Chapter Thirteen
Honey swirled into the tea as Rizeth stirred—probably he’d added too much, but Ashenivir would never complain of anything being overly sweet. He tapped the spoon on the rim and sucked the remainder clean. They’d slept last night curled close, and that reverie, with Ashenivir making small, unconscious noises of complaint whenever he moved even slightly away, had been better than any of the lacklustre erotic endeavours of the past tenday.
A yawn behind him, followed by arms wrapping around his waist. “Good morning, Master.”
How right the simple pleasure of that word felt. He turned in Ashenivir’s embrace and found an unspeakably attractive surprise.
“Is that my shirt?”
It hung long on him, almost to mid-thigh, and the top laces were unfastened, leaving it nearly falling off one shoulder, exposing an enticing section of chest. Ashenivir slipped from his arms to hop up onto the table, leaning back on his hands with a coy curve to his lips. “Come and find out.”
He didn’t bat his eyes, but it was a near thing. Rizeth set a hand on each of his knees and slowly slid them up his thighs with just enough firm pressure to push them apart. He stepped into the space, letting his hands venture beneath the hem of his shirt, over smooth, bed-warmed skin, and dipped his head to kiss Ashenivir’s neck.
“I was correct,” he murmured. “This is mine.”
Ashenivir’s legs hooked around him, pulling him nearer. “Yes,” he whispered, twining his arms around Rizeth’s neck. “I am.”
He tasted of everything Rizeth had ever denied himself. His lips moved hungrily, greedy little moans leaping into Rizeth’s mouth as he drew lazy circles up the inside of his thigh. The kiss grew deeper, and Ashenivir’s hands slid into his hair, tightening—
“Behave,” Rizeth growled.
“May I pull your hair, Master?” Ashenivir’s teeth grazed his lower lip, his voice dipping low into the flirtatious register that tugged a hook of desire in Rizeth’s gut. “Please?”
“Tell me why you want to.”
It was so easy to fall back into this role. A part of him still wanted to fight it, a voice that sounded horribly like Elian’la’s insisting that this wasn’t how a lover was meant to behave. A larger, louder part argued that a lover listened, and this was what Ashenivir had asked for.
“Because I like the sound you make when I do it.”
“And what sound is that?” Rizeth wrapped his fingers around Ashenivir’s hardening cock. “Demonstrate for me, Ra’soltha.”
He drew back enough to hold Ashenivir’s gaze as he moaned, the sound nothing like his own vocalisations—and perhaps he could stand to be a little less subdued, if Ashenivir liked them so much. It was a wonderful effort regardless, one deserving of reward.
“Do as you wish,” he said, and recaptured Ashenivir’s mouth with his own. Ashenivir’s fingers tensed, then pulled hard. Rizeth let his throat widen, his moan grow loud, and Ashenivir’s answering noise reassured him that yes, such sounds were very much appreciated. He’d forgotten how much having his hair pulled affected him—it wasn’t an act he’d given any submissive since Elian’la leave to do. That kind of pleasure was too much, too private.
He found himself exceedingly glad Ashenivir had given it back to him.
Ashenivir let his head fall back as Rizeth kissed a line down his throat, fitting his palm over the mark as he began to stroke with purpose. Ashenivir was slick beneath his touch, and at the feel of it he found himself possessed of a startlingly strong desire to drop to his knees and taste.
He’d just pulled his hand away—to much whining—in order to do so, when someone rapped on the balcony door.
Both of them froze.
“I mean it’s not locked.” Lyzira’s voice was muffled through the glass. “But I don’t need any more of an eyeful, I’ll be honest.”
Ashenivir had gone indigo from the base of his neck to the points of his ears. Shifting so as to block him entirely from view of the balcony, Rizeth glared over his shoulder at Lyzira, who was stood out there as if it were a perfectly usual place to be standing at this time of the morning. She waved. Rizeth heaved a sigh.
“Go and dress,” he said quietly to Ashenivir, who hopped off the table, tugging Rizeth’s shirt as far down his legs as it would go. There was something in his expression, under the flush—Rizeth allowed himself a brush of the mark, and found a tangle of arousal mixed with the embarrassment, tighter than he expected it to be. Ashenivir somehow turned an even deeper shade of indigo and darted into the bedroom at great speed. Only once he was safely out of sight did Rizeth let Lyzira in, tempted though he was to simply lock her out.
“I didn’t feel like taking the stairs this morning,” she said, thrusting a paper bag into his hands as she breezed past him. “Also I brought breakfast, so you’re not allowed to be cross with me.”
Rizeth set the bag of pastries on the table and folded his arms, fighting the urge to go scrambling for a shirt himself. This was his home, damn it all. “Why are you here, Master Xiltael? Our first meeting is a good three hours away from requiring my presence.”
“You two are adorable,” Lyzira said. She rummaged in the bag and took a pastry for herself, devouring half of it in a single bite. “He went bright blue, I thought he’d combust.” Rizeth arched an eyebrow at her. “Put that away. You finally have a love life I can torment you about, damn right I’m going to take every opportunity to do so.”
“Lyzira.”
“Alright, alright.” She crammed the other half of her pastry into her mouth. “After your little disagreement with the Blackstaff yesterday—”
“It was a perfectly reasonable discussion.”
“Any more reasonable and you two would’ve flattened the Castle Ward. Either way, you are taking the day, and I am going to smooth things over with her Ladyship.” She glanced at the bedroom as Ashenivir re-appeared fully dressed. “You know what, take several days. Good morning, Master Zauvym.”
Ashenivir, still indigo, mumbled a reply and went to collect his tea. Lyzira returned her attention to Rizeth.
“Enjoy yourself. Go for a picnic or something.” Her eyes flicked to the hall, and Rizeth just knew she was looking at the leash. “Take your dog for a walk.”
Ashenivir choked on his tea.
“Yes, thank you, Master Xiltael, I will take your suggestions under advisement,” Rizeth said. He took her by the shoulder and marched her back onto the balcony. She grinned, waggled her eyebrows, then vaulted over the railing and levitated to the street below. Rizeth very firmly locked the door behind her.
“I can’t believe you two are friends,” Ashenivir said. Rizeth rubbed his forehead.
“Sometimes, neither can I.”
It was hardly a picnic if Keszriin wasn’t involved, but Ashenivir thought he’d learned enough from her to make it a decent one. He was particularly determined to do so when he learned that Rizeth, despite all the years he’d spent on the surface, hadn’t ever had one before. He made their first stop the Trades Ward, because it was a poor picnic indeed without wine, and, thanks to Mara, he knew where the best wine merchant in the city was. Bright sun and a cool breeze crowded the streets, giving him the perfect reason to press close to Rizeth’s side as they walked.
Full-time. Rizeth had agreed, they were full-time now; as they had been, as he’d lost, and soon to be so much more. Usually he didn’t feel the presence of his collar—today it lay heavy against his skin, a claiming weight. He squeezed Rizeth’s hand.
“So,” he said, “where do we start, Master?”
“Were we not beginning with your wine shop?”
Ashenivir bumped his shoulder. “I meant for my service. Should I list all I’m willing to do, like when you asked me for my preferences at the Arcanum? Sense in Mastery says you ought to be the one to decide such things, but Miss Eveline’s Treatise argued that every protocol should be mutually discussed first.”
“I would like a list from you eventually, but for now we will begin with three.”
“I can manage more than that,” Ashenivir protested. “Truest Service lays out at least a dozen basic protocols. I know all of them already, they aren’t hard.”
“I am not limiting you because I think you cannot manage it,” Rizeth said. He moved to the inner edge of the street, drawing Ashenivir out of the flow of foot-traffic so he could look him in the face. “If you want me to do this with you, xi’hum, I need you to let me pace things.”
Well enough he knew his Master to see the worry caught in the corners of his eyes, and the flatness of his tone. Ashenivir lifted Rizeth’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I understand.”
He did. This wasn’t only about him and his desires—all he received was given, even as he gave himself, and knowing what he did now of what had happened the last time Rizeth had wanted to give in such a way, a desire to go slowly was more than understandable.
They found the wine merchant, and after Rizeth chose a vintage, they caught a dray up to the market. It was even busier there than the Trades Ward had been, merchant shouts and city chatter almost overwhelming. As they moved through the crowd, Rizeth began to speak, and Ashenivir’s scattered attention fixed on him and only him.
“The first rule,” he said, “is related to your kneeling.”
“I like it already.”
“I suspected you would. When I return home, you will come and kneel for me.”
“Right away?” A good servant asked for specifics, according to Miss Eveline. Rizeth seemed pleased at his asking.
“If I sit, you will come to me. If I do not, you need not do so. And when you return, you may take a moment to collect yourself first.”
“A moment?”
Rizeth thought briefly. “Two minutes. If you need more, you will tell me right away.”
“And if I don’t…?”
“Then you will earn yourself a suitable punishment.”
Ashenivir couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He wrapped himself around Rizeth’s arm, excessively pleased that Rizeth let him. Public touch was becoming easier for him, Ashenivir felt—when they’d gone to the faire, Rizeth had almost kissed him. A thrill went through him at the thought of such a thing actually happening, right in the middle of the street where anyone could see. He could never walk on a leash in public—even in Waterdeep, there were limits—but that kind of ownership he might yet have.
As they wandered through the market, Ashenivir delivered picnicking advice he’d received many times from Keszriin, and Rizeth listened with as much attentiveness as when they discussed arcane minutiae. However, the moment Ashenivir started towards a fruit stall, Rizeth tightened the grip on his arm, halting him.
“Outside of the apartment,” he said, “I decide what you eat.”
The phantom tang of orange on his tongue, of chocolate on his lips. All he could manage was a nod. Maybe three rules would be enough, if they all made him feel like this.
Strawberries and peaches joined the wine in the bag of holding he’d brought with him, along with a package of cured meats, Waterdhavian blue cheese, a loaf of seeded bread, and more confections than he’d expected to be allowed. Every time he cast a longing glance at a stall selling this sweet or that, Rizeth stopped and bought one. By the time they reached the far side of the market, they had more dessert in their possession than coin.
“You’re only picking things I like,” Ashenivir accused.
“Why would I pick things you do not?”
“To make me squirm when I have to eat them.”
“Is that what you want?”
Ashenivir chewed his lip. “Sometimes, maybe.”
“Then I will bear that in mind. Otherwise, if you do not like what I choose—after trying it, mind—then you may ask for something else.”
He had the feeling he’d never dislike what Rizeth picked. No-one knew his tastes better. He fairly burned with the urge to ask to have other things chosen—his clothes, what to study, which spells to prepare—and swallowed it down. He’d save those for his list, which already he looked forward to sharing. He could picture it clearly; delivered on his knees, waiting in silence as his Master read his desires back to him. A pleasant shudder went through him at the thought, and he almost wished he could reset his fantasies, re-tell them to Rizeth fresh, with this new energy between them.
One thing at a time, he told himself. A good servant is patient. I don’t need a rule to be that.
The Heroes Garden park at the tail end of summer was lush with greenery and twice as crowded as it had been in the middle of winter. Instead of skaters on the lake, there were children racing enchanted paper boats, and a very excitable dog making ill-advised runs at a pair of swans. By the gates, a young tiefling manned a cart selling flavoured ice—Ashenivir swore he hardly even blinked in their direction, but Rizeth bought him a cup anyway.
“Your final rule,” he said, as he held a spoonful of ice to Ashenivir’s lips, “is that at all times, Ra’soltha, you will remember your manners.”
Cold spiked through his temples, the tang of lemon bright on his tongue. Ashenivir licked his lips, wishing Rizeth could taste them. “Thank you, Master.”
Rizeth put a hand to the small of his back to guide him through the gates, and leaned close to murmur against his ear.
“Good boy.”
Every inch of him sang. His mark shivered—he was sure it must be glowing, so strongly did he feel its lines, as though they were freshly carved. He gripped Rizeth’s hand so tightly his fingers ached, but Rizeth gripped back with equal strength, and that point of contact was all that kept his feet on the ground. Would it always be like this, or would he get used to it? Goddess, don’t let me get used to it.
Crowded as the park was, they managed to find a quiet spot beneath a tree a ways back from the lake. Before they’d left the house, Ashenivir had folded a blanket into the bag of holding—it was no match for one of Keszriin’s enormous, multi-coloured only for picnics, Ashenivir, there are rules for these things ones, but it would do. He spread it out in the shade, and laid out the food as nicely as he could, stealing pieces of it as he did so and sneaking glances at Rizeth to see if he’d noticed.
“Do as you like, xi’hum,” Rizeth said wryly. “And I shall do as I like when we return home.”
As he liked. That was a dare if ever he’d heard one. Ashenivir took a strawberry and, setting it carefully between his teeth, knelt before Rizeth where he sat cross-legged up against the tree. He leaned forwards until the berry brushed his Master’s lips, and for a moment, Rizeth held his gaze, unmoving. It wasn’t a hold of command, nothing to melt him; there was something searching in it, and he was searching himself as much as anything else, Ashenivir thought. He stroked a thumb across Rizeth’s thigh, a pass firm enough to show comfort, not an attempt at tease.
At that, something shifted in Rizeth. He leaned in and took the fruit from Ashenivir’s mouth—the space between their lips narrowed to a breath, and this time Rizeth didn’t pull back. His hand went to Ashenivir’s cheek, gentle as a moth’s wing; his kiss, sweet with strawberry, softer even than that. It lasted only a few seconds, but in that brief press of lips, Ashenivir knew something had changed.
He sat back. A small smile turned the corner of Rizeth’s mouth, the lightest of blushes high on his cheeks. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Ashenivir’s ear, then slid his hand down to fit his palm over the mark.
“May I have another?” Ashenivir asked.
“As I have told you before, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said, leaning in to kiss him again, “you may have absolutely anything you want.”
When they got back to the apartment, and Rizeth sat at the table to take off his shoes, Ashenivir immediately went to kneel at his feet. He settled into his posture, every inch of him perfectly poised. Determination shaped him as much as desire—he was going to get this right. Rizeth tipped his chin up, examining him with a look of deep longing.
“You really want to do this,” he said quietly. He traced Ashenivir’s jaw with delicate fingers. “Sometimes I cannot believe you are real.”
Ashenivir kissed his palm. “I’m real. I want this.” He paused, then darted his head forward and licked Rizeth’s wrist. “I want you.”
Rizeth’s fingers knotted into his hair. He gasped as his head was forced back, then moaned into the deep, possessive kiss Rizeth pressed to his mouth. When he was freed, his Master’s eyes were intent upon him. “Is that so? And what exactly do you want from me now, you greedy creature, after all I’ve given you today?”
“You got me a gift recently, Master,” Ashenivir said, flicking his eyes to the bedroom. “I never got the chance to properly thank you for it.”
“Fetch it, then—I did not give you leave to rise, Ra’soltha.”
Ashenivir, who had started to his feet, dropped back to his knees. Heat built as he crawled to the bedroom to fetch the arm-binds from where they sat, still in their wrapping, next to his stuffed owlbear atop the dresser. It was something of a challenge to return to his Master with them, given the size of the package, but he managed it, and held them up for Rizeth’s inspection. Rizeth took his time unwrapping and examining them—Ashenivir kept his arms raised as he did so. To his mental list he added a request for posture training. He’d read of it—committed many diagrams to memory, in fact—and felt now as he had when studying that he could hold any pose for hours, if only Rizeth watched him all the while.
“Do you like your gift?” Rizeth asked at last.
“Very much, Master. They’re beautiful.”
“They could stand to look better. Rise.” Ashenivir did so. “Strip. Arms behind your back.”
The arm-binds fit as perfectly as he’d known they would, even better than the ones they’d borrowed at the House, the leather soft and supple against his skin. His breathing slowed beneath Rizeth’s careful fingers, his mind going pliant with every tightening tug of laces. Soon enough he was fully bound; completely and utterly at his Master’s mercy.
There was nothing here to hook him to, so when Rizeth was done, he had him kneel again, head up this time. He circled, dragging a critical eye over Ashenivir’s body, taking him in from the flushed heat of his cheeks to the growing hardness of his cock. He nudged the inside of Ashenivir’s knees with his foot, directing them wider—all the better to display him.
“I could leave you like this,” Rizeth said. He tapped Ashenivir’s cock with the side of his foot, and Ashenivir hissed in a breath. “Bound and waiting whilst I go about my day. Would you like that, Ra’soltha?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Stay.”
Rizeth went over to the table to rummage in the bag of holding. Ashenivir glanced at the balcony windows, which seemed very large and very bright. Gods, I hope Master Xiltael doesn’t decide to visit again. The idea of someone catching them while he was like this, so helpless and so hard, with no way to hide exactly how aroused he was, sent a burn of embarrassment through him. It also made his cock twitch, which only made the embarrassment burn hotter.
“You had your fun at the park,” Rizeth said. “Now I shall have mine.” He held a strawberry out, a few inches from Ashenivir’s lips. Ashenivir stared at it. “Well, Ra’soltha? Do you not want it?”
He very badly did. The moment he moved to take it, Rizeth stepped back. He almost fell, and rocked back to keep his balance, heart thudding. Rizeth held out the strawberry again, and Ashenivir wanted it more than ever—wanted especially to take his Master’s fingers into his mouth with it, to taste it specifically from his Master’s hand. He made to bite it, but Rizeth shifted it just out of reach, leaving his teeth clicking on empty air.
“Master,” he complained, levying enough whine in his voice to draw a sharp look. “May I please stand?”
Rizeth thought for a long moment, tapping the berry against his lips, then nodded. Ashenivir straightened up and, in one mostly-smooth movement, rose to his feet. He bent to take the fruit from Rizeth’s outstretched hand, and Rizeth once more stepped back before he could. Again and again he followed the tease, his balance worsening with every step as he stumbled after his Master into the bedroom. His hair fell about his face, which blazed with effort and a humiliation that set a coal of lust smouldering within him.
Rizeth sat on the edge of the bed, setting the strawberry on his knee. He patted his thigh. “Come here.”
Back to his knees Ashenivir went, and nothing had ever tasted as sweet as that one small, red fruit did when his lips closed around it. Rizeth caught his chin and tipped it up to watch him eat.
“Good boy,” he praised, as Ashenivir swallowed. “Mouth open—wider than that. Are you hungry still?”
Ashenivir nodded. A whimper slipped from his open throat as Rizeth slowly unlaced his breeches, freeing his cock. His mouth was far too empty, a void only his Master could fill. Yet he held to his order and knelt with his mouth wide as Rizeth stroked himself to hardness so close he could almost taste it. A thin, needy noise rose from him, and he schooled himself not to move, for that aspect of their dynamic had not and would never change—a Ra’soltha merely asked for what he wanted; his Master was the one who decided if he received it.
At last, Rizeth took hold of his hair and pulled his head forwards, down and down, until his cock nudged at the back of Ashenivir’s throat. His stomach tensed, half-gagging at the feeling. He breathed steadily through his nose, relaxing until he could take Rizeth all the way to the base. He sighed, pleased. Full at last.
“Happy, Ra’soltha?”
Ashenivir nodded, humming his assent.
“I am going to fuck your mouth now, and you have but one decision to make—do you want me to finish in your throat or on your face? Nod for the former, shake for the latter.”
He’d eaten plenty today. Ashenivir shook his head. The sharp curve of a smile turned Rizeth’s mouth.
“An excellent choice, Ra’soltha.”
He tightened his grip on Ashenivir’s hair and dragged him down hard onto his cock. Ashenivir choked, his fingers scrabbling together in the bind. All he could taste was his Master, all he could smell was his Master—pre-cum slicked his tongue, mingling with the lingering taste of strawberry; he’d never be able to eat one again without thinking of this.
His arms ached, his cock too, and the complete inability to even consider doing anything about it only made him harder. Drool coated his chin, dripping between his knees. He could hardly breathe—hardly wanted to. All his air was lost in stuttered moans around the length of his Master’s cock in his throat.
All at once it was gone, and he whined piteously at the loss. Rizeth held his face with one firm hand, fingers like iron. “You made your choice. Mouth open, I did not tell you to close it.”
A deep and abiding sense of ownership flooded through him as Rizeth came on his face. Every mark his Master left on him, even one as fleeting as this, was something to treasure. He gazed up at Rizeth, hard still in some distant place that didn’t matter. His Master was smiling at him, satisfied. That was the only thing of any relevance.
Rizeth swiped a thumb over his cum-streaked cheek, then pressed it into his mouth for him to suck clean. “Well done, Ra’soltha,” he said, and Ashenivir’s heart glowed.
Gentle hands unlaced him, soft words and light kisses whispering along his shoulders, arms, wrists, palms. A brush of magic cleaned his face, despite his whining, wordless protests. They ceased when Rizeth lifted him into the bed and curled to his back, becoming gasps of want as Rizeth wrapped a hand around his cock.
“Such a perfect mouth you have,” Rizeth murmured, kissing his neck. “And so hard you are for your Master. Did you enjoy yourself?” Ashenivir managed a nod. “Are you going to come for me?” Another nod. Pleasure beat up from his thighs, a slow build that grew with every slick slide of Rizeth’s hand. A fog of need filled his head, and he bucked into his Master’s touch without thought or sense until at last he came with a choked cry.
Rizeth held him through it, stroking the shudders from his limbs. “Good, Ra’soltha. So good for me.”
His whole body thrummed at the praise. Maybe it was just that they hadn’t had a scene in a tenday, but the high of it felt more intense than ever before. Was this what it was like when you knew you belonged to your Master, always? That the one you loved was also the one who owned you, totally and completely?
Ashenivir sighed contentedly. “Thank you, Master.”
“You are very welcome.”
“Not just for that.” He turned in Rizeth’s arms. “For agreeing to this, for being my Master. I feel so…so...” There wasn’t a word that encompassed it all. He wrapped his arms tightly around Rizeth instead. “I love you, Ehmtua.”
Rizeth pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and Ashenivir closed his eyes. They were as they were meant to be—and if he could just stay like this for the rest of his life, he thought, he would never want for anything again.
Ashenivir at his feet—was there any more natural place for him to be? Rizeth stroked his hair, idly working little tangles free with one hand, the other holding open a book he was hardly reading. He could still taste strawberry, feel Ashenivir’s lips on his. That ancient fear, finally cast aside with such a small gesture. How much he could do it, he didn’t know. Not nearly as much as Ashenivir deserved.
Now if only he could overcome the foolish reticence of his tongue and reply in kind when Ashenivir told him how he felt, he might actually stand a chance of keeping this whole thing from coming apart.
“Master, may I ask you something?”
He glanced down. “Always.”
“The rules you set for me—they aren’t really new. They’re mostly just variations on things we were already doing.”
“Yes.” Rizeth marked his place and set his book on the arm of the couch. “As you aptly pointed out, we were already as you desired before I…decided otherwise. Consider them a formalisation of that, and an apology, if you’ll allow me to make one.” He cupped Ashenivir’s cheek. “For not listening as I should have.”
Ashenivir knelt up to kiss him, and he knew his apology was accepted. He’d keep making it anyway, until the guilt stopped gnawing at him.
“In my studies, Master,” Ashenivir said, between nips at his lip, “I never did read anything like the dynamic we have.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm. Servants, slaves, and maids, most definitely, but no apprentices.”
“You have always been something of a unique specimen.” Rizeth lifted Ashenivir onto his lap, savouring the yelp at such manhandling. “How would you like it to be, then? You had better formalise your desires, or you shall never have them published in Master Stillgleam’s library.”
He kissed a line up Ashenivir’s throat, teasing with teeth and tongue over his quickening pulse.
“I want you to teach me,” Ashenivir said, breathless. “Magic and sex and whatever else you think I ought to learn. I want you to punish me when I get things wrong. I want to take care of your components and all the other mundane things you shouldn’t have to worry about, and in exchange you…in exchange you…”
Rizeth sucked a mark below his ear. “In exchange I what, apprentice?”
Ashenivir let out a moan—then went suddenly still. The faint tingle of Weave in the air and the far-off look in his eyes told Rizeth all he needed to know. A sending.
Whoever had cast it, Ashenivir didn’t reply. He sat in silence until the spell faded, then ran a hand over his face. All animation had fallen away, replace with a great exhaustion.
“My brother,” he said. “My…Matron Illiavra wants to know when I’m coming home.”
A sending from Mythen Thaelas meant that Dirius Zauvym had gone out of his way to travel to an outpost where such a casting was possible. It meant that Ashenivir’s mother had gone out of her way to make him do such a thing. Ashenivir laid his head on Rizeth’s shoulder.
“I should have let her know what was going on. I told her a year—it’s been more than that already.”
“You have no obligation to keep her apprised of every decision you make.”
“I do, I promised I’d come back. She has a right to know I’m not dead at the very least.” Ashenivir pressed his face into the crook of Rizeth’s neck. “I don’t want to go home.”
“At some stage we must,” Rizeth said, though he wanted it little enough himself. “It need not take such a long time, at least. I am certain the Order can be persuaded to provide me with another teleportation—”
“No.” Ashenivir’s arms tightened around Rizeth’s neck. “I want to take the long route. The longest route. I want it to storm again, I want to get stuck in every possible village for a tenday. Two tendays.”
“Even though you cannot scream for me like that?”
Rizeth felt him smile. “I can kiss you now instead. Stay in bed with you. Serve you in silence.” He kissed Rizeth’s jaw. “Break another gag.”
“True as that may be, we cannot remain here indefinitely,” Rizeth said. “Despite this work the Archmage has set me to, the majority of it is almost done, and Master Xiltael is far better suited to what remains than I.”
Ashenivir sighed and burrowed closer. Rizeth stroked his back. Would that they could stay here, take all the time they wanted to settle things fully between them. Now that he’d had such closeness as this, giving it up in returning home would be agony, for he was nothing close to certain that Ashenivir would come to live with him in Mythen Thaelas. Not with the shadow of his mother looming so large still.
“After Mr Blackwind’s wedding,” Rizeth said. “Certainly your mother can tolerate your being involved in a friend’s celebration, given how insistent she was regarding your involvement in your brother’s.”
“That’s only a tenday away,” Ashenivir grumbled.
“Go and make your reply.” Rizeth kissed his temple. “Your brother cannot remain at a relay outpost indefinitely.”
“Yes, Master.”
Ashenivir fetched his copper, went to cast in the bedroom, then returned to kneel at Rizeth’s feet. Rizeth almost pulled him up onto the couch—clearly he needed comfort—but he bumped his head against Rizeth’s knee in a wordless request, and so Rizeth only resumed stroking his hair.
End of the month. Why was it there always seemed to be some deadline or other pressing down on them? He took up his book again, and let his hand settle on the back of Ashenivir’s neck. The end of the month would come as it came—for tonight, at least, time was a thing to be ignored.