Having Mikeli sympathetic was new and troubling; Camwyn was used to being merely tolerated or in trouble. And he was in trouble … unless the glowing finger really had been just a dream, a very vivid one. He was on his way to his drill session with the armsmaster when he remembered the candle. That puddle of wax had been no dream this morning. He refused to look down at his hand to see if a finger glowed. Please, Gird: no more of that. I didn’t mean to. No answer. He didn’t expect an answer. He hadn’t expected the glowing finger, either.

That day’s drill and lessons went by without incident; the armsmaster said his strength was growing as fast as it likely could. “The trick’s to keep the balance,” he said. “Too much strength isn’t good for growing bones, but neither is too little. You’re not to go beyond your training until the growth slows—is that clear?”

“Yes, Armsmaster,” Camwyn said. He’d heard that before.

“No playing around with a blade without me present.”

“No, Armsmaster.”

“Well, then, let’s see what that extra muscle’s done for you.” He nodded to the chests by the wall. “A banda and a practice longsword. Number three.”

Camwyn forgot he’d been tired and worried. As he put on the banda and took the assigned practice sword, he heard the armsmaster refuse the same to Aris Marrakai and Jami Serrostin. “You’re not ready yet. And you, young Marrakai, you’re muscling up more than you should right now. Do you want to be a head shorter than your brother?”

“That can’t happen,” Aris said.

“And you know everything about physical conditioning, I suppose,” the armsmaster said. “Bide you there, lads, while I see how the prince is coming along.”

Camwyn found the sword lighter than it had been before. He brought it to salute, as the armsmaster, now with his own practice blade, faced him in the middle of the salle.

“Drill,” the armsmaster said. “Distance first: tip to tip. On guard.”

Camwyn moved as the armsmaster moved—forward, back, sideways. He scarcely felt the sword’s weight.

“Better,” the armsmaster said. “Now, half speed on my count.” He began the count, and Camwyn responded with the correct parries and combinations. Then he began to feel it in his neck and shoulder and arm. “Halt,” the armsmaster said. Camwyn grounded his blade. “Your wrist has strengthened out of proportion to your shoulder on your strong side. Switch hands and let’s see if it’s the specific exercises or something else.”

With his heart-hand, Camwyn felt the weight sooner but equal stress from shoulder to wrist. He said so, and the armsmaster nodded. “Good. You’re becoming more aware of your body.”