Paks slapped the table. "That's just what I've been telling you, Suli. How to get out and get the training you need. But you don't want to do it the right way. You want it to come all at once. I can see it in your eyes—you look at my sword, and my mail, and that big horse, and see yourself. What you don't see is the years in between, the years it took me to get all that. And there's no other way. Yes, I was lucky—I got some of it by a lucky chance. But the experience, the fighting skill, no. That came from years of just what you say you don't want—daily drill, daily work, battles that you call dull. That's what gave me the skill to take a chance when it came. You can't just leap from being a village girl with a knack for swordplay to—" she paused, uncertain how she would describe herself honestly.

"It could happen," said Suli. "It could. If you had found someone before you joined the company, she could have taught you everything you needed. You might have been rich and famous before now."

"I might have been dead before now, too. And Suli, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have hired myself back then. It took the Duke's recruit company months to train any of us."

"But I've been training, with the Marshal. You've seen me—I'm not a beginner."

Paks sighed. She wondered if she had seemed so—so young, when she'd joined the Company. All that eagerness. At least she had taken Jornoth's advice, had not just run away to search for adventure on her own. She was trying to frame an answer, aware of Suli's intense gaze, when a shadow fell on her. She looked around. One of the senior yeomen nodded to her.

"Lady Paksenarrion? Marshal Cedfer would like to speak with you in the grange." He smiled at Suli, who reddened. "They say, Suli, that you fought well with this lady."

"She did," said Paks.

"We'll have to see about transferring you to the senior rolls," said the man to Suli. "Might make a yeoman-marshal, might she?" he asked of Paks.

"I—don't know how you choose yeoman-marshals, but Suli is a good swordsman." Paks stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get my cloak—" The yeoman sat down and began talking to Suli; Paks was relieved.

* * *

The Marshal's office was slightly cold; Paks wondered why he had lit no fire in the small fireplace. Then she saw that the Kuakgan stood leaning in the corner, quiet as a shadow.

"Come in, Paksenarrion," said the Marshal. "We've been talking about you." She glanced quickly at the Kuakgan, who said nothing. What had they said? The last talks with the Marshal had been painful enough; she knew he no longer blamed her for Ambros's death, but she still blamed herself. She sat down when he gestured at a chair; the Kuakgan moved forward to take another.