The Cadet of Tildor

CHAPTER 35





Renee felt the note rustling in her pocket as she obeyed Lord Palan’s neatly penned summons. A card and dice pub at the juncture of the Mage District and Southeast, the Greasy Pig was an establishment that Lady Renee wouldn’t consider entering and Cadet Renee wouldn’t dare to. It was long and dark, like a candle-lit cave, with a small stage in the back where a scantily clad girl danced and sang. The patrons clustered around tables, shouting to each other over the din and mugs of ale. Bumps ran up the length of Renee’s spine, but she straightened it nonetheless and surveyed the room.

Guardsman Fisker looked up at her from a tankard, his eyes glassy. Beside him sat Seaborn, sourly sober. His eyes widened upon meeting hers. So she wasn’t expected. What in the Seven bloody Hells is Palan up to? Renee elbowed through the crowd to the small side table the two occupied and slid into a chair. “I thought you were at the palace,” she told Seaborn by way of greeting, biting back other questions.

“I received an invitation this afternoon that seemed wise to accept.” He paused. “I thought you were in Catar City.”

Renee frowned. “Lord— Someone went through a lot of trouble to arrange for us to see each other.”

Seaborn shook his head. “Not each other.” He jerked his chin at Fisker, who was trying to thread the stump of his missing finger through the tankard handle. “Him.” Seaborn grasped the guardsman’s cup and pulled it away, rousing the guard to sputtering fury. “Speak.”

The man scowled. “Nothing to say.”

“Very well.” Seaborn rose. “I’ll inform our friend you had a change of heart.”

“Curse your eyes.” Fisker grunted and demanded the return of his ale, which the other man slid across the table. He drank deeply, belched, and drank again. “Tell me,” Fisker said finally, finding Renee’s gaze. “Tell me, do you think a Family man or a Viper can be trusted?”

“No.” Renee’s brows narrowed.

“And is it a guardsman’s job to keep such filth clear of the Crown?”

She glanced at Seaborn, then back at Fisker. “Of course.”

He nodded and spoke to his cup. “Nine years ago . . . Nine years ago, a man offered me a heavy purse to ensure that Cadet Korish Savoy never graduated.”

Renee’s shoulders tensed. “Did you take it?”

“No.” Fisker slammed the tankard on the table. “I did not take a bribe. Cadet Savoy was both a menace and a liability, but I left him be and guarded the Academy he made a farce of. As was my duty.” He bared his teeth. “The man returned with a larger sum. I threw him out once more.”

A silence followed, lasting too long, but Renee gave Fisker his time. The man was loyal to the Crown. He valued law and duty both. Yet something had pushed him into tormenting a fourteen-year-old boy and seeded the vendetta that stretched to present day. She stared at Fisker’s mangled hand.

He caught her gaze and snorted, holding up the stump. “No. This was a folly of pride.” Fisker sighed. “The man returned a third time. With documents.” He scowled. “There once were three brothers heading the Family.” He held up three fingers to illustrate so great a number. “One rotted in prison like he deserved.” A finger bent. “Another—Lord Palan—took charge.” A second finger went down. “The third? The third, oldest, brother, who had a liking for killing, he heard that a warrant for his arrest was to be drawn, and fled like a frightened dog. He changed his name, married a mercenary, and, as I was told, was too cowardly to speak of the poison his blood carries.” He leaned forward. “Now, would you wager a guess as to who that was? Whose identity those papers held?”

Renee’s mind churned, arranging and rearranging the pieces as her heart quickened. A mercenary soldier teaching his son courtly dances. Palan’s longstanding interest in Savoy. His efforts to recall the man to the Academy the year Diam started it. The way Palan asked Diam to call him Uncle. That he told her about this meeting at all. Fisker’s Justice Hall rant about evils of criminal seeds. The last nail slid into place. Blood drained from Renee’s face. “Savoy’s father,” she said quietly, ignoring the sudden hot sear of Seaborn’s gaze. “He was the third brother, wasn’t he?” She nodded to herself, following the thought to its end. “Which makes Savoy a Family man—an offspring of criminal blood—in a Servant’s uniform. That is why you hate him so.”

“He is disease.” The guard’s eyes flashed. “I came to Verin with the news, but he refused to expel the pestilence and forbade me to take any action.” Fisker took a chug of ale. “So I held my tongue and I waited. Waited for the young bastard to put his own neck into the noose.”

Renee leaned toward him. “Did you bait Savoy into taking the Crown’s horses?”

Fisker grinned, showing his teeth. “It was a matter of time—with evil in his flesh, he courted trouble every moment. And when he slipped next, I made certain the festering pig got what was coming to him, didn’t I? Bloody Family scum. Should have died in that rotting jail cell.”

Leaving Fisker to his cups and curses, Renee and Seaborn went outside. The fresh air was welcome, despite the icy drizzle, and helped clear Renee’s head. Lord Palan had gone through some trouble to ensure the insight was both delivered and believed. Why? What was his angle? Was Renee to believe that, given their blood ties, Palan’s desire to help Savoy was genuine? She pulled her coat tighter. Perhaps it was, but the head of the Family surely had more than one motive. Renee spared a moment to consider what kind of leverage the lord had exerted on Fisker to force his tongue and, to her shame, discovered that she did not much care. “Did you know any of this?” she asked Seaborn.

He leaned against the side of the building, tilting his head up against the stone. “Not before this meeting. I am likewise confident of Korish’s ignorance.”

Renee nodded. How much did blood matter? To Fisker, who condemned Savoy for his lineage, it mattered beyond all reason. It mattered to Palan, who patronized his estranged nephews and looked after Tanil, as useless as he was. To Verin, who let Savoy earn a Servant’s uniform despite his father’s crimes, bloodlines appeared irrelevant. And to Renee herself? How much blame did she bear for her father’s Family dealings?

Her shoulders sagged and she pressed her hand against the wall for support. Could she blame Fisker for what he did to Savoy when the guardsman’s motives, like Verin’s, stemmed from a sense of duty? Yes. Yes she could. A wrong done in the name of right may be understandable—but it wasn’t acceptable. “I despise the Family, sir, as Fisker does,” she said finally. “Them, and the Vipers, and the rest of the criminals haunting Tildor. But Savoy isn’t a Family man, no matter who his father and uncle are. He is my friend and that will not change for all the bastards combined.”

Seaborn nodded and relaxed against the wall next to her. “It isn’t supposed to.”

They stood silent while the rain picked up, the droplets bouncing in the forming puddles. After several moments, Renee pressed her lips together and tilted her face up toward Seaborn. “I received no word from you.”

“I was beginning to fear that when nothing returned from you.” He sighed. “Several of the couriers carrying palace messages have faced trouble. No matter now. Verin—”

“Refused aid, I know.” She sketched the details of their conversation. “Not bowing to Palan counted for more than Savoy’s life. What of the Seventh?”

“Stationed a few days’ ride away. I’ve found a way of getting a message to them, but without a code word to authenticate it, they won’t believe it.” He shook his head. “They’re too well trained to abandon their mission for what could be a poison pen message. At best, they’d contact Verin.”

Renee jerked away from the wall and faced him. “Verin can’t be the only one with the code. Savoy must have it too.” She hurried to update him on developments in Catar, leaving out only Savoy’s reaction to the boy mage.

Seaborn leaned forward, nodding at her words. He listened to her like he did to Savoy, Renee realized. She was not his cadet anymore. Renee cleared her throat. “I will talk Jasper into arranging another meeting with Savoy. If I succeed, how do I ensure my message reaches the Seventh?”

Seaborn recited a set of instructions, which Renee repeated several times until they both were confident of her memory. Then good humor faded from Seaborn’s face. “You know of the royal kidnapping?” He waited for her nod and dropped his voice. “King Lysian will come to Catar in ten days’ time.”

“To attack?”

“To rule.” Seaborn spread his hands. “The presence of the Crown with his guards and magistrates does not eliminate illegitimate activities, but it does increase costs and headaches.”

“You think the Madam will back down if only to make him go away?”

Seaborn put his hands into his pockets. “No. But the next step spills blood.”