Paragon - Book I

Halcyon Days

Trees of oak and pine give way to hornbeam and elm as they go further south. The air grows not only warmer, but damper too, and every so often Allayria catches a whiff of salt in the air that sends a bolt through her heart. It has been so long since she saw the sea. And the more she smells it the quieter she seems to become, as she contemplates where they are heading next.

Thalassa City. She hasn't told any of them yet—she isn't sure she really wants to tell them at all—that the city they move ever closer to is the place she grew up. She knows those cobblestone streets, the white, algae-stained walls better than anyone, but that is not what she fears. She fears how well those streets know her in return.

It has been six years. Six long years, in which that knock-kneed, scrappy girl has grown up, filled out, despite the lack of steady food, and become a woman instead of a child. Adolescence past and the wilderness have changed Allayria, but have they done enough for her to go undetected?

Ben notices her quietness—he seems to be able to read her moods almost as quickly as they shift, covertly finding ways to touch her shoulder, to skim the tips of her fingers with his own. They have had very little time alone, and thus have not repeated anything beyond a few brief kisses, but she thinks the others must know or at least suspect, though neither mention anything.

With their illegal, but also untraceable, haul from Brezkin's vault in tow, the four's meals and living situations have vastly improved. They occasionally stay at inns now, still all sharing one room, but they order food—roast chicken, stewed vegetables, and fresh, warm bread. They even—and Allayria's mouth waters at the mere memory—split a wedge of homemade cheese one night.

These forays into civilization also mean access to information. With Ruben traveling to Solveig they agreed it would be safe again to travel freely in towns and small cities. Meg and Iaves look up old contacts, seek out information across the verbal network of farmers, thieves, traders, and merchants, while Ben and Allayria steal into their libraries. Ben is looking for maps of the waterways around Lethinor, and Allayria does some studying of her own. With them on course for the island and the bow, she is reaching critical point for finding a less-than-lethal way of becoming 'not-the-Paragon.'

Though the others admitted they have no concrete plans on how to find the Paragon (her), they also seem to think the library in Lethinor will give those answers, and Allayria (the Paragon) cannot rely on that assumption being false. So she rakes through shelves, looking for the Yuen, who Ben had recommended. The Skill master turns out to be as dry as he is sharp, and after perusing his offerings she delves through anything else she thinks might have something to do with severing Skill connection. Unsurprisingly she is finding very little. As Ben predicted, the subject seems to be banned. Apparently, the powers that be think it unwise to tell people how to break others' ability to Skill. Imagine that.

She is sitting in one of the larger libraries, a stack of books above her head, and brainstorming how she can innocently convince the others to uncover where these contraband books are hidden, when fingers slide across her temple, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You are very studious," Ben remarks, leaning in over her. His hand drifts down to her jaw for a moment before dropping away.

Allayria looks up and sits back from the desk, shifting so she's turned toward him. It is, she realizes, one of the few moments they are alone together.

"I've got to prepare for Lethinor," she answers, studying the angles of his smooth face as his hands station themselves on her armrests.

"Care to take a break?" he asks almost casually, but she catches it, a brief flicker of hesitation, uncertainty. She leans into it, pressing her mouth against his, hushing whatever nervous follow up he had.