed to Duke Leon’s estates alone. And this time, she came better prepared.

She wore dark clothes, Alec’s sword, and a pack with a lantern. She had extracted Diam’s promise to lock himself inside the room, but welcomed the company of Khavi, who trotted beside her, their breath visible in the frigid night air. It was a scouting mission. No more than an hour. Descend underground, map the passages, get out. Unlike her last visit here, she would leave no bodies, take nothing, stay hidden. If she found Savoy on this first foray, she would memorize his location to give it to the Seventh. She would not attempt rescue by herself. She knew better than that.

Renee repeated the last instruction to herself again and again until it stopped feeling like a cold hand clamping her heart. Having a plan was her only advantage.

They had snuck into the estate from the forest side, staying clear of the duke’s mansion with its guards and lanterns. She had counted her paces when making her escape with Diam, and now retraced the steps, planning to enter from where they had last exited. Khavi stayed close in what Renee hoped was approval of her route.

The ground under her feet shifted in texture. Khavi pawed it, wagging his tail and whining softly. Holding her breath, Renee crouched down and ran her hand over the cold dirt, feeling for the crack of the trap-door edge. It was there.

And it was locked. Bolted shut, from the feel of it.

Khavi sniffed the ground and gave Renee a something’s there look. That was all. She sighed. Diam had done his best to explain Renee’s intentions to Khavi, but whether the dog failed to understand or saw nothing he could do, she didn’t know. Not that it matters, she thought, giving the unbudging door another pull and cursing. Either way, she wasn’t getting in, not through here.

Next morning at Hunter’s Inn, Alec took a book from his pack and climbed onto his bed. “It does make sense they’d lock it after you and Savoy snuck in, Renee,” he told her. “Or change the lock. Or add a dead bolt. Or whatever they did.” An aura of contentment clung to him, something Renee had not seen in some time. Alec ran his fingers down the book’s cover before setting it on the bed. “You should have waited for me last night.”

“I did.”

“I . . . ran late.” He shifted his weight. “Zev introduced me to some people. Others, like me.” Alec stared out the window. “Catar isn’t like Atham. No one here thinks mages are property or dangerous animals to be broken to saddle.”

“They aren’t like you. They never wished to serve the Crown.”

“I wished to choose my own path.” His contentment vanished. “It didn’t work at the Academy. Here, it may.”

Renee poured water into the basin and washed what little sleep she got from her face. A day and a night had passed with nothing to show for it. “I need to find Duke Leon.”

“And do what?” Alec leaned back against the wall, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Inquire as to what he knows about a secret passage to a Viper prison that you found in his back woods?”

She slammed the water jug down. If Alec could offer none of his own solutions, he could at least support hers. “I don’t know!” She wheeled to face him. “What would you have me do?”

“I’m sorry.” He held up his palms. Whether the apology was for upsetting her or his limited interest in Savoy’s fate, Renee could not tell. He picked up his book. “You are right—try the nobles and Duke Leon again. It helped the last time.”

The nobles attending court at the governor’s manor welcomed Renee with courteous but reserved bows. Her novelty was spent, her house a minor one, and her disgruntled-Academy-reject tale unverified. Putting on a demure expression, Renee stalked the edge of the gathering and awaited the chance to engage her prey, whose green neckerchief she spotted in the crowd.

“The curtain is setting on Lysian’s nonsense,” Duke Leon told a group assembled before him. “The Devmani empire nips Tildor’s western border but instead of addressing it, the king arrests his own subjects and threatens to assault Catar! He’s tasting the Family’s coin, you mark my words. Tildor monarchs have long pandered to wealthy merchants instead of seeing to those in need. Whatever quarrels some have with Predator competition, none can deny its role in holding Catar’s economy.”

“Catar’s economy or Madam’s coffers?” The man beside him stroked his mustache. Several of the guests’ lips tightened into lines. A woman excused herself to the privy.

Taking a breath, Renee strode up to fill the gap before it closed. “Both, my lord.” She curtsied to the mustached man and continued quickly, before they could parry the intrusion. “Shops, inns, taverns, even the meat pie carts, all rely on the fights to bring business,” she said, hoping she guessed true. Her eyes found Duke Leon. Whatever his connection to the Vipers, it likely touched his purse. “Would you agree, Your Grace?”

He tilted his head. “Lady . . . Renee. It is a pleasure seeing you again.” He bowed. “I fear your keen mind puts mine to shame. Perhaps my daughter would prove more entertaining company? It would please me to introduce you.”

Too hard, too fast. Renee cursed herself. “I beg you forgive the brash intrusion, my lord.” She curtsied again, spreading the skirts of her dress. “It was only that I heard you discussing Catar’s economy and hoped you’d consider indulging my curiosity. My father’s estate breeds goats, you see, and his view of trade is somewhat narrow, unlike yours.”

“Kind words to an old man’s ears, but I would not presume to take advantage of a maiden’s good manners with my tedious musings.” A smile that stopped short of his eyes signaled the end of discussion.

Swallowing both the polite dismissal and the colorful words she’d picked up from the Seventh, Renee glided away. She kept her pace slow, but the men refrained from conversation while she was in earshot. Whatever they knew of Catar’s dark market, they did not mean to share.

Returning to Hunter’s Inn, Renee sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door to their room. Alec was gone. She tore loose the laces on her dress and jerked open a drawer, flipping through its contents for a shirt and beaten trousers. The underground entrance was locked. The nobles said nothing. She knew no one in the city to query. And Seaborn wouldn’t have news for days yet. By then, Savoy might be dead. Where in the Seven Hells did that leave her? Or Savoy?

“Who peed in your oatmeal?” Diam’s voice speared her to a halt.

She looked up, startled to find the boy sitting atop her bed, two paces away. “Who did what ?”

“Peed in your oatmeal.” He repeated the words as if trying them on for size.

Closing her eyes, Renee counted to ten. “When did you start talking like that?”

“This morning.”

“This morning.” She stared at her new eight-year-old responsibility. He needed a change of clothes. And tutors. And structure. And another dozen things she couldn’t think of, much less make happen. Her eyes found her practice sword and her hand ached for its feel, for the clarity of the world when viewed over a weapon’s edge. “Do you know where Alec went?” And why he left you alone? she groused silently.

Diam shrugged and jumped off the bed. “The Underground , that tavern near Zev. Same as yesterday.” Diam blocked Renee’s way and opened a grubby fist to display the contents of his palm. Predator chits. “Found ’em in Korish’s coat. Alec said Korish bought them.”