“Hit!” Xan called as she stepped back out of measure, lowering the fencing blade.

They’d been at it for hours; her youthful stamina matched against his undead one. As the soldier lowered the blade as well, regarding the young woman as she took off her mask, forehead drenched in sweat, he gave a small smile. A memory, unbidden, floated through his mind –

Every man to pick up a sword has an ego, some long forgotten sword-master had taught him. It was as true now as it was then; despite the difference in their ages and their skills, it felt good to hold the weight of the blade in his hand. It felt good to block her every attack, to parry her every movement – granted, some part of him noted, she was a rank novice and he was using the excuse of teaching her to practice… but still.

It felt real.

Too much of this modern world felt ethereal and unreal; wealth measured not in coins or bars but ones and zeroes behind a computer screen. He understand the idea of loans and credit, of trading on ones name and reputation, but the cashless society of the Modern Nights seemed like an alien world. He knew, Milton assured him, and Xan confirmed, that his wealth was beginning to grow. That there was an initial rush of funds as he began the investments again and regained control of properties. That, at least, he could see – the renovations of properties and housing which would allow people and businesses to thrive – and as they did, so would he.

It would be a year, he projected, before his income was what he felt it should be; and yet, the progress was begin and what was once begun was eventually finished.

“I don’t know how I keep falling for that feint,” Xan complained, moving to put her mask back on.

“We’re done for tonight,” the soldier replied and the younger woman huffed out a snort of annoyance.

“But I ca-“

“-You cannot,” he replied in a simple, calm, voice which brooked no argument. “Above all, be fair to yourself. You’re exhausted. It is making your footwork and parries sloppy.”

“I’m no-“

“-You are,” he replied in that same tone. “You spend your nights studying for the Bar and your days doing tasks for me. You are new to this life, and there is only so much coffee can do to push the limits of the human body.”

Xan made a face, but realized he wasn’t wrong and put the mask back in the bag where it had come from.

“So tomorrow you are to relax,” Quartermain replied. He’d pushed her too hard in these first few weeks, and like pushing a horse or a particularly good hound, a good master must understand their limits.

She turned, expression suddenly fragile. “What?”

“Finish your studies tonight, and then go home. Sleep. Rest,” he replied gently, murmuring the mental commands into the sentence. “You have worked hard these past few weeks and deserve a day to recover. I will see you again the day after.”

“But… but I haven’t…”

“I know,” he replied. “You’ve stayed here since I brought you into my service. You serve well, Chloe Xan,” the soldier said, letting the well deserved praise lighten his voice, “and now you will continue to serve by taking care of yourself.”

“Worst dom ever,” she muttered under her breath.

“Pardon?” A single eyebrow rose – he’d heard the comment, and more or less intuited its meaning, but the pretense of ignoring her snark and acid wit was important.

“Nothing, sir,” she replied after a moment. “I just… it will feel strange to not be around you tomorrow.”

He nodded, putting a hand on one of her shoulders and watching the expression of adoration wash over her face. Some part of him hated the effects of the bond, even as he understood the importance of it.

“You are important to me,” he said quietly. “You serve myself, and by extension, the Estate. I am your liege and you my vassal – which means as much as your role is to serve and assist me, my role is to protect and care for you. And that means making you rest when rest is needed. Do you understand me?”

The ghoul was quiet for a moment before she nodded, the sass worn out of her through exhaustion and the feeling of the bond.

“Yes, sir,” she said a moment later, earnestly.

“Good,” he replied with a small laugh. “Because when you return, we’re back to foil work and then I think a trip to the shooting range is in order.”