Only to wake in the dark with his finger once more glowing like a coal in the night. Lighting a candle had turned it off last time—would it this time? He tried it. The candle flared, but his finger did not go dark. Now what?

He stared at his finger, willing it to darken. Instead, it brightened. Well, then … he willed it to brighten, and it flared even brighter. He sat on the edge of his bed, arm propped on his knees, and wondered what he should do now. Clearly he had mage powers from … from somewhere. Clearly that was against the law and imperiled his brother. He needed to not be a mage or … not be.

The thought of that made him cold again, but his finger did not dim with his fear. It glowed on, steadier than any candle. His thoughts stumbled on. If he did not exist, Mikeli would not be in danger because of him. Should he die to protect Mikeli? Could he … the thought lay a cold black shadow over his mind … could he kill himself? He’d heard the story now of the old sergeant who had killed himself to save Beclan, but he, Camwyn, didn’t want to die. Not even for Mikeli, not this way.

Yet … how else could he save Mikeli from the stain of this magery? He could … well, he could run away. But how? And where? Where in the whole world would his magery not condemn him? And where would he not be found and dragged back to be imprisoned or executed?

These thoughts tangled in his mind, chasing one another around and around. He must not have magery—but he did. He must not be Mikeli’s downfall—yet he was, if discovered. So he must not be discovered—but without the ability to control the magery, someone would eventually see his hand glow, and then … it would be too late. He should leave now, at once, this night.

But how? Again, the impossibility of that—where could he go, how would he live?—stopped him even as he stood and moved toward his clothespress. He thought of the dragon first: could Aris have been right? Would the dragon come to his rescue if he called? But no: he could not believe the dragon would even hear him. That was a child’s wish. Into his mind came the thought of Duke Verrakai—she hadn’t killed Beclan and would not, he was sure, kill him. But Mikeli might kill her if he thought she had known and not told him. He didn’t want that. She fascinated him—a magelord, a soldier, and a woman, unlike anyone else at court—and he didn’t want to cause her trouble. Where else? Not Fintha, of course, and not Lyonya … but he might go south, to Aarenis. Could he get there before Mikeli tracked him down? He wasn’t sure.