Edith looked at him. "Are you planning to learn lying down?"
Owen got up, still catching his breath.
She had him summon the arming sword first, so that he could hold it comfortably in one hand and leave the other free. Then she told him to activate Steel Reinforcement on the blade and pay attention to the connection between the weapon and his core.
"Keep the Steel on the sword," she said. "Then send a controlled amount of it back toward your free hand."
Owen tried.
At first, nothing visible happened. He could feel the Steel responding through the sword, but the moment he tried to push the effect toward his hand, his concentration shifted, and the sheen on the blade wavered and grew unstable.
Edith stopped him before he could waste more energy. "It isn’t a lack of power. You’re trying to force it onto your hand and forgetting about the sword. If the connection through the weapon slips, you lose all of it."
Owen tried again. This time, he held the reinforcement on the blade steady first and then carefully sent a much smaller amount of the regulated property back toward his free hand.
A faint grey sheen flickered across his knuckles, then disappeared.
"Again," Edith said. "Don’t try anything harder yet."
It took several more attempts. Eventually, Owen managed to hold the metallic coating over his knuckles for a few seconds. He could feel it responding through his link to the armament, though it took far more concentration than reinforcing the sword alone.
After that, Edith started working body strikes into the lesson.
She showed him how a reinforced forearm could take an attack while the sword was busy elsewhere, and how a short punch or an elbow could be fitted into ordinary sword movements when an opponent came in too close.
Then she had him try it, arming sword in one hand and the other reinforced. At first, he struggled to coordinate the two. Keeping the Steel on his fist while still controlling the sword meant splitting his attention in a way he wasn’t used to.
In one exercise, Edith caught his sword and stepped inside. Owen tried a reinforced punch, but he telegraphed it far too early, and she slipped it easily and tapped his exposed side with the flat of her blade.
On the next attempt, he kept the reinforcement going, but the punch itself was badly aligned. Edith fixed his footing and told him plainly that a harder fist didn’t automatically mean a stronger or better-aimed strike.
Owen adjusted.
The next time, he kept the steel over his knuckles and threw a clean, controlled punch into a reinforced training target.
Thunk!
It landed solidly without hurting his hand, and he pulled it back without losing his balance.
"Better," Edith said, and moved him on to defending with his reinforced forearm.
As the morning went on, Owen began to see how useful it could be. He could keep his sword as his main weapon while protecting an exposed arm, or use a reinforced fist to make space when a fight got too close. He couldn’t cover his whole body, though, and he couldn’t hold the reinforcement over more than one part of himself at a time.
Two hours later, Edith finally called an end to it.
They had spent most of that time repeating the technique and fitting it into simple movements. Owen had practiced switching between reinforcing his sword and reinforcing a part of his body, blocking with his forearm and striking with his fist. He could hold the effect now for short stretches, but Edith had shown him again and again how quickly his control fell apart when he tried to do too many things at once.
He was thoroughly exhausted, and satisfied. He had started the morning knowing how to reinforce his sword, and he was ending it having put Steel over his own skin for the first time.
Owen walked over to the benches beside the training strip, dismissed his sword and peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt. He reached for a towel and a container of water, wearing only his training trousers.
Twelve years of swordsmanship and conditioning showed on him. His shoulders were broad and his chest well developed, his arms strong, and his stomach flat and clearly defined across a lean, athletic frame. Sweat ran down his torso as he drank and wiped his face and neck with the towel. His forearms felt the most worn out of all, after a morning of concentrating Steel around his fist and holding on to it.
He was still catching his breath when a household maid came across from the residence side of the training complex.
"Young Master," she said, and bowed. "Grand Duchess Eleanor Ferrers wishes to see you."
Owen was mildly surprised. His mother hadn’t said anything about needing him that morning. He wondered briefly whether something had happened in the household, or whether it was just an ordinary family matter.
"I’ll be there shortly," he said.
Once she had gone, he finished his water, dried himself properly and put on a clean shirt. Edith was getting ready to go back to her military duties, so he went over to her before he left.
"Thank you for making the time," he said. "I know you’re busy."
"You made progress today," Edith said. "But putting steel on your fist once doesn’t mean you’ve learned it. Practice the control. Don’t start trying to cover your whole body yet."
"I wasn’t going to," Owen said.
Edith gave him a look that suggested she didn’t entirely believe him. "Good."
They parted ways, and Owen went back to the residence.
He found Eleanor in the family drawing room, sitting comfortably on one of the sofas. Daylight came in through the tall windows, and after the training grounds, the room seemed almost silent. A maid stood nearby, ready to attend to her.
"You wanted to see me?" Owen asked.
Eleanor looked up and took him in, from his damp hair to the way he was holding his arms. "You’ve come straight from training."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Very." She gestured to the sofa across from her. "Would you like some chocolate tea?"
"Please."
Eleanor nodded to the maid, who brought over the prepared tea and set the cups and a few small refreshments on the table before stepping back to give them room.
Owen settled into the sofa and took a drink. The chocolate was warm and rich, a welcome change after the morning, and he felt himself relax a little now that he wasn’t standing in front of Edith with a sword in his hand.
"How was training?" Eleanor asked.
"Edith agreed to spar with me," Owen said. "It turned into a lot more than I expected. She’s started teaching me another way to use my Steel."
"That sounds like her." Eleanor smiled faintly. "Edith has never been very good at leaving a promising student alone once she’s found something worth improving."
"I asked her for one spar," Owen said. "I got two hours."
"You should have known better than to ask."
She asked whether he had eaten yet, and when he admitted he hadn’t, whether he intended to spend the whole afternoon recovering. Owen told her he was considering it, which seemed to amuse her.
After a little while, Eleanor set her cup down and turned toward the maid waiting by the door.
Owen noticed the change in her attention. He had been expecting her to tell him why she had called him, but she still hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary.
"Let them in," Eleanor said.
The maid bowed and opened the door.
Two people Owen didn’t recognize came into the room.
The first was a young woman in the formal maid’s uniform of House Ferrers. It was neat and properly fitted, with the Ferrers crest worked into its design. She carried herself with confidence, though she kept the respectful bearing expected in the presence of the Grand Duchess.
The second was a man in a fitted Ferrers military uniform. His coat bore the family crest and a set of rank insignia, and the way he held himself spoke of military discipline rather than household service.
Both of them greeted Eleanor respectfully, then turned and acknowledged Owen.
Owen looked from one to the other. He had no idea who they were, or why his mother had called them in to meet him.
He turned back to Eleanor, waiting for her to explain.