Chapter Two
Cool white stone beneath his feet, salt breeze gentle against his skin, the quiet rush of his own breath above the steady thud of his heart. Ashenivir absently hummed the accompanying devotional to himself, but it was the motion that cleared his mind, not the song; the movement that lifted him beyond his body and let him float, free of worry and racing thought. All his life he’d searched for ways to calm his mind. He hadn’t realised how much dancing had been one until he’d come back to it.
It wasn’t quite as good as floating under Rizeth’s hands, but one might argue he was lately very biased in that regard.
Alongside him, Zelka span out towards the edge of the altar, and he followed her steps as he had all her others this morning. A leap took them back to the centre, flowing down into a roll that brought her back to her feet—and sent him stumbling and scrambling to avoid greeting the morning by smashing his face into the stone.
“An excellent first attempt,” Zelka said, offering a steadying hand.
“At least I arrived too late to embarrass myself in front of the acolytes,” he replied, accepting it. His decision to come had been partly to get out of the apartment, since a full tenday of not doing so save for one party felt indolent in the extreme, and partly to make use of the Haven’s pools, which were both larger and cooler than the bath he’d enchanted. Leaving the bed, however, took a lot longer than he’d intended—when Rizeth’s hands were on him, he lost all track of time.
The two of them headed for one of the pools, walking barefoot through the gardens. Fat bees buzzed in the dappled light, and butterflies flitted between the vibrant blooms bursting in the lush summer greenery. Xalin was waiting for them under the pagoda with a tray of fruit and water, of which Ashenivir gratefully availed himself.
“Savour the peace while you can, Zelka,” she said, as they sat to dip their feet. “We just got word from the Maiden’s Hands. They’re arriving tonight.”
“Tonight? I thought they were another tenday away.”
“So did Lady Alvanriel.” Xalin sighed, leaning back on her elbows. “Now she’s in a panic getting her welcome ready.”
“I’ve never met any of the Maiden’s Hands before,” Ashenivir said. He’d heard of them: groups of faithful who went out across the breadth of the World Above, undoing the damage their Lolthite kin caused and helping those they found in need along the way. Warriors, missionaries, and ambassadors all rolled into one. Keszriin had wanted to be one when they were younger, until she realised she’d have to be away from her family for years at a time.
“You should come to the welcome dinner, then,” Xalin said. “It’ll be enough to feed an army, we could use the extra mouths.” Her eyes flicked to Ashenivir’s neck, and her voice turned playful. “You could bring your friend with you.”
His hand went to the bitemarks littering his skin, though his palm alone couldn’t cover them all. Knowing he’d dance naked or nearly so, he’d agreed with Rizeth to set simple illusions over the harsher marks that decorated the rest of his body before he’d come to the Haven. It was that or heal them away, which he was absolutely not about to start doing again. Bruises sucked into his neck, however, were no cause for anyone’s concern, and so he’d left them on display.
“More than friends now, I suspect,” Zelka said.
“Quite a bit more.” Memories of the previous night—and the morning only a few hours past—had him blushing. Zelka eyed him intently, and he resisted the urge to check over his illusions. Rizeth had helped set them. Nothing untoward was visible. Finally, she stopped her scrutiny, taking up an orange to meticulously strip it of its peel.
“So long as he treats you well.”
“He does.”
“And comes to collect you, it seems,” Xalin said. “Good morning, Master Velkon’yss!” She waved past his shoulder, and he turned to see Rizeth approaching along the tree-lined path.
Ashenivir forced himself to stand slowly and to put his shirt on before going to meet him. He applied such restraint because what he wanted was to fling himself at Rizeth and kiss him, but they weren’t alone, and he wasn’t quite sure where they stood on the whole public affections front. It wasn’t exactly something he’d had to worry about before.
“You have had a good morning I take it, apprentice?” Rizeth greeted him. The title came with a fondness that did nothing to lessen Ashenivir’s desire to hurl himself into his Master’s arms.
“Better for seeing you,” he said, then ducked his head. Goddess, the things that came out of his mouth lately. He’d be giving Tethras a run for his money if he didn’t get a hold of himself. Rizeth’s gaze softened, and he held out a hand from behind his back. In it, he held a small bouquet of violets.
Ashenivir took them, somewhat confused. “What are these for?”
“You,” Rizeth said.
“Oh.” He couldn’t think of any spell that required violets, or why else he might need—“Oh!” Realisation came accompanied by a faint mental image of Keszriin smacking her palm against her forehead. He gripped the bouquet tighter. “I…thank you, Master.”
Rizeth seemed vaguely amused at his reaction. “You are most welcome. Are you finished here?” Ashenivir nodded. “Then will you accompany me to Trollskull Alley? I am told there is a fine carpenter there who can furnish us with a bed.”
The flowers diminished immensely in importance. “You were serious about that?”
“Yes,” Rizeth said, so simply and with such soft conviction that for a moment Ashenivir couldn’t find any words at all. Us. They were an us now—a we, an our, a pair. He was Rizeth’s, Rizeth was his, and he was buying them a bed.
“Are you sure? How much longer are we staying here, anyway? It can’t be cheap, something like that, it—”
“Ashenivir.” And oh, his name from Rizeth’s mouth still made his heart skip. “Money is not an issue. How long we are here is irrelevant. I want to take reverie beside you without either of us falling out of bed or dying of heatstroke.”
“I want that too.” It came out nearly a whisper. Rizeth smiled, a brief and beautiful flicker of a thing.
“Go and recover the rest of your clothes. Then we will speak with Master Fellbranch, and—have you had breakfast yet?”
“Not properly.”
“Then afterwards we shall acquire some.” Rizeth hesitated—only minutely, but Ashenivir caught it, and almost had time to worry, before he continued; “On the beach, if you are agreeable to such a venture.”
“Like a date?” The words came out before he could stop them. Behind him, he was sure he heard Xalin smother a giggle. If Rizeth could see her laughing, he paid it no mind.
“Quite so,” he said.
“I’m agreeable to that,” Ashenivir said. He hugged the violets to his chest, not caring in the least that he was crushing the flowers because it was the nearest he could get to hugging Rizeth right now. “Very, very agreeable.”
And then he had to rush off to find the rest of his clothes, because if he didn’t, he was going to demonstrate just how agreeable he found the idea—regardless of how Rizeth felt about public affections.
Ashenivir stepped into the surf, inhaling sharply at the cold rush of water over his feet. Wet sand shifted between his toes, strange and wonderful all at once. A date. And as far as such things went, their first real date; going somewhere together, simply to be together, on purpose. Excitement about it had chased him all through their trip to the carpenter and down to the Dock Ward. Now it had started to slither and tangle itself, his thoughts running in spirals as they so often did.
He raised a hand against the glare rippling off of Deepwater Harbour, gnawing his lower lip. He didn’t date people. Not really. His recurring bedmates took him to dinner or gave him pretty trinkets as thanks, one-night companions bought him drinks, but this…this was thoroughly outside his realm of expertise. He knew, logically, that Rizeth wasn’t going to drop him if he made some minor misstep, but the knot in his stomach was less than convinced.
‹If you are planning to swim, you ought to take off your clothes first. ›
Ashenivir glanced up the beach, to where Rizeth sat beneath the cloth umbrella they’d rented for an absolutely extortionate fee from a pair of enterprising young halflings, who had also sold them an equally extortionate breakfast. Despite the distance, he caught the glint of copper between Rizeth’s fingers where they were held to his lips.
‹Master, I think you have ulterior motives for that request. ›
‹And what might those be? ›
‹You just want to see me naked, › Ashenivir replied, keeping his words to a whisper as he made his way up the sandy slope. ‹Which is hardly fair, since you aren’t going to be. ›
‹If you had me in a state of undress, Ra’soltha, I have the feeling you would also have us rapidly removed from this beach. ›
Ashenivir dropped to his knees at Rizeth’s side, out of breath and grinning. “And why might that be, Master?”
“Because you cannot keep your hands to yourself.” Rizeth tucked his copper wire back into his pocket. He wore lighter robes than usual, in colour and style, with an open neck that displayed—by Rizeth standards—an absolutely obscene amount of collarbone. He’d also tied his hair into a loose knot at the base of his neck, though a few irresponsible strands had escaped to frame his face. Ashenivir laid a hand on his knee.
“Can you blame me?”
A novel’s-worth of emotion flashed across Rizeth’s face: tension, hesitation, want, frustration—Ashenivir read it all and started to move away, afraid he’d gone too far, but Rizeth caught his wrist. “Take off your clothes.”
“Yes, Master,” the whisper slipped out on obedient instinct. He couldn’t have taken his eyes from Rizeth’s then if a dragon had descended on the harbour. He undressed slowly, unable to move faster, and his lips parted without his having any say in the matter. A part of him was still very conscious of how packed with strangers the beach was on this gloriously bright day, but it grew more distant with each item he removed. When he was down to only his leggings, Rizeth tapped his arm.
“Enough.” A pause, and then, so low Ashenivir almost didn’t hear it; “Good boy.”
He snapped back into his head, buzzing all over, thoughts scrambled, heart racing.
“Thank you, Master.” He bit his lip and saw Rizeth’s eyes follow the action. He leaned forwards, but just as he felt Rizeth’s breath against his lips, he also felt three taps on the top of his thigh. He sat back.
“Go and swim,” Rizeth said. He looked…off balance. “Enjoy yourself.”
Ashenivir made his way back down to the water, off-balance himself. Orders in public, that lit him up. Obeying his Master was so much easier than trying to navigate all the extra layers the words I love you had added to their relationship. Not that he wanted to take them back by any means—it was just that he seemed to want far more than Rizeth was comfortable giving, and he feared that in his inexperience he’d push too far and crack their still-fragile foundations.
The surf welcomed him with cold arms beneath the summer sun. Further down the harbour, where the piers began, a pair of ships had docked, with large banners unfurled declaring them to belong to the Sea Maiden’s Faire. Ashenivir trod water, watching the tiny, distant figures as they unloaded crates. He’d never visited a faire before. Had Rizeth? Master, will you come to the faire with me—was that too ridiculous?
He swam, leaving the idea in his wake, and when he tired, he floated, squinting at the clear blue of the sky. It was the kind of thing you could never do in the Underdark—what seas there were beneath the ground were of killing cold and lurking horrors. He sighed. Why couldn’t they just stay up here? How much simpler—and how much more pleasant—it would be to hide in the apartment in Rizeth’s arms, instead of going back to face his family.
He kicked over and headed for the shore. Problems for another time. Rizeth had made no mention of any plans for returning to Mythen Thaelas any time soon, and Ashenivir wasn’t about to bring it up.
He rejoined Rizeth, laying on his stomach beside him to dry out. Rizeth had brought a book with him, naturally, and it didn’t take much convincing to get him to read aloud. Ashenivir closed his eyes, listening to the intricacies of a new and thoroughly overcomplicated theory of cantrip construction in non-wizard casters, savouring the roll of Rizeth’s voice over him. Had he been so worried about making a fool of himself? There was nothing hard about this; it was nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times before, just with more sand beneath them.
And when eventually they left, Rizeth took his hand and kept hold of it all the way back to the apartment, and all worries of fragile foundations fled, banished by the firm feel of his Master’s hand in his.
“Master, I can’t imagine that tastes good at all.”
Rizeth laid another kiss on Ashenivir’s shoulder, then continued massaging the salve into his sunburned skin. “No, xi’hum, but you do.”
He felt the flush without needing to see it, and smiled to himself. He worked methodically across Ashenivir’s back, determined not to miss an inch of the damage. He’d kicked himself for not thinking to set any protections on either of them before they’d gone out, but it had been so long since he’d experienced the fullness of a surface summer that it had entirely slipped his mind.
Once he was certain Ashenivir’s back was well taken care of, Rizeth bid him turn. His chest was not nearly so badly affected, and fortunately neither was his face. He sat cross-legged before Rizeth on the couch, comfortably naked with his hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. Rizeth had gotten the cooling charm pattern from Kelran as promised, and thrown a few sigils up somewhat haphazardly this morning, but they were intermittent at best. He needed to embed them properly—then they could return to closed windows and full, soundproofed privacy.
The salve was cool beneath his fingers as he worked it into the darkened skin along Ashenivir’s pectoral, and he followed his touch again with a soft press of lips. Ashenivir hummed; a warm, happy sound Rizeth never tired of hearing.
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” Ashenivir said. His hand had found its way to the top of Rizeth’s thigh—Rizeth pretended not to notice it as it slid higher whilst he applied the salve. Only when Ashenivir grew bold enough to palm him through his breeches did he comment.
“Not until you are healed.”
“My mouth is just fine, Master.”
“This takes more than a few minutes to work. Be patient.”
Ashenivir shifted closer, desire glittering in his eyes. “Let me occupy myself while I wait.”
“You want something to occupy you?” Rizeth flicked his hands clean with a cantrip. Ashenivir nodded eagerly, clearly thinking he’d won the day. “Then we shall occupy you. Floor. Now.”
Ashenivir scrambled off the couch and presented himself very nicely on his knees, hands tucked behind his back.
“All fours,” Rizeth ordered. Ashenivir obeyed. Rizeth tapped one ankle with his foot. “Out behind you. Both legs, further than that—all the way, Ra’soltha.”
Ashenivir’s arms trembled as he held the plank position, all tease replaced with frustration. Rizeth took hold of his braid and tugged his head up. “You cannot be still in the way I ask of you, so now you will be still in the way I tell you. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
At once, that intangible connection sprang to life between them, Ashenivir’s fall his rise, a heady rush like nothing else. His Ra’soltha would hold the position he’d been put in until release or collapse came for him—and knew that if he collapsed, it would be counted against him. Ashenivir let out a whimper.
“Hold.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can.” Rizeth released his hair to stroke down his neck, then all the way along the length of his spine. Back muscles taut, the shape of him a sculpture it took touch to fully appreciate.
“Master, please.” Ashenivir’s voice shook to match his body. “I’m sorry.”
“Bend your elbows.”
“I can’t, I—”
“Do I need to tell you twice?”
Ashenivir bent his elbows. His breath came hard and shuddery, all of him straining now. He’d fall soon, and that was the balance to walk. To bring him right up to the edge until he could take no more, keep him there a moment longer than he thought he could stand, and then and only then give him the release he craved.
“Master, please.”
“Hold.”
A shake of the head, a whine in the back of his throat.
“Hold for me, Ra’soltha.”
Every part of him tense, every inch of him focused. Rizeth caught up his braid again and drew back his head and drowned in the endless depths of his eyes. “Drop.”
Ashenivir collapsed to the ground with a groan. Sprawled and breathless, as beautiful ruined like this as by any orgasm—Rizeth admired him, and loved him, and realised he’d done absolutely nothing to show it all day. First the beach, clinging to their roles like a safety blanket, and now punishment administered for what? No reason but that Ashenivir wanted him?
Keep acting like that and he’ll leave, just like she did.
He helped Ashenivir to his feet, any enjoyment of the feel of him tempered with sour guilt. Ashenivir mumbled something that sounded like thank you but might just as easily have been I love you, and Rizeth had no idea what to say to either.
“Sit a minute. I will get you some water.”
He left Ashenivir regaining his composure on the couch. It was early enough between them that he still had time to fix this, to rid himself of the ridiculous need to use dominance as a substitute for affection. Ashenivir might not know better what to expect from a relationship, but Rizeth did.
A partner. A lover. Care; real care, not orders and punishments and inevitable resentment. He knew better, so he would do better, and this time he would get everything—everything—right.
He loved Ashenivir too much not to.
Ashenivir pressed his cheek to Rizeth’s leg with a sigh. His abdomen ached, as did his arms—the best kind of burn, of muscles worked to their limit. That his limit had been so short was a little embarrassing, but he could work on it. If that was to be a new kind of punishment, he’d gladly put in the effort.
Rizeth’s fingers slid through his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, pleasant shivers running down his spine with each pass. A date, a punishment, and now the sweetness of reward. Perfection.
“Today was nice.” He looked up to find Rizeth’s eyes on him, as they so often were. “Can we do it again?”
“I will take you out as often as possible, if you enjoy it.”
“And order me to undress?” He shifted up to rest his forearms on Rizeth’s thighs, the memory buzzing under his skin.
“That would be inappropriate in most venues.”
Ashenivir let his fingers trace across the inside of Rizeth’s legs, lowering his voice. “There are other things you could order me to do. I can follow commands discreetly, Master, I promise.”
“You do not want me to start acting as your Master in public,” Rizeth said sharply. “Believe me, the shine of that idea wears off rather quickly.”
He’d asked for too much. Ashenivir sat back on his heels and leaned against Rizeth’s knees in silence. Having Rizeth order him around outside as well as inside was a nonsensical idea anyway—for one thing it would be exhausting for Rizeth to keep up their dynamic in such an extended fashion, and for another, did he really want twice the opportunity to earn punishments for misbehaviour?
A small voice in the back of his head whispered yes! before he could stop it. He shifted in place. Time to change the subject.
“Master, would you come to the Haven with me tonight? They’re having a welcome dinner for some of the Maiden’s Hands—we’re both invited.”
“I’m afraid you will have to attend without me,” Rizeth said. “I have some work to do for the Watchful Order. Tedious protection duty at a warehouse down in the Dock Ward, but it will pay for our bed.”
Ashenivir wrapped both arms around Rizeth’s legs and hugged tight to them. “Our bed,” he whispered. “Ours.”
He could hear the smile in Rizeth’s voice. “I rather like the sound of that, too.”
“I still feel bad about you paying.”
“You do not get to tell me what I can and cannot spend my money on, xi’hum,” Rizeth said. He drew Ashenivir up into his lap. “All you need do is enjoy it when it arrives.”
Ashenivir gazed at him, marvelling at the softness of his expression. All the harshness of the Arcanum had melted away—if Keszriin or any other apprentice saw him, he’d hardly seem the same person. And yet he was, just the same Rizeth he’d always been, only now there was nothing he hid or could hide from Ashenivir’s eyes.
“I will, Master, provided you’re there to enjoy it with me.”
“Believe me, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said, leaning in to kiss him, “there is nowhere else I would rather be.”
As they stepped into the garden of the Dancing Haven, Mara was, for a few incredible seconds, absolutely silent. She stared about her with wide eyes, then rounded on Ashenivir.
“It’s so pretty! Is it always this pretty? Are there always this many pretty girls here? I can’t believe I didn’t know about the house full of pretty drow girls. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the house full of pretty drow girls—are they naked?”
Ashenivir laughed. “It’s always beautiful, yes. Tonight’s a special occasion, though—there aren’t always driftglobes floating around.”
“Oh, Verin would love this. Free food, naked people…” Mara suddenly grabbed tight hold of his arm, a look of horror on her face. “Ashenivir. The bugs. What about the bugs, there are so many bugs!”
“We have enchantments for that. The Maiden is for joy, and there is no joy in waking up full of ticks and covered in bites.”
Mara sighed in relief. Then her face lit up with the spark of an idea, and Ashenivir braced himself.
“That means I could go and dance naked. Right? Or is the spell just for priestesses and you?”
“I…well…” He didn’t really want to tell her yes, because she’d get carried away and he wasn’t as good at Verin or River at reining her in—unfortunately the former was long-gone from the city, and the latter had plans with Cain tonight, and if he had to interrupt their evening with a plea for Mara-related help, he’d never live it down. He caught sight of Xalin making her way back from one of the long food tables and waved her over.
“Xalin! Mara, this is Xalin, the one who invited me to the Haven. Xalin, this is Mara, she’s…” Oh, he hadn’t thought this through at all. Too late to back out now. “A friend.”
Xalin offered a warm smile and a bow. “Any friend of Ashenivir’s is more than welcome, though you aren’t the one I expected him to bring. How was your date, by the way?”
“You went on a date with Rizeth?” Mara squeaked. “When? Where? You have to tell her how it went, I want to know!”
“Today, the beach, it was fine, and that’s all I’m telling either of you.”
“Ashenivir,” she whined, and he suddenly understood Verin on a much deeper level than ever before.
“That’s all you’re getting, princess,” he tried, the title awkward in his mouth. Mara huffed and stuck her tongue out at him.
“Boring boy.” She turned her attention to Xalin, who seemed rather confused by the proceedings. “Xalin, he said you have enchantments for dancing, for the bugs. Can I have one?”
“The enchantment is over the whole Haven and everyone in it,” Xalin said. “Though you don’t have to dance unclothed if you don’t feel comfortable with it, it’s simply that—”
“Oh, I’m very comfortable with it.” Mara swapped her grip on Ashenivir’s arm for Xalin’s, and he didn’t miss the way Xalin’s cheeks darkened. “I love dancing, but I’m not the best at it, and you all dance so differently here. Show me how?”
“I…well, if you’re sure…”
“Of course I’m sure! Besides, it’ll be much more fun than watching Ashenivir pine after Rizeth all night.”
“I will not spend all night pining,” he protested.
“Yes you will,” Mara sing-songed, then skipped off towards the altar, pulling Xalin along with her. Ashenivir sighed. So much for keeping her under control. At least she hadn’t drunk anything yet, so there was still hope the night wouldn’t end in a lifetime ban from the Dancing Haven.
He piled his plate high at one of the food tables—Lady Alvanriel really had laid out enough to feed an army; possibly even two—and took it and a glass of sweet cherry wine to a spot where he could sit and watch the dancers and enjoy the music. He idly trailed his fingers over the grass, the spaces between them lonely for Rizeth’s touch already. Call it pining, call it what it was; himself, in love, and not caring who knew it.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
The moon elf from the night before dropped down next to him, tucking her legs beneath her. She held out her glass and he knocked his against it, warily curious.
“I didn’t catch your name, last we spoke,” he said.
“Did I not say? How rude of me, I do apologise.” She sipped her wine, the motion holding a smooth elegance, as if she’d practised even the simple act of raising a glass to her mouth a thousand times. Ashenivir waited, and a small smile danced at her lips. “What a patient boy you are. Your Master must enjoy that very much. I’m Catriona.”
“Ashenivir.”
“I’d heard. And I truly am surprised to see you here. You’re one of the Maiden’s faithful?”
“In a manner of speaking. Are you?”
She made him wait again, with another sip of wine and her attention on the dancers on the altar. She was dressed as lightly as she’d been at the House, in near-translucent white, and still with silver chains at wrist and ankle. A form of collar, perhaps; subtle manacles. He had to admit they looked nice.
“No,” Catriona said eventually. “I don’t follow the Maiden. But I am friends with one who does—one of her Hands, recently returned. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen her.” She glanced around then, as if searching for something. “I don’t see your Master. Did you come all alone?”
“With a friend. Rizeth had to work tonight.”
“A shame. He gave you permission to attend, then?”
“He knows I’m here, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Catriona shrugged a shoulder. Silver powder glittered on her pale skin, making it seem star-speckled. “I have permission from mine, that’s all. I only wondered if you and I were…alike.” She stood. “If we are, then all I’ll say is this: be careful serving Rizeth Velkon’yss. You can take the male out of Menzoberranzan, but…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashenivir couldn’t keep the sharp edge from his voice. Catriona only smiled, in a manner that didn’t quite touch her eyes.
“Enjoy your evening, Ashenivir. Give your Master my best.”
Ashenivir huffed. If she wanted to play at being mysterious and coy, she could play by herself. He returned his plate, added his shirt to the pile of clothing at the edge of the altar, and went to join the dancing.
He started slow, warming up at the edge of what was rapidly becoming a Maiden’s melee. After a few minutes, Zelka slipped from the crush to join him, matching his more sedate pace with ease.
“Have you seen Xalin?” he called over the noise. “My friend dragged her off to dance, and I haven’t seen either of them since.”
Zelka shook her head. “Not for a while. I’m certain they’re quite alright, the Haven is perfectly safe.” Physical danger wasn’t exactly what he was worried about, and his concern must have shown on his face, for she took his hands, frowning. “You’re enjoying yourself, I hope?”
“How could I not, on a night like tonight?”
“Sometimes our troubles follow us, even into the brightest of places.”
Her hands slipped from his, and she fell back into the throng. Ashenivir shook his head fondly. Sometimes she could be so serious. Warmed up now, he followed her in, twisting and turning and allowing hands from all sides to carry him back and forth across the altar. His heart thumped joyfully as the music rolled over him, wrapping him up in the glorious clamour.
And then his lack of practice caught up with him, and instead of leaping over a sweeping foot, he tripped. The foot’s owner grabbed his arm before he fell.
“Don’t go breaking such a pretty face, now.”
The woman—a priestess, judging by the circlet sitting askew atop a long tangle of silver-white hair—hauled him upright. Before he could thank her, she lifted his hand and he ducked beneath her arm, rolling around behind her, whereupon she let go, spinning to face him, and though her movements were wild, there was a control to them, a skill underlying the twist of her wrists and the shift of her feet. He couldn’t help but fall into her orbit, stumbling as she flung herself through patterns he’d never mastered even when he’d been dancing every day.
“Keeping up alright?” she asked, as she settled them into a rest pattern of gentle sway. He could only nod, and she laughed, a bold, brash sound. Her circlet had almost slipped off, and she shoved it back into place. “You’re not doing too badly for a greenhorn.”
“I’m not that green,” he shot back.
In response, she dropped down and threw herself feet-first between his legs, nearly taking him to the floor in the process, then came up on a twist, her light skirts flying out around her long, lithe legs.
“Copy that, and I’ll believe you.”
It was a thoroughly stupid dare to take. He took it anyway, and accepted the cackle that followed when he sent them both to the ground. She leapt lightly back up.
“I love that you tried, pretty boy. You’re a keen one, I’ll give you that.”
She let him lead for the next few minutes, graciously sticking to his slower pace. She was so light on her feet she seemed almost to float, her execution of even the most basic steps a study in pure elegance.
“I can’t place your accent,” he said, as she span him in place. “Where are you from?”
Her next words took on a heavy Mythen Thaelan lilt, accompanied by a broad grin. “Same place as you, little wizard. Should I talk like this always, so everyone knows I’m one of the nice ones?”
They came to a halt at the edge of the altar; him drenched in sweat, her not nearly so ruined.
“How could you tell I was a wizard?”
She waggled her fingers. “You all have a very particular way with your hands.”
He shook his head, too breathless even to laugh. That wide grin flashed across her face again, mischief incarnate, and with a quick shove to set her ever-slipping circlet back in place, she returned once more to the dance. Ashenivir stepped down onto the grass, grateful when a moment later Zelka appeared at his side with cups of water. His dance partner whirled about with abandon, cutting a path across the altar like a hurricane.
“Who is that?” he asked once he’d recovered his breath.
“Her?” Zelka glanced after the wild priestess. “Oh, that’s the High Priestess of the Maiden’s Hands. Elian’la, I believe her name is.”
The High Priestess! No wonder she’d possessed such skill. If she was staying at the Haven, he’d have to ask her to teach him how to dance like that. Chances were he’d break his neck in the process, but to move with such grace, such surety, and yet such life…it made him itch to start dancing again.
He handed Zelka his cup. “I’m going back in.”
He didn’t see Elian’la again for the rest of the night, but that was no matter. He’d find her when the time was right. The Maiden would make sure of it.
Laughter on the stairs. The door thunked, followed by a soft curse, and Ashenivir stumbled into view. His shoulder bumped the wall, his hip the table, and he near enough tripped over his own feet as he came to his knees at Rizeth’s feet. Rizeth set his book on the arm of the couch.
“You ought to be in bed.”
Ashenivir beamed up at him, eyes bright with drink and exertion, his face flushed ink-dark. He nudged Rizeth’s legs apart to better situate himself between them.
“I ought to be here,” he said. “It’s where I belong.”
Those words in his mouth surely made his tongue taste of all seven Heavens. Rizeth slid a hand into the mess of his hair, working his fingers through the knots and tangles. He was drunk, and foolish with it, and Rizeth had done far too many irresponsible things with him today already.
Ashenivir made an insistent sound, and tugged at Rizeth’s shirt to pull him down for a kiss. Seven Heavens weren’t the half of it; cherry wine and a sweetness all his own. Rizeth felt the urge to tighten his grip, and so let go.
“Bed.”
Ashenivir pouted. “I want to play.”
“You are much too drunk for that.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not yours to play with.” His eyes were huge in the candlelight, hungry pools of soft crimson. “And I’m not that drunk. No rope, I know, but please, Master.” He pressed his mouth to Rizeth’s, biting at his lower lip. “Please, I want you.”
They didn’t have to build a scene. Drunken sex, that was perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal—he could manage this.
“What do you want, Ra’soltha?” Or maybe he couldn’t. “Ashenivir, I mean. What would you like?”
“Not my name, that’s for certain.” Ashenivir started plucking at the laces of Rizeth’s breeches. “I want what I didn’t get earlier. The food at the Haven was very nice, but I’m still hungry, and I missed you all night, and if you don’t shut me up, I’ll keep talking and say something stupid.”
Rizeth ran his thumb over the fullness of Ashenivir’s lower lip. “You could never be stupid.”
“I can be very stupid. Like right now.” He finally got Rizeth’s laces undone, and made a delighted sound on finding his cock half-hard and waiting for him. “Right now I’m still babbling when I should be…should be…” He trailed off as he lowered his head to lick along Rizeth’s shaft. “…should be silenced by my Master’s cock.”
There was no chance at all of resisting him. Rizeth snagged a fistful of hair, and Ashenivir’s whine filled his heart as heat rolled through him. “Very well, Ra’soltha. Silent you shall be. Open.”
Ashenivir opened his mouth wide and tucked his hands behind his back, shifting on his knees into his proper position. Rizeth tugged his head forwards and slowly slid his cock between those hungry lips—Ashenivir’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and gods, he was gorgeous like this. Rizeth held him still until drool slid down his chin.
“Happy?”
Ashenivir’s yes, Master was deliciously muffled. Rizeth pulled him deeper, until his cock hit the back of Ashenivir’s throat, and was rewarded with a gagging noise that only made him harder. He pulled again, then more firmly, building slowly into a deep, steady rhythm, the wet, choked moans a finer composition than any symphony. After a long indulgence of such, he let Ashenivir free a moment, savouring the heavy inhale and the glisten of spit coating his lips and chin. He tapped the mark, and a rush of desire flooded his chest.
“More,” Ashenivir panted, ragged. He strained in Rizeth’s grasp. “Please, Master, I want more.”
Who was Rizeth to deny him anything? Back down he went, his mouth hot and wet and wonderful. His moan vibrated along the length of Rizeth’s cock, and tension gathered low in his abdomen, inevitability tensing in his thighs. He held Ashenivir’s face close between his legs as he came, not letting him up until he was completely spent. When Ashenivir did sit back, he was breathing hard, mouth shiny and wet and without a trace of cum. All of it swallowed, obediently.
Rizeth stroked his cheek. “Well done, Ra’soltha.”
“Thank you, Master.”
His eyes were hazy—he’d floated off to that lovely place where whatever Rizeth asked for, he’d give. Rizeth wished he craved the sight of it less.
“Now it really is time for bed.”
“To fuck me?”
“For you to take reverie.”
Ashenivir clung, hands groping everywhere they could reach, as Rizeth guided him to the bedroom. He pulled Rizeth down onto one of the still-conjoined beds with him, and made quite the production of arranging him just so behind him. He tugged Rizeth’s arm around his waist, then took his hand to set it between his legs, where his hardness strained against his leggings.
“Please,” he whispered. “I’m not too drunk, I promise. You can touch me, you can have me, you can always have me.”
Rizeth swallowed, throat tight. He tapped the mark again, and there it was, that wave of desire and love and need and too many warm, fragile things he hadn’t the first idea what to do with. He pressed his lips to Ashenivir’s neck, and freed his cock to stroke, firm and slow. Ashenivir rocked clumsily into his hand, and he was too drunk, because it didn’t take two minutes for him to finish, spilling over Rizeth’s knuckles with a high gasp.
Half a heartbeat later he rolled over, nearly knocking Rizeth from the bed in the process, kissing every place he could reach. Rizeth stilled him long enough to get him cleaned up and undressed, and then he was back again, nuzzling into the space beneath Rizeth’s chin.
“I love you, Master.”
Rizeth held him close and kissed the top of his head. Rarely in his life had he struggled for words as much as this. By the time he’d gotten himself un-strangled enough to open his mouth, Ashenivir was deep in reverie, snoring lightly. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Rizeth disentangled himself. He sat at the edge of the bed, massaging his forehead.
He’d been right to shut down Ashenivir’s request earlier. If he was given an inch, he would clearly take a mile—he couldn’t be trusted with that kind of power outside of the bedroom. He couldn’t even stick to his own resolutions a few hours after making them!
He undressed and settled back into the bed, where Ashenivir unconsciously reached out, pawing at him until he was tucked against his chest with Rizeth’s arms around him. Rizeth lay there, and wanted always to lay there, and if he couldn’t sort himself out, that wasn’t going to happen. He settled a hand on Ashenivir’s hip, and his heart clenched as Ashenivir shifted unconsciously towards the touch, mumbling some wordless nonsense that nevertheless held a world of affection.
He wanted to tighten his grip. To dig his hands in tight so Ashenivir wouldn’t be able to leave. He’d ruined one relationship, and the idea of ruining another—ruining Ashenivir—terrified him beyond reason. He couldn’t go through that again. If he had to go through that again…
Rizeth pressed his face to Ashenivir’s hair. If he had to go through that again, it would destroy him.