Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, drowning in disgrace.

He extended his hand and pulled her to her feet.

The rest of the period passed in silence. Alec abandoned his partner for Renee, all the while fixing Savoy with a look of promised vengeance. The glare failed to make an impact, so far as she could tell, but Savoy didn’t separate the pair. For the first time in her life, Renee couldn’t wait to leave the salle.

Savoy stripped off his pads while his fearless followers silently escaped the salle. After the last cadet vanished, a fat middle-aged man squeezed through the doorway. An annoying, if not unexpected, visit.

“Lord Palan,” Savoy said without glancing up. “My training is not a show.”

The man puffed, either from indignation or else from the exertion of hauling his own bodyweight, and opened the top clasp of his shirt collar.

“You have stood by the side window for the past quarter hour.” Savoy straightened and looked into the man’s little eyes. Nothing had changed in seven years. Palan’s dark, intelligent gaze still tirelessly weighted everything it touched, making Savoy feel as if he held fire beside straw. “Let me save you the trouble,” Savoy offered. “My sword is still not for sale. I serve the Crown.” Unlike you.

Lord Palan cleared his throat and gestured toward the Servant’s crest on Savoy’s tunic. The jeweled rings clamped around Palan’s sausage fingers caught the light and shimmered. “Yes, Commander, I’m quite aware that tempting Verin’s foster son lies outside my omnipotence.” He chuckled, a smooth, bitter sound. The graying hair around his temples curled in droplets of sweat. “You were but a lad then, and a troubled one at that. I offered you employment and fair pay. Was such a proposal unjust?”

Savoy twirled his practice blade before placing it in his bag.

“I hear the gods blessed your parents with a second child?” Palan continued, undeterred.

“Eight years past.”

“Expensive to raise children nowadays. If ever—”

“You employ little boys now, Lord Palan?”

“How dare . . . ” Lord Palan’s nostrils flared. He took a step toward Savoy, but stopped himself, his face transforming into a mask of nonchalance. “My apologies, Commander. You misunderstand. I had only stopped by to check up on my nephew’s progress.”

Savoy raised an eyebrow, admiring the flawless transition from failed negotiation to plausible fiction.

“Tanil. The thin blond youth?” Palan adjusted an expensive ring. “Don’t distress. People’s ignorance of my family members is common. Tanil assured me that he kept up practice all through the summer.”

“I assure you he hasn’t.” Savoy slung his bag over a shoulder. “Now that we have pacified your concern, I expect you will find no further need to grace my class with your presence?”

Lord Palan’s mouth tightened at the dismissal, but he offered a slight bow and did not press the issue.

Renee followed the narrow trail that snaked from the barracks, down the hill, and into the adjacent woods. It ran for about half a league, stopping at the edge of Rock Lake, so named for the boulders lining its circumference. The water’s vast, calm surface belied the danger of the lake’s uneven bottom, but reflected the surrounding world with looking-glass accuracy. A bird perched on one of the boulders cried to its mate, and the call echoed from the stony outcroppings. There were no people.

At the lake’s sole beach, a small sandy clearing to the left of the trail’s mouth, Renee settled into a fighting stance. Practice sword in hand, she watched her reflection while coaxing the weapon through five basic parries. Her movements were hideous. Just holding the sword made her arm throb. A lighter, junior blade lay inside her bag. In the solitude of Rock Lake, she considered reaching for it to soothe the strain on her arm. No. The boys put away such childish things two years ago, and the enemy seldom waited until injuries healed before attacking. She swallowed and forced her shaking hand to keep trying.

“Looks awful,” said a voice behind her.

She startled but managed to conceal the surprise behind a bow. “The arm or the parry, Master Seaborn?”

“Both.” Connor Seaborn, a magistrate instructor who taught Renee’s law and history course, cleared the trail’s mouth and leaned his tall frame against a boulder. He set down his bag and cocked his head to the side, awaiting an explanation.

“It was deserved, sir.” Renee sighed, lowering her sword tip to the ground. “I didn’t parry Commander Savoy’s attack very well.”

He nodded. “Most people don’t parry his attacks very well. That’s why the Crown sends him and the Seventh where it does.” He frowned and leaned forward. “Renee, had you expected to win against him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, of course not. But . . . ” A chuckle tickled her chest, easing shame’s weight. “It would have been nice, no?” She cleared her throat. “Are those practice swords in your bag, sir?”

“They are. An old classmate of mine is here. Speaking of missing parries . . . ” He grinned toward the rustling leaves that signaled an impending arrival.

A moment later, Savoy stepped out onto the beach. He glanced her way but offered no greeting. It was a request to dismiss herself, but it wasn’t an order.

She moved away to give the men as much space as the small beach allowed, the resultant twinge of guilt unable to compete with the chance to watch a hostile species in their natural habitat. Plus, perhaps Savoy’d be pleased to see her practicing.

He sat on the sand and folded himself over an outstretched leg. The back of his shirt outlined shifting muscles. “Why is my lord Palan still puffing around the Academy?” Savoy’s hair fell to cover his face and he shook it off with a practiced motion. Renee blinked. If not for the unregulation length of the blond mane, he could have been a cadet savoring a free afternoon.

Seaborn reached back to plait his own red curls into a short, thick braid. “Largely on account of being the uncle of one of your students. And, he is petitioning the Crown to take the offensive against the Vipers, suggesting an assault on their stronghold in Catar City.” Seaborn winced at a bird’s shrill call, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the noise. “Remember him?”

Savoy snorted. “I remember you missing a shot by three paces. At least.”

Seaborn cleared his throat. “Because the bow you made broke, and I landed on the back of my skull.”

“Yes, well, there was that.” A smile touched Savoy’s face. He uncoiled and came to his feet with a smoothness that his friend could not match. “Most anyone with a decent mind and ties to Atham knows Palan runs the Family. Since when does the Crown entertain criminals’ petitions?”

Seaborn chuckled. “I challenge you to find one shred of evidence implicating Palan in a crime. Any crime. Until that happens—and it won’t; he’s careful—he’s just another conniving noble and can petition all he wishes. Officially speaking.”

Savoy sighed. “I suppose I could kill him. Wring some good from this posting.”

Seaborn tensed and picked up his practice blade. “Renee, could you give us the beach?” A forced smile tried to soften the demand.

There was nothing to do but bow and trot to the trail. She had been lucky to keep her ground as long as she had. Several paces into the woods, she paused, drew a breath, and ducked behind the foliage. The pounding of her heart threatened to give her away. Seaborn spoke again once she was hidden from view.

“Some good from this posting? You’re teaching cadets!”