Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

To my dive buddy, riding partner, and best friend

Lady Renee de Winter turned her back to the parlor, where her fathersclerk counted gold crowns into the visitors waiting palm. The coinsmelodic ring turned her stomach.

Please thank my lord Tamath de Winter for his donation, the visitorsaid, bowing. His generosity keeps the roads well guarded.

Renee wondered how long the man practiced that sincere voice, or how herfathers clerk tolerated the farce. For that matter, whose benefit wasthe show for at all? Calling extortion charity fooled no one.

She knelt on the carpeted floor and opened her travel trunk. With luck,the visiting thief would see her Academy of Tildor uniform packedinside. Once she graduated, these Family thugs would think twice aboutmaking their demands on the de Winter estate. Or on any other estate.

Your pardon, my lady. The approaching maid worried her skirts, waitinguntil Renee shut the wooden lid. Your father wishes for you to addressthe tenants tomorrow.

Renee closed her eyes. He knew she was leaving for the Academy today,just as she had done at the end of every summer since turning ten. Reneewanted to protect Tildor, to serve its people and the Crown. Her fatherwanted her to stay home and count goats. In gods names, they haddiscussed itagain!over breakfast that very morning.

Blood boiled beneath her cheeks as she stalked down the wide hallway toher fathers study and slammed the door hard enough to topple accountsbooks from their shelf. The Familys demands will only grow if you keepindulging them, my lord.

Lord Tamath dipped his pen into the inkwell and continued writing. Thedark wood of his furniture matched his strict woolen tunic. With a mereboy now holding the throne, the danger to us doubles. His pen scratchedover parchment. It costs less to give coin than to lose wagons. A factof which you, of all people, should be well aware. He didnt look up,didnt even acknowledge the sting of his words.

Ten years ago, a Family-rigged accident crushed a wagon carrying Reneesmother and older brother to a market. It would have carried Reneeinstead of Riley, had she not fallen off a horse that morning. The scaron her palm pressed her to honor their memory; Lord Tamath honored it byfeeding their killers.

Recheck the crop figures before tomorrow, if you please, he added.

Renee took a breath to steady her voice. By tomorrow, Father, I will bein Atham, in the Academy barracks, preparing for classes. Surely thisisnt news.

He dipped his pen again, as if meeting her eyes was beneath him. Yourdesire is not news, no. His curled mustache twitched. This is. Heheld out a folded sheet of parchment with a cracked Academy seal, hislips pressed into a taut line.

She tugged down her tunic, took the three paces from the door to hisdesk, and tried not to seem as if she reached for a poisonous snake.

Cadet Renee de Winter,

The Academy of Tildor has reviewed your record and found that yourcompetence in the Combat Arts Track falls on the borderline ofacceptable levels. As such, the Academy will scrutinize your performancein the coming year and, should we find a lack of sufficient progress,dismiss you from the program. Consider this your Formal Notice ofWarning.

Signatures followed the text. Renee looked away, her world trembling.She trained every day. Each and every one. And she was so close. Onelast year in the Academys schoolrooms and two in a field trial and thenshe would be a Servant of the Crown. I will work harder, Father, shesaid quietly. During meals if I must. I will get stronger. You know Iwill.

Lord Tamath snorted. No quantity of training will make a wolf from acockroach. Youre sixteen. If you had any hopes of growing strong enoughto compete with the men, you would have by now. He jerked the letterfrom her hand and nodded with satisfaction. I have indulged thisServant of the Crown fantasy long enough. No, you will not attend theAcademy. You will remain here, pursuing an occupation that you have somechance of not failing. I will not have you disgrace these estates or myname.

Renee swallowed. The Academy does not require a fathers permission, mylord. In point of fact, the Academy was Tildors sole establishment toignore lineage. Noble or not, all cadets studied together andgraduatedor noton merit alone. A Servants uniform could not bebought. You cannot stop me from going, Renee said.

He did look up then, and the fire blazing in his eyes threatened to burnthrough her. I can stop you from coming back. He rose, bracing hispalms on the table, and spat his words at her in short, venomousbreaths. Should you ignore my wishes, do not expect a welcome here. Hesat back down and resumed scratching with his pen as if he had not juststuck a dagger into his daughters life. Either come to your senses orlive with the folly of your choices. That will be all.

Cadet Renee de Winter strode down the long corridor of the Academybarracks, each step carrying her farther from home. She trailed herfingers along the walls, enjoying their cool, uneven surface.

Hanging lanterns bathed the hall with dim, yellow light. Soon thewalkway would fill with dozens of rushing cadets, future Fighter andMagistrate Servants of the Crown dressed in black uniforms with thecolored trims of their career tracks; magistrate red, fighter blue.Black and blue, yes, that fit Fighter Servant cadets well.

As in any army, most of Tildors warriors were common soldiers;uneducated weapons-bearers whod never lead units. Officerswhose skillsand studies reached beyond weapons-handling to strategy, law,mathematics, and morewere leaders.

And then there were Servants of the Crown.

A unique type of officer, a Servant attended a schoolthe schooltheAcademy of Tildor, instead of apprenticing in the field. The very fewcadets able to endure the Academys rigorous regime and fortunate enoughto graduate formed an elite cadre, destined for the most vitalassignments and missions. Servants were the Crowns champions. As Reneestrove to be. Would be.

Renee took a breath and pushed her fathers ultimatum to the back of hermind. What was done was done, and she had at least been able to carrysome coin away with her. Enough to survive the year. Many were lessfortunate.

Renee halted by the most beautiful sight in the building, her nameetched into a wooden nameplate mounted on the door. Her door. Tucking anescaped wisp of brown hair behind her ear, she fumbled in one, thenanother pocket for the key. It had to be somewhere.

She was searching still when the door swung open, and a tall, grinninggirl let her inside. I recognized the footsteps. No one in their rightmind has so much energy.

I never claimed sanity, Sasha. Renee laughed, embracing her roommate.Try spending a summer with my lord father, if you wish to know why.She stepped inside and groaned. Books already lay scattered everywhere,a natural hazard of rooming with a magistrate cadet. Not that sharingquarters with another fighter remained an option; the cuts had left twogirls in the fighters senior class, but the other had developed magesControl last spring. A late bloomer. Renee did not know where the MageCouncil placed the girl.

Renee maneuvered around a teetering pile of books and dropped her bag onher bed. Did you rob the library, Sasha?

Being the Crowns cousin has its advantages.

You are a corrupt abomination.

Sasha picked out a leather-bound tome and held it so its title,Battlefields of the Seventh, was visible. You do not want this,then?

Renee snatched the treasure from her friends hand. The books thinpages bent under her touch. Seven years ago, the Sevenths leader,Korish Savoy, was a fighter cadet her age. He trained in the same salle,worried about the same exams, followed the same rules. Maybe he opened abook like this too and counted the days to the years end, to the twoyears of field trials, to turning nineteen and graduating. Maybe inanother seven years, some other cadet would open a book about Renee. Ifshe made it.