The practice room smelled of oiled wood and sweat. Somewhere beyond the open windows, rain ticked softly against the stone, but inside, the only sounds were the scrape of boots and the clean crack of wooden swords meeting.
Skye came in high.
Vane caught the strike, turned his wrist, and redirected the blade past his shoulder. “Again.”
Skye reset.
“You’re leading with your shoulders,” Vane said. “Your sword follows them. Stop announcing the attack.”
“I’m not announcing anything.”
“You are.”
Skye swung.
Vane stepped aside. “You just did.”
She glared at him.
From the bench along the wall, Jaxon lifted his head. “Go for his knees.”
Vane didn’t look at him. “Jaxon.”
“What? She should.”
Skye’s mouth twitched.
Vane noticed. “Do not encourage him.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“That isn’t illegal.”
“Give it time,” Jaxon said.
Skye came forward again.
This time she feinted high, shifted her weight, and drove low.
Vane’s blade snapped down just in time.
The wooden swords cracked together.
“Better,” he said.
Jaxon leaned forward. “Now kick his ankle.”
Vane’s jaw tightened.
Skye blinked. “Can I?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Jaxon said at the same time.
Vane finally turned toward him. “This is a sword lesson.”
“Yes.”
“It is not an exercise in street fighting.”
“That’s precisely why I’m suggesting it.”
“You’re suggesting she kick me.”
“I’m suggesting she win.”
“There is a difference.”
“Not when someone’s trying to kill you.”
Silence.
Skye looked between them.
Vane stared at Jaxon.
Jaxon smiled.
Silas, sitting near the door with his arms folded, closed his eyes. “Here we go.”
Vane turned back toward Skye with deliberate patience. “We’re practicing control, distance, and counterattacks. Jaxon is practicing being irritating.”
“I’m practicing survival.”
“You’re practicing dishonor.”
“Still alive, though.”
Vane’s expression hardened.
Jaxon spread his hands.
“I’ve fought men who didn’t care about your rules. I’ve fought men who poisoned their own wine so they’d know whether I drank from it. I’ve fought men who smiled while reaching for a knife behind their back.” He nodded toward Skye. “If she meets someone like that, I would prefer she knows what the floor looks like from underneath.”
Skye lowered her sword slightly.
Vane studied Jaxon for a moment.
Then he looked back at her.
“Your next attack.”
Skye shifted her grip. “Low?”
“Try the technique I showed you.”
She moved.
This time Vane didn’t retreat.
He stepped inside her reach.
Skye’s sword was suddenly trapped against his.
For half a second, she froze.
“That’s the mistake,” Vane said. “You committed to the strike before you knew whether I would give you the distance.”
Jaxon clicked his tongue. “Now elbow him.”
Vane’s eyes closed.
Skye snorted. “I could.”
“You could,” Vane agreed. “But you won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re learning how to control a fight, not how to turn every exchange into a tavern brawl.”
Jaxon raised a finger. “Counterpoint: tavern brawls are where most fights happen.”
“They are not where most sword lessons happen.”
“That’s because sword teachers are strangely committed to dying in tidy circumstances.”
Vane turned.
Jaxon stood.
Silas opened his eyes. “No.”
Neither of them acknowledged him.
Jaxon walked toward the practice floor. “I only think Vane’s missing the practical application.”
“I am teaching Skye.”
“You’re teaching her how to fight someone who agrees with you.”
“And you’re teaching her how to fight a murderer.”
“Those are the people who actually require fighting.”
Vane’s sword lowered. “Then perhaps you should demonstrate.”
Jaxon smiled.
Silas sighed. “Thirty seconds,” he said.
Vane looked over. “What?”
“That’s how long I’m giving you before I stop this.”
Jaxon glanced at Silas. “You’re assuming he’ll last thirty seconds.”
Vane’s expression went very still.
Silas stood. “Twenty.”
Jaxon drew the spare practice sword from the rack.
Vane raised his.
Skye stepped backward. “Should I—”
“Stay there,” Silas said.
Jaxon moved first.
No salute.
No warning.
He lunged.
Vane parried.
Jaxon twisted around the block and swung for his ribs.
Vane caught it.
Jaxon kicked his shin.
Vane stumbled half a step.
“That’s not—”
Jaxon struck again.
Vane caught the blade.
“—a sword technique.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
Vane shoved him backward.
Jaxon recovered immediately.
“Your left.”
Vane turned.
Jaxon feinted.
Vane didn’t bite.
“Predictable,” Jaxon said.
“Dishonest.”
“Effective.”
“Cheap.”
“Alive.”
Vane’s sword snapped toward his shoulder.
Jaxon ducked.
“See?”
He came up behind Vane.
“That’s what I mean.”
Vane spun.
Their wooden blades collided hard enough to echo through the room.
Skye stared.
Silas rubbed his forehead. “You two are exhausting.”
Jaxon grinned.
Vane did not. “You fight like a thief.”
“You fight like a pamphlet.”
Silas stepped between them.
Both swords stopped inches from his shoulders.
“Enough.”
Neither moved.
Silas looked at Vane.
“Your technique works.”
Then Jaxon.
“His does too.”
Then Skye.
“That’s the lesson.”
Skye lowered her sword.
Silas pointed toward Vane.
“Vane knows how to win when the fight stays inside the structure.”
Then Jaxon.
“Jaxon knows what happens when the other person burns the structure down.”
Jaxon considered that. “That’s surprisingly charitable.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Vane looked at Skye.
“You don’t need to abandon technique to account for dishonorable opponents.”
Jaxon nodded. “Good. Because that’s not what I’m suggesting.”
Vane frowned.
Jaxon shrugged. “Learn the rules well enough that you know exactly when breaking one will keep you alive.”
There was a pause.
Vane looked almost offended by how reasonable that sounded.
Skye grinned. “So… go for the knees?”
Vane sighed. “Not first.”
Jaxon pointed at him. “Progress.”
Silas walked toward the door. “And that’s enough sword practice for today.”
Skye looked at the clock. “We’ve been here forty minutes.”
“Exactly.”
Jaxon looked at Vane. “Rematch?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“When you’re drunk?”
Vane hesitated.
Silas stopped at the doorway.
“That’s the only circumstance in which either of you has ever managed a civil conversation.”
Jaxon smiled.
Vane looked thoughtful.
Skye laughed.
Silas shook his head and left them to put the swords away.
Behind him came Jaxon’s voice. “Still think kicking is dishonorable?”
Vane answered immediately. “Yes.”
“What about punching?”
“Yes.”
“Biting?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Interesting.”
“Jaxon.”
“Just establishing parameters.”
Silas kept walking.
Thirty seconds, he thought.
He’d been optimistic.