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Chapter 21: Form is a Kind of Mercy
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Chapter 23: A Banner Not Your Own
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... shroud over everything worth seeing.
They lined up at the instructor’s whistle, Soren, Tavren, Rhain, and the rest of the city’s scrapings, boots polished to a despairing shine, uniforms cinched so tight there was barely room for breath beneath the ribs.
Soren could see his own reflection in the toe-leather, though the face that looked back seemed older: more the memory of a boy than the thing itself.
Nobody had told them what the ceremony was for. Not precisely. The rumo ...
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