The Cadet of Tildor (18 page)

CHAPTER 24

I
n Hunter’s Inn’s stable the next morning, Savoy poured a scoop of grain into Kye’s feed and reached for a currycomb. Care for animals, then gear, then self. The burn on his hand slowed his progress, but with a wild mage in their midst, Savoy was lucky to have gotten off as lightly as he did. Renee’s decision to keep her friend’s confidence and all but blackmail him and Connor into doing the same was an interesting one, displaying the kind of calculated recklessness Savoy was prone to himself. Which was not a compliment to either of them.

A stable hand shuffled his feet nearby, disturbing Savoy’s thoughts. “The stable boys can—”

“Get their ribs broken.”

A mare whinnied nearby and Kye kicked the wooden stall partition, shaking the housing. The hostler disappeared.

Savoy patted the stallion’s neck and went back to his work, letting the facts roll across his mind. Although the growing Viper presence in Atham led to many crime-of-opportunity kidnappings, Diam’s abduction was deliberate. A means to force Savoy to Catar.
Why?
Unknown. Regardless, the boy—or someone who knew his whereabouts—was somewhere in this city. At least that was the operating assumption. Alec had promised to take Khavi on a sweep of the terrain and Renee planned to mingle in what passed for Catar’s noble court. This left him free to walk into whatever ambush Diam’s captors had planned for him at the Yellow Rose Inn, wherever and whatever that was.

“Riding out?” Connor frowned from the stable’s entrance and made his way forward. The ease with which he had navigated to Hunter’s Inn the previous day belied more knowledge of Catar than books and documents could account for. “I thought to accompany you for fear you’d start three fights by sunset.”

“Afraid I’ll lose?”

“Afraid you’ll win.”

Savoy snorted, then remembered the original question. Connor would have made an exceptional swordsman, but a fighter could ill afford to fear horses. If the fear even stopped there.
And whose fault lies at the root of that?
Savoy busied himself with the task at hand. Kye’s slick black coat had grown to rich velvet in cold winter months. “I’ll walk.”

Seaborn leaned against the wall. After several minutes of silence, he crossed his arms and looked out toward the courtyard beyond the stable. “I disappointed you when I quit the fighter track.”

Savoy lifted Kye’s water bucket with his good hand and hung it on a hook inside the stall. There had to be a worse time for this conversation, but one did not come to mind. He fed the horse a stashed apple and stepped past his friend to replace the borrowed brushes.

Connor cleared his throat. “You think fear guided my choice.”

The brushes clacked against each other. “Yes. Did it not?”

There was a pause. “It did. But it was the right choice nonetheless.”

“A fear-forced choice is not a choice at all.” Savoy spun around. “Why do you speak of this now?”

Connor opened his mouth, then shut it. “No reason.” He shook his head. “My apologies.”

“Hand me a flake of hay.”

Connor did, but unsaid words charged the air like a knocked arrow in a ready bow. He may have laid the subject of their careers to rest, but he was not done speaking things Savoy did not wish to hear. Savoy rested his elbows on the gate of Kye’s stall. “Say it, Connor. Or don’t.”

Connor motioned to the bandage on Savoy’s hand. “If you need a mage Healer . . . it can be arranged.”

Savoy’s brow rose. Seeing a Crown’s mage posed too great a risk of exposure to chance, which meant the man Savoy accused of cowardliness a few breaths ago meddled in affairs that bordered treason. “For a magistrate, Connor, your relationship with the law leaves enough leeway for a herd of horses to pass abreast.”

Connor shook his head. “My personal opinions do not affect my work, and I’ve made no secret of disliking registration.”

“Mmm. I am certain you report contact with your . . . ” Savoy paused to find a fitting term for dangerous felons. “. . . acquaintances, to Atham.”

“Atham benefits from my contacts well enough.”

Savoy paused in mid-motion, then chuckled. So Connor, whom Savoy once accused of real-world ignorance, dabbled in whispers. It suited him. “You’ve always found no less trouble than I did, you know. You were just better at not getting caught.”

“You covered for me,” said Connor.

Savoy shrugged. “When you couldn’t sit comfortably, you did a poor job on my homework.” He straightened and glanced outside. It was time to go. “Diam first. Then we’ll visit your friends.” He clapped Connor’s shoulder. “Come. An ambush awaits.”

The storm’s passing left piles of snow on Catar’s already narrow streets. The houses huddled together as if seeking warmth, but succeeded only in blocking the sun. If the nobles’ estates at the city’s fringes touched woods, no hint of vegetation survived in the city center. Even Atham’s worst slums welcomed trees; Catar wasn’t Atham.

Savoy walked, keeping one hand on his sword and the other on his purse. Although he wore nothing to identify him as a Servant, he was still a stranger here, and that alone made him conspicuous. He nodded toward the sword hanging on Connor’s hip. It was Renee’s, but noble ladies seldom strolled about armed to the teeth. “Can you use it?”

“We will find out.”

Savoy stifled a sigh. “Try not to stab me.”

“I’ll—” Connor’s retort cut off as an adolescent girl, scantily clad for the chill, stepped out from a small alcove, gripped his sleeve, and trailed a finger down his forearm.

“Cold today,” she purred.

“Go for a run.” Savoy removed her hand from Connor’s sleeve and continued walking. He made it three steps before a large youth blocked his path. Frustration bubbled inside his stomach and crept upward. He looked the roadblock in the eye. “Move.”

“This here be a paid street. Extra for touchin’ the girl.” A malicious smile played across the youth’s lips.

Savoy rolled his eyes, stroking the hilt of his sword. “This here be a sharp, pointy thing. Move.”

“Korish, don’t.” Connor gripped his shoulder. “What will you do if the guard comes?”

“Run,” Savoy and the youth said simultaneously.

Connor huffed. “It delights me that you found a playmate, but perhaps you could delay your amusement until after we find the Yellow Rose?”

The youth whistled, his smile dissipating. “Yellow Rose? Mayhap I’ll sell you what you need right here. Prime seats too. Good for any fight with new pups this month. Take your bets now too. You be lucky meeting Mot today.”

Savoy took a gold crown from his purse and twisted the coin in his fingers. “We’re looking for a boy.”

Mot’s smile returned, showing a mouth of teeth. “That be premium, after the fight. What age?”

Savoy had to master his voice to coolness before daring to answer. “A particular boy. Where is the Yellow Rose Inn?”

He laughed. “Mot thinks you best buy the tickets.”

Ignoring Connor’s pointed looks, he tossed the coin into the air. The youth caught it, handed over two round chits, and disappeared into a nearby doorway.

“Predator tickets.” Connor raised his brows. “Your notion of recreation?”

“No, I simply can’t walk past a law without breaking it.” Savoy examined the newly acquired round bits of painted metal, his stomach clenching as if struck with a blow. “The Yellow Rose isn’t an inn.” He turned the cold chits in his fingers to display the markings that confirmed beyond a hope of doubt what Mot had implied. On the other side from the strokes indicating the fight time, shone a painted rose with lush yellow petals. “It’s a Viper Pit.”

Connor let out a breath. Collecting the chits, he slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll get you details. Give me a few hours.”

Savoy narrowed his brows. “Lead on.”

The tightness around Connor’s lips suggested that Savoy’s company had not entered his plans, but he was smart enough to avoid futile protests. Shrugging, he led the way down a busy street and ducked into a taproom. Savoy followed through the door to find his way blocked by the guard. By the time he shoved the larger man aside, Connor had disappeared out the back. Bloody hero proving his courage.

Savoy cursed.

* * *

“A Viper Pit?” Renee turned the chit over in her hands, as much to examine the specimen as to distance herself from the storm of Savoy’s fury. 

The target of the assault, bruised and cut, sat shirtless on one of Hunter’s Inn’s beds. From what she gathered since the shouting started, Seaborn had taken the initiative to disappear into Catar alone and ran into trouble that concluded with a loss of purse, cloak, and Renee’s sword. To her surprise, Renee found the loss of her family weapon didn’t distress her. The blade had been a poor fit. She’d get a new one.

“What in the Seven Hells were you trying to prove, Connor?” Savoy raked a wet towel over the shallow grazes on his victim’s side. “The vastness of your stupidity?”

Seaborn gritted his teeth and stared at the wall. The lacerations were shallow, more ugly than serious. In fact, of the two men, the pale Savoy looked worse. 

Renee found a long strip of cloth to wrap Seaborn’s torso. 

He smiled at her before reaching for his shirt and wincing. “Thank you.” He started on the buttons. “Cease yelling, Korish. I’m all right. You’ve hurt me worse sparring.”

“You don’t risk death when we spar.” Savoy hit a washbasin, which shattered against the floor into a fountain of water and porcelain debris. Staring at the destruction, he ran a hand through his hair and moved away to perch himself on the bureau. By the time he spoke again, his voice was collected. “Very well. What did your birdies tell you?”

“The Yellow Rose is a local Viper lair. They run Predator fights and deal in human trade. A boy matching Diam’s description came in a few days ago from their dealer in Atham—a viper-tattooed man named Vert—to be held for ransom, or sold if none is paid. Not unusual, except for the ransom itself, which is Lord Palan’s head.”

Savoy leaned forward. “The Vipers want me to go after Palan?”

“Not the Vipers.” Seaborn shook his head. “The Vipers do not seem to know Diam’s name, much less his relation to you personally. Someone delivered the boy to Vert, left ransom instructions, and said no more. Probably the same someone who left the note in your room. Everyone believes the ransom to be a joke, but they have nothing to lose.”

“Someone
.
”
Savoy crossed his arms. “
Someone
wanted me out of Atham, or hunting Palan, or both. So he used my brother as bait, and the Vipers as jailers. Who?” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. “Not the Family, since Palan is a target, and not the Vipers, since they neither know who Diam is nor would they want to draw my attention to their home base . . . No, whoever he is, the bastard who arranged this game knows me well enough to know my relatives. If I were still heading the Seventh, I’d suspect a plot to sabotage the unit, but . . . ” He shook his head, then straightened, pinning Seaborn with a stare. “Your birdies sing well.”

“They do.” Seaborn ran his hand over the bandage and sighed. “Unfortunately, it would be unwise to contact them again. For everyone’s sake.”

Renee suppressed a shiver. 

Savoy tapped his finger on the windowpane. “What happens if I visit the Rose and start smashing heads?”

“You get dead; Diam becomes a liability and also gets dead,” Seaborn replied dryly.

In the corner of the room, Alec cleared his throat but gestured to Renee when faces turned toward him.

She nodded. “Khavi found Diam’s scent near Duke Leon’s estate. The place spans several acres, complete with guards and walls.”

“We can scale the wall at night,” said Savoy. 

“Or, perhaps, walk in through the front door.” Renee’s face heated as she forced herself to meet Savoy’s eyes. “Do you dance?”

“What?”

“I went to the governor’s manor, where the nobles assemble to share news.” Seeing Savoy tense, she shook her head quickly. “No one thought twice of it. De Winter is a minor house, but an out-of-town visitor is a novelty. It would raise greater questions if I
didn’t
go.”

“Then why do you look as if you fear I’ll strangle you?”