Paragon - Book I

Ode to a Jarles Uniform

She is out of her ever-loving mind.

She thinks this a lot, probably because it's true. But she also catches herself thinking a lot about how much her friends make her laugh, how much she's learned with them, and how much she would miss them if she left. Of course, you can't miss anything if you're dead.

Sometimes when she panics the world begins to creep in, the sounds louder, the colors brighter, intrusive and unrelenting, until she presses a thumb to her wrist and it all dims. Then she remembers she only knows how to do this because of Ben's kindness and attention, and then she remembers Ben wants to hypothetically murder her, and she becomes confused all over again.

She settles on telling herself that she is going to move forward in a careful and reasonable manner. Yes, she is staying, but Allayria is committing only to getting the key, and is ever-vigilant for any indication that they might suspect what she is. She is taking a risk, a big, ridiculous risk, but she is doing it cautiously. Very cautiously. And if she so much as sees a wrong look, she's running for the damn hills.

So everything is fine.

And really, no one suspects a thing—how can they? They keep teaching her how to improve her ability smash heads into pulp, and you'd think they might avoid that if they suspected anything. So there's that positive sheen on the whole thing.

The downside is they are pretty much destroying her in said combat practice, because now she has to practice in a Jarles uniform.

The problem with a Jarles uniform is that they are inflexible and just downright uncomfortable. The problem with her Jarles uniform is that it is about a size too big in the feet and a size too small in the shoulders, elbows and knees. She spends a lot of time bending the same limb until she can get it at an acute angle.

Because of how difficult it is to get a Jarles uniform and her uniform's limitations, her friends have decided that she should always train in the one she has. They call it "breaking it in."

On top of combat training, Keno and Iaves have started her in soldier etiquette boot camp. She thought she'd have a leg up on this, given the years of her life devoted to decorum, but it turns out soldier manners and society manners are surprisingly divergent. There's a lot more saluting and far less forced laughter involved in the former. She thinks she prefers soldier etiquette.

A week before the planned heist and jailbreak, Keno tells her to set aside the afternoon. Thrilled at the possibility of taking off the damn uniform four hours earlier than usual, she advises Meg she will not be at practice and sets off with a slight bounce in her step.

When she reaches the rendezvous spot Keno is sitting on a broad tree stump, carving a small wooden whistle.

"See?" he says in way of greeting, holding the instrument up. "A woodlark whistle."

He blows on it and a low woo-ing rushes out.

"They're not too common in the area, but not so rare as to draw attention," he says. "It will be our signal to meet up after it's all done."

"I didn't know you could carve," she exclaims, taking the piece in hand. It is, she notes, slender enough to tuck under the shirt and go unnoticed.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he replies, smiling.

"So what's on the agenda today?" she asks, returning the whistle.

"Something slightly more fun that face-planting in a stiff uniform for four hours," he responds tartly. "You can fight like a bull trampling through a pigpen, but no one's taught you yet how to fight with some stealth."