Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

No one said much. The sun dimmed and Palan took his leave. When a bell somewhere outside tolled the late hour, Zev rose painfully from a chair, laid a glowing hand on Diam for another moment, and made his bows. While he labored his way down the inn’s stairs, Alec gathered their jackets. Renee stared at her friend, her heart growing heavier each moment. The night had been about neither Savoy nor politics nor the Crown. Maybe he only planned to walk Zev to the Mage Quarter and return. She chewed her lip. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” He shrugged into his coat and paused. “Did you need something?”

She shook her head and stared at the door long after he departed.

King Lysian arrived in Catar three days later, and with him Connor Seaborn.

Renee met Seaborn outside the governor’s manor where the Crown’s advisors and royal court took up residence. “The Yellow Rose’s next Predator competition will run in two days’ time. I may not know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something,” Renee told Seaborn.

He sighed. “If peace holds that long.” Seaborn shook his head, the circles beneath his eyes dark despite the bright day. He’d lost weight since they first left Atham a month ago, and his clothes hung looser. “The Madam and King Lysian harden their positions each day, Renee. She wants the release of the Viper lords and a pledge for the Crown to keep clear of Viper affairs. He wants a complete, immediate cession of all illegal activities and a surrender of the group’s senior members. With factions rallying to both leaders, soon neither will be in a position to compromise even if he or she wishes to. And then . . . ” He trailed off.

And then it was war. Renee crossed her arms, thinking of the underground network and Atham’s children marooned in it. “What if the victory was symbolic? If King Lysian won something precious to him while assaulting something the Vipers hold sacred, but without actually destroying much infrastructure or Viper troops?”

“Such as?” Seaborn ran a hand through his hair and continued, “The Madam is too well-protected, we don’t know the whereabouts of the Crown’s cousin, and there is precious little as important to the Crown right now, besides. King Lysian is unwilling to wait.” Seaborn frowned at her. “Is there something you know, Renee?”

“Perhaps.” She turned away before he could stop her. She needed to think.

“I have an idea,” Renee told Diam as she stepped into their room.

The boy, sitting again on the windowsill, refused to turn.

“What are you watching for?”

He pressed his face against the glass. “The Seventh.”

Renee sighed. There was little to say. “They—”

Diam shrieked and bounced from his perch. Dodging Renee’s hands, he scampered out of the room, his footsteps banging down the steps.

She chased after him to the landing, but it was no use. He was already gone.

Renee had just picked up a pen and her sketches of the Vipers’ underground passages when voices rumbled in the hallway. Familiar voices. “Gods,” she whispered, the pen falling to the floor.

“Good evening,” Cory said, leaning his elbow on the frame of the doorway. “We heard you had a wee problem.”

“How?” Bewilderment overpowering manners, Renee stared from one member of the Seventh to another. “I mean, greetings. No, I mean how. How in the Seven Hells did you know?”

Cory took a folded sheet from his breast pocket. “Diam’s letter.” He frowned. “I was surprised to nay hear from you or Connor.”

“We had no code word,” Renee said, reaching for Diam’s mailing. “I didn’t think Savoy gave it to an eight-year-old.”

“Of course not.” Cory sounded offended. “Diam uses his own code. He’s written ever since learning how, and sent wee drawings before then.” He set the boy on the floor and put a finger under his chin. “Did speaking of this slip your mind, lad?”

Diam’s green eyes and set chin looked like Savoy’s as he met the adult’s gaze. “You never tell anyone a code word. I promised.”

“Anyone doubting they’re brothers?” mumbled someone from the Seventh.

At the first opportunity, Renee pulled Cory into the stable, where the horses’ snorts and whinnies offered an agreeable backdrop to private conversation. She petted the nose of the bay mare they supposedly visited and aimed her words at the ground. “You should know that I did not simply lack the code word needed to send you a message, but that Commander Savoy specifically refused to give it.”

The sergeant stiffened beside her. “Do ye know why?”

“Yes.” If any reason was enough to make the men reconsider their involvement, this was the one. Nonetheless, they deserved to make their own choice. “Verin declined my request for any official assistance, much less agreed to pull a specialty unit from its mission.”

“High Constable Verin?” Cory whistled a low tone. “And what does he make of your own presence here?”

Renee shrugged, but her fingers dug into the horse’s mane. “I made my choice.”

“Aye, I see ye did. And so did I. Three years past.” His hand brushed her arm, the touch teasing. “We spoke of this before, if in a prettier landscape.”

Heat gripped Renee’s cheeks and she scowled into Cory’s grinning eyes. The bruises of Rock Lake were a lifetime ago, when Savoy walked among immortal gods, and Cory was a sergeant who invited her and Alec to partake in the highly dangerous workout that was the Seventh’s morning jog. “Seven bloody Hells, this is not a jest, Cory.” She stepped away to where she could see his face without having to look up. Responsibility weighed her words, heavier for the fact that someone else would pay for any mistake she made. “You do this, and the Crown can charge you and your men with treason. Treason . Ensure that each of your soldiers stands clear on this point or I will burn the maps I’ve drawn and leave you twiddling your thumbs in wee circles. Am I plain on this, Sergeant?”

The grin faded from his face, and he picked up a brush. “Aye, you are.” He shook his hair away from his eyes and slid the brush along the mare’s flank. “What I mean to say is that we understood the consequences of answering the summons of an eight-year-old boy. I will gut-check each man if ye wish, but I dinna expect any will have a change of heart.”

Renee watched his shoulders bunch and straighten as he worked the road’s grime from the horse’s coat. She took a breath. “Forgive me, Cory. I gave offense.”

He tilted his face toward her and shook his head. “Ye spoke like an officer.” With a sigh, he straightened up, letting the brush hang by his side. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “’Tis a job I neither want nor envy. Officers don’t get much sleep, so far as I can see.”

She touched his arm and returned to the inn, knowing that the simple kiss they’d once shared couldn’t be again. Not like that. Not like it was. Not anymore.

The following morning, Renee returned to the governor’s manor. The wind following her had lost all courtesy, batting the rain and stench of fish from yesterday’s market all over the street. The few nobles braving the weather offered proper greetings, but Renee rushed past with haste that bordered rudeness. Was Catar ever dry and warm? Dodging Fisker with his guard team and a group of masons adding final touches to the Great Hall, she forged her way to where Seaborn and other magistrates bent over a parchment stack. “Master Seaborn!”

Fisker pushed away from the wall and headed toward her.

Seaborn straightened to survey the room. Making what appeared to be hasty apologies to his colleagues, he caught Renee before Fisker could and steered her from earshot. “What’s amiss?” he asked, the tone warning that something significant had better account for the intrusion.