Bring Your Boy to the Brink
Ashenivir does not like to fail, so when Rizeth challenges him not to come for two tendays, he is certain he can fulfil his Master’s orders. But there is more to being Ra’soltha than reward—one cannot go forever without needing punishment, after all.
“I still don’t see why you have to go running after every little errand of his.” Keszriin adjusted her comfortable sprawl on the couch and frowned down at her nails—she’d been altering their colour with a cantrip, and now shook away a shade she didn’t like. “It’s not like he gives you anything for it.”
“Master Velkon’yss’ tutoring is ample reward,” Ashenivir said from his position by her feet. He had been comfortably reading alone in the recreation room before Keszriin and Pellanue had gotten here, but they had summarily exiled him to the floor to claim the couch for themselves. “Some of us don’t have impressive House names to rely on and must actually study.”
“Oh, like Matron Eilist’tra is pleased with my choice to slum around with you bookworms instead of dancing in the Shrine all day like I used to.”
“She’s proud of you and you know it,” Pellanue said, flicking a gust cantrip at Keszriin’s hair. Keszriin gave a little shriek and frantically patted her thick, snowy waves back into place. Pella grinned at her furious look, easily throwing up an arcane shield against the frostbite Keszriin snapped back at her.
Ashenivir was mostly surprised that Pella had any Weave left in her—usually by the end of the day she’d burned through all she had stored up. Pellanue Hyn was not exactly renowned for her restraint when it came to spellcasting.
“Anyway, Shen, you study enough as it is,” Keszriin continued, evidently deciding that not escalating was the mature choice today. She leaned off the couch to pluck Ashenivir’s book from his hands, ignoring his protests. She flicked through a few pages and pulled a face. “Scaling Weave Theory? Ugh, you’re not still on that, are you? That’s graduation stuff, why are you inflicting it on yourself already?”
“He’s ambitious,” said Pella. “We know this, and we love our overachieving little bookworm.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Ashenivir pointed out. They ignored him.
“Beloved worm or not, I still don’t see why he has to spend half his time running across the Arcanum for Master Velkon’yss instead of spending time with us—specifically me, his so-called best friend,” Keszriin pulled his head back to pout down at him. “You know last year we barely did anything fun together?”
“I let you drag me to several parties and at least five of your picnics,” Ashenivir said, the words muffled under Keszriin’s hands over his ears. She rolled her eyes.
“That hardly counts. And now you’re still prepping his potions and cleaning his inkwells or whatever it is he has you doing, just for a little private tutoring.”
“It’s a small price to pay for how much I learn.”
Ashenivir tried not to think too much about the ‘private tutoring’ he had received a tenday prior. It had been hard enough to keep Keszriin from suspecting anything over the past year since he and Master Velkon’yss had begun their arrangement—the last thing he needed was for his traitorously expressive face to give something away now.
He needn’t have worried. Keszriin let go of his head and went back to switching through nail colours, huffing to show how unimpressed she was with how he chose to spend his time.
Ashenivir took his book back from her lap and returned to his reading. No, he didn’t need to keep studying this theory; thanks to Rizeth’s promised tutelage he had already mastered what he needed from it. This particular volume was one Rizeth had declared utter nonsense, so he was reading it for fun—poor research was an excellent way to learn. It was better to study someone else’s mistakes than to blunder through them himself.
He got through almost four more pages before the door to the recreation room slammed open, and he didn’t need to look up to know who had just joined them. Dresvan flopped down on top of Keszriin and his twin, to much complaint from both. He was followed by Vuzree, who had his nose in a book and appeared to have acquired another piercing since the last time Ashenivir had seen him—impressive, since that had only been yesterday evening.
“Goddess, I hate trigonometry,” Dresvan complained. He squirmed up the couch into Keszriin’s lap, ignoring his sister’s grumbling at receiving his feet in her face. “I’m a wizard, why do I need to learn advanced mathematics?”
“So when you throw your stupid fireballs, you don’t incinerate everyone you’re trying to help, moron.” Keszriin shoved him off of her and he toppled onto Ashenivir, knocking the book from his hands. Ashenivir sighed.
“Hey, Shen,” Dresvan blew a ringlet out of his face, grinning.
“Hello, Dresvan. My offer still stands if you want help with the mathematics.”
“No, no—no more studying,” Dresvan rolled over to sprawl across the floor, taking up as much space as it was possible for a heavyset, five-foot-three drow to take. “My brain will melt. I don’t know how you stand it—not only do you actually stay awake in every class, but then you go off and cram with the Archbastard for hours.”
“Don’t call him that,” Ashenivir said, hoping he sounded like an annoyed student and not an offended submissive. He might appreciate Master Velkon’yss’ coldly direct manner, but most of the other students did not. Dresvan poked him in the ribs with his foot.
“Just because you have a weird crush on him—”
“I do not have a—!”
“Message for apprentice Zauvym!”
All five of them glanced up at the message runner who stood in the doorway with a note held out, catching her breath. Ashenivir very maturely resisted the urge to slap Dresvan with a handful of lightning as he got to his feet. All irritation fell away the moment he finished reading the message.
Attend at once.
Ashenivir hid a smile, flushing warm in his chest, excitement prickling his spine.
“I have to go,” he said, turning back to the others when the runner departed. The four shared a glance, then chanted in uncanny, sing-song unison;
“Master Velkon’yss needs my assistance.”
“Tell him about your crush!” Dresvan shouted after him as he left. This was followed by a smack and a yelp—the sound, presumably, of Pellanue hitting him in the head.
Ashenivir ignored them and hurried away from the recreation room, making for the south stairwell that would take him to Rizeth’s quarters. His fingers traced over his wrists as he went, recalling the binding from their last scene. Could he hope for more of that, perhaps? Or something new?
Either way, he would surely be enjoying the rest of his evening.
Ashenivir stared at the fine silver chain cupped in his hands. It was a simple thing—just small, plain silver links, yet in his enhanced vision it gleamed bright with information.
“Divination,” he announced. He blinked away the spell and looked back up at Master Velkon’yss. “Your own creation, if I am not mistaken, Master.”
“You are not,” Rizeth seemed pleased, though as usual it was hard to tell. Ashenivir ran a thumb over the links.
“What is it for, Master? It passes knowledge of the wearer’s actions back to you, that much I can tell, though I’m uncertain which action has been set as the trigger.”
“Correct again, apprentice. Now, put that intellect of yours to good use and extrapolate—you will be the one wearing this collar. What action might I wish to learn of you taking?”
Ashenivir’s face heated, as did the rest of him. He wished he were on his knees, where his reaction might have been less obvious.
“Answer me, Ra’soltha.”
“You…you want to know when I pleasure myself, Master.”
“Very good.” Master Velkon’yss took the chain from his hands and fastened it around his neck. The metal was cool against his skin, so light he barely felt it, yet its presence was as binding as any rope or manacle could have been. Quiet pride coiled around the heat inside him—here was a mark of ownership he wouldn’t lose at the end of a scene, one that would not be healed away like the bites and the bruises, or fade like the aches.
“Thank you, Master,” he said, bowing his head. To his surprise, Master Velkon’yss chuckled. Just once, just a low, flat sound of amusement, but one Ashenivir did not hear often. He thrilled to hear it now; grew anxious at what it might portend.
“You may change your tune shortly,” Rizeth said. “Why have I given you this?”
“Because I belong to you.” The answer seemed obvious. “My body is yours, to use as you wish, unless I ask you to stop. It is no great leap to say that my personal pleasure belongs to you as well.”
Master Velkon’yss tipped Ashenivir’s head up, tilting it this way and that to admire the collar. It could be quite easily taken for a necklace, albeit a very dull one, were anyone to notice it. Ashenivir supposed that was the point. At last satisfied, Master Velkon’yss let go.
“True enough. However, I give you this as a prelude to a challenge.”
A challenge? Ashenivir had already overcome several of his Master’s challenges, and determination rose within him—time to prove himself again.
“You,” Rizeth announced, “will not be coming for the next two tendays.”
Ashenivir blinked. “What?”
“You heard me, Ra’soltha. If you do, I will know. Each time you touch yourself, I will know. If someone else,” here his voice briefly took on a hard edge, “touches you, I will know.”
Two tendays? Two tendays? His Master could not be serious! Ashenivir studied Rizeth’s face, saw no trick there, no tease. He straightened his shoulders.
“I can do it, Master.”
“You will do it,” Master Velkon’yss corrected. “Or you will be punished—an outcome you have as-yet managed to avoid.”
“I won’t disappoint you.”
Master Velkon’yss put a hand on his head then, and pushed him to his knees. Ashenivir went, opening his mouth and wondering if his declaration was to be instantly made a lie. Still, he took Rizeth’s cock into his mouth with a greedy moan, tucking his hands behind his back and grasping his elbows. The posture was so natural now it came as easily as breathing—and had the advantage of removing any temptation he might have had to touch himself.
Being on his knees with his mouth full of his Master’s cock tended to make him want to do that.
Master Velkon’yss finished on his face, and let him enjoy the feel of it for a few moments before cleaning him up. Ashenivir was less annoyed by that familiar flicker of prestidigitation than usual, now that he had the collar around his neck.
Now he could be annoyed by the ache between his legs that would have to wait two tendays to be relieved instead.
“Very good, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said, and sent him to dress. Then, just before Ashenivir could leave, Rizeth grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him hard, sliding a hand between his legs and palming him roughly through his clothes. Ashenivir moaned desperately and arched into the touch—his Master at once let go.
“Attend your studies,” he said, with just the barest hint of a smile about his lips. Ashenivir adjusted his robes and bowed.
“Yes, Master.”
It was going to be, he thought, a long two tendays.
He regretted inviting everyone to study in his quarters. Vuzree alone he wouldn’t have minded—the two of them got on in a quiet sort of way, without the need for extraneous chatter. Actually, Keszriin or Pellanue alone would have been fine, he thought, trying to focus on the textbook in front of him. Another shriek of giggles erupted and he sighed.
It was the both of them together that conjured this nightmare scenario, and the only saving grace was that Dresvan had apparently decided not to come.
The pair were sprawled out on the floor, taking up most of the narrow space between his bed and the small office alcove he and Vuzree were squeezed into. They had their books strewn out around them, as if their presence alone counted as study enough.
“Did he read you any poetry? I heard he writes a lot of poetry,” Keszriin was saying.
“Oh, plenty.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ashenivir saw Pellanue make a lewd gesture with her fingers and tongue. “Whole stanzas devoted to my thighs. I swear, my toes went numb.”
Keszriin shrieked again, delighted, and Ashenivir closed his eyes. Don’t start thinking about it, don’t start thinking about it…
Rizeth, between his legs—did his Master like to use his mouth like that? He could ask, but then what if Rizeth did? What if he did and Ashenivir had to wait another eighteen whole days to see what it was like? Worse, what if he did it and he wasn’t allowed to—
“Aw, Pella, look what colour you made him turn!”
He opened his eyes. Keszriin was giggling at him behind her hand, and Pellanue was smirking.
“He’s a little too innocent for our kind of talk, Keszriin,” she teased.
“He’s trying to study,” Vuzree drawled. He tipped his chair back and flicked a lazy cantrip that sent a ghostly, skeletal hand over to muss Keszriin’s hair. “As we all are supposed to be doing, or had you forgotten about the exam tomorrow?”
“Y-yes,” Ashenivir looked back at his books. “We…I need to focus, I don’t want to fail this—”
“Oh, you’re not going to fail, you never do,” Keszriin batted Vuzree’s necromantic summons away and shot a frostbite back at him, scattering ice over his earrings. He winced in annoyance.
“No, no, Keszriin, he’s right, we shouldn’t tease him,” Pella schooled her expression into something vaguely serious. The corners of her mouth flickered as she tried to hold it together. “He’s saving himself for Mystra.”
The pair of them immediately collapsed into fits of laughter. Ashenivir was certain his entire face had gone indigo.
“I am not—I mean I don’t…that’s not…” he stammered. “I’ve done things!”
Goddess, could he sound any more of a child? Even Vuzree chuckled at that declaration, and Ashenivir wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Alternatively, he wanted to get up on his desk and explain loudly and in great detail every last thing he’d done with Master Velkon’yss over the past year. They wouldn’t be laughing then.
No, they’d just be horrified instead.
“I know you have.” Keszriin finally pulled herself together. “I remember merchant Despett.”
So did Ashenivir. Koros Despett still traded with House Zauvym, giving his mother preferential treatment in part for the opportunity to gain access to Ashenivir. It had been a while since he’d seen the merchant—he hadn’t gone back to the family estate since he’d started at the Arcanum some six years prior.
“Weren’t you supposed to go to some fancy dinner or something that evening?” Keszriin continued.
“I couldn’t walk right,” Ashenivir said. Pellanue bounced in delight at the admission, beaming. “I had to feign that I was ill so no-one would notice.”
“A merchant? Really?” Vuzree raised an eyebrow which, given the amount of rings in it, was an impressive facial workout on his part.
“He was handsome,” Ashenivir protested. And Koros had been rough, liked it when Ashenivir was on his knees. It was the nearest he’d been able to get to what he had been slowly working out that he wanted. The nearest until Rizeth, that was.
“Shallow boy,” Keszriin reprimanded, as the door was flung open. “Speaking of shallow boys.”
“Party can start!” Dresvan sauntered into the room, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. “What’re we studying?”
“Ashenivir’s sex life, apparently,” Vuzree said, dryly, and Ashenivir let his head thunk down on the desk.
He was never inviting them here to study again.
Ashenivir knelt at his Master’s feet as he read on the couch in the bedroom, Rizeth’s hand on the back of his neck. He knew he would get nothing today, not for another tenday and a half, but knowing it didn’t stop him from wanting it. Rizeth made a faintly amused sound as he turned a page.
“Your thoughts, apprentice, on the following: ‘if one lacks material components in sufficient capacity, one ought certainly to still be able to cast if one is attuned correctly to the Weave. Over-reliance on components is the sign of a weak wizard.’”
“A patronising tone, and a foolish assertion, Master,” Ashenivir answered. “Spells requiring material components do so for a reason, be it focus, power, or scale. Inability to cast without them does not prove a lack of attunement to the Weave, and doing so is incorrect casting.”
“I would tend to agree,” Master Velkon’yss said. He flexed his fingers on Ashenivir’s neck, and fell into silent reading again. Ashenivir smiled to himself, pleased that his answer had met with approval. After some minutes, Rizeth read another passage aloud, and this time did not agree with Ashenivir’s conclusions.
“No, apprentice, you have fallen into the common trap of Mythen Thaelan’s. It is entirely speculation that a spell favours one variant of a gem over another. There have not, to date, been any significant studies into the idea, despite the claims of those who trade in the product of this city’s mines.”
“I apologise, Master. I should have thought more before answering,” Ashenivir said, flushing. He hated being wrong.
“Do not apologise for holding an opinion. Adjust your knowledge based on what you learn when you are incorrect, but do not shrink yourself away from having one,” Rizeth admonished. “The path to power lies through a great many mistakes; no wizard ever achieves their potential without making them.”
Ashenivir turned the words over in his mind, struggling to understand. Make mistakes? On purpose? What was the use of that? Was it not better to study enough that you didn’t make the mistake in the first place? Wouldn’t that be—
His thoughts were interrupted when Master Velkon’yss grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and took him in a brutal kiss. Ashenivir gasped, a shudder of heat racing through him. He whined as Rizeth pulled away, then yelped when he was hauled into his Master’s lap. Rizeth sucked a biting kiss into his neck, and wrapped his hand around Ashenivir’s cock.
“Master!” Ashenivir rocked into the touch even as he fought to keep his body under control. “I’m not allowed to…to…”
“No, you are not,” Master Velkon’yss grasped the silver chain around his neck, pulling the collar taut against Ashenivir’s skin. “I, however, am not under any such restrictions.”
Ashenivir squirmed against him, sorely disappointed when he was put back on his knees after barely a minute of attention. He knelt there, buzzing all over, painfully hard and full of frustration. He focused on his breathing, tried to calm himself.
“To whom does your pleasure belong, Ra’soltha?” Rizeth asked, turning a page and not looking at him.
“You, Master.”
“Very good.” He reached out and pressed the links of Ashenivir’s collar into his neck. “Your Master’s purpose is not simply to dispense reward to you—you must be able to obey without it.”
“I can, Master,” Ashenivir said, though he wanted nothing more than to climb back into Rizeth’s lap and beg him to touch him, kiss him, let him finish, Goddess, please.
Rizeth toyed with his collar, tugged it lightly.
“We shall see, apprentice. We shall see.”
Tied to the bed, gagged and squirming, Ashenivir wondered if perhaps this challenge was not so much about how restrained he could be, but about how close he could be brought to the brink without disobeying.
Another crackling jolt of lightning rolled up his body, trailed from Master Velkon’yss’ gauntleted hand, and he arched off the bed, dizzy with it. Cool fingers wrapped slick around his cock, stroking, teasing. Ashenivir strained against the rope, not wanting to stop, knowing that he had to, he must, he was too close.
Master Velkon’yss drew away, and Ashenivir’s chest heaved as he fought in vain to get his thoughts under control. Lightning arced across his stomach, sharp shocks of prickling sting racing over his skin, vibration humming through his body. His Master could read him so well, toying with him like this. All the way to the edge and back—Ashenivir didn’t need to call a halt. His Master always knew when to stop.
The hand returned to his cock, firmer this time, and faster. Ashenivir was too far gone for that, surely Rizeth knew that, could see that. He moaned and bit down hard on the gag, thrashing his head from side to side, trying to pull himself away from the pleasure.
He had no choice. Ashenivir rapped his knuckles three times against the bedframe. At once Rizeth’s hand drew away and he collapsed to the bed, whimpering.
“Good, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth murmured. He tugged the gag from Ashenivir’s mouth. “Seven days and still you obey.”
“Yes, Master,” Ashenivir gasped out. Rizeth watched him, and trailed a hand up the inside of his leg; his feather-light touch over the sensitive skin made Ashenivir shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut. I can’t do this, I can’t!
“I can do this,” he whispered aloud, and heard Master Velkon’yss give a low, amused hum.
“I am certain you can try,” he said. He pushed the gag back between Ashenivir’s lips. “I shall return shortly, apprentice—don’t go anywhere.”
He went back out into the main room, presumably to his desk to continue with the never-ending stack of work that always filled it. Ashenivir groaned. He clenched his hands and flexed his thighs; holding tension, releasing it. He blew out a steadying breath through his nose.
“I can do this,” he mumbled around the gag, and hoped to Mystra it was true.
It was a rare day that Ashenivir took a seat at the back of a class. He could hear Master Velkon’yss clearly enough from here, though, and it was an easier place to hide his wandering mind. He drifted, scratching the occasional meaningless note, unable to concentrate on the lecture for more than a few seconds at a time.
Fragments of memory flickered past like reverie—rope around his wrists; his Master’s hand around his throat; being shoved face down into the bed and fucked until he couldn’t even speak…
Ashenivir shook himself and forced his anxious, bouncing leg to still. If only he could have touched himself, relieved some of the relentless tension coiled inside of him. But then, if that had been allowed, he wouldn’t have all of this tension in the first place. That was, he knew, the point. Of course, there was nothing really stopping him from touching himself, nothing except…
His hand went to his neck, feeling the links of the collar where it lay hidden beneath his shirt. Nothing except that Master Velkon’yss would know, and he would be punished—and it was the idea of failing, of disappointing his Master that truly stayed his hand. He had made it one full tenday, surely he could last another? He hadn’t failed any of his Master’s challenges yet and he wasn’t about to start now.
At the front of the classroom, Master Velkon’yss demonstrated a somatic gesture with one hand, directing a mage hand to sketch the posture on the blackboard with the other. Even from the back of the room, his hands drew Ashenivir’s focus like a lightning rod.
Goddess, the things those hands could do to him, had done to him. Ashenivir dug his nails into his thigh. Just ten more days. He could survive ten more days.
If he didn’t go insane first.
He was going to go insane first. Master Velkon’yss had him kneeling, was working at his desk and ignoring him whilst a mage hand taunted and teased and tormented him endlessly. Ashenivir whined around the gag as the mage hand drifted away again, leaving him panting, chest heaving, body tight with frustration. Every slight movement of even the air against his skin was too much, so aware was he of every inch of his body.
He let his head fall back on a low, desperate moan.
Rizeth set down his pen.
“That is enough for today,” he said, and dismissed the mage hand. Ashenivir begged him silently as his Master ran his gaze over him, pleading to be set free, to end this already. Rizeth unfastened the gag, then hooked a finger under the chain around Ashenivir’s neck.
“Just eight more days, Ra’soltha,” he said.
“Master—” Ashenivir started. Rizeth tugged the collar.
“Eight more days.”
Ashenivir bowed his head.
“Yes, Master.”
Reverie put rope around his wrists, his Master’s mouth on his neck. A memory of hands stroked his skin, pushed him into the bed, put a gag in his mouth and fucked him and fucked him and—
Ashenivir came awake with a gasp, hand halfway to his cock, and oh, Goddess, he couldn’t take it anymore! Barely thinking about what he was doing, he closed his eyes and conjured lubrication to his hand, stroking with a starving desperation. His lips parted over a sigh of relief that quickly became a quiet, pleased moan.
He bit his lip to muffle the sounds—his apprentice’s quarters weren’t warded with soundproofing spells like Master Velkon’yss’ were. His wrist flexed, his teeth sank hard into his lip, as oh, oh, finally!
Ashenivir came undone inside of a minute and he didn’t care, the relief was too great. His clean hand drifted up to his collar, and the satisfaction twisted in his stomach. He had disobeyed. His Master would know any moment, if he didn’t already—
<My quarters. At once.>
Ashenivir sat bolt upright. He replied to the sending on instinct, too shocked at receiving one to do anything else.
<Yes, Master.>
He had disobeyed.
Ashenivir’s mind whirled as he hurried to dress. He felt sick, excited, terrified, eager. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? Not just the orders, the submission, the sex—the rules. The consequences. He pressed his hand to where the collar lay beneath his shirt as he descended the south stairwell. What he had wanted was the ownership.
Now he would learn what that truly meant.
His Master’s quarters were warm, yet every inch of Ashenivir’s bare skin prickled as he knelt there, waiting. His heart hadn’t raced so much since the first time Master Velkon’yss had fucked him, and was that really so surprising? Wasn’t this the same thing, his Master taking him for the first time, just in a new way?
The anticipation of punishment rattled around inside of him, though he trusted that Rizeth would not harm him, not permanently, anyway. Pain could be more than physical harm, though, particularly where magic was involved—would he be able to handle it? He knew he could—and should—call an end to it, if it went too far, but he’d already disobeyed and he didn’t want to fail again, he wanted to endure, to impress his Master, to be a perfect Ra’soltha, to—
A hand touched the top of his head. His thoughts stilled, though his heart continued to pound. He did not speak.
Master Velkon’yss pushed his head back and reached down to hook a finger under the links of his collar. “Tell me, Ra’soltha, what is the reward for misbehaviour?”
“Punishment, Master.”
They did not have many rules, but that was one. Simple enough, yet heavy as adamantine. Ashenivir had not thought it quite so daunting when he had first been told it. Of course, then he had thought he would never disobey.
“And did you misbehave, this morning?”
“Yes, Master.”
“What did you do?”
Ashenivir flushed. Master Velkon’yss already knew what he had done, why was he—
Rizeth slid fingers into his hair and gripped it, tight. Sparkles of pain flashed across his scalp.
“I pleasured myself, Master.”
“Even though you knew it was forbidden?
“Yes, Master.”
“It seems that you cannot be trusted with your hands,” Master Velkon’yss spoke low and even; no anger in his voice, just declaration. Statement of fact. Ashenivir shivered.
“No, Master,” he said, quietly.
“Give them to me.”
Master Velkon’yss held his offered wrists easily in one hand and began casting with the other. Sticky webs wove around Ashenivir’s hands, binding them together, and in only a few seconds they were completely encased, a white ovoid at the end of his arms where they had once been. He could not move so much as a finger.
His flush deepened.
Master Velkon’yss stepped back, releasing him. Ashenivir dropped his bound hands to his knees, though the weight of the binding was not nearly as heavy as the weight of the failure.
“Oh, Ra’soltha,” Master Velkon’yss shook his head. “You made it so far. I was beginning to think you would avoid punishment yet again. But, I suppose that disobedience is only to be expected from you—otherwise you would not need a Master to keep you in your place.”
He went to the desk and when he returned, he set paper and pen and ink before Ashenivir on the floor.
“You are studious, apprentice,” he said. “You remember things far better once you have written them down, do you not?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Fill the page,” his Master instructed. Ashenivir looked and saw that there was a line written across the top of the paper in Rizeth’s neat, slanting hand: I will not disobey my Master. He swallowed, shifting his bound hands in his lap.
“You will find a way,” Rizeth said, noticing the movement. “You will not be moving from that spot until you do.”
Ashenivir stared at the paper, the pen, the ink. His face was hot already, frustration and embarrassment a seething concoction building within him. He bit his lip, glanced up at where Rizeth had returned to his desk to work, but his Master did not look at him.
He swallowed, throat tight. He might not have hands, but he still had his mouth. Leaning forwards, he took up the pen between his teeth and then, breathing very carefully, dipped it into the ink and began to write.
It took nearly an hour, all told. The ink blotched with his clumsy use, heavy drips marring the few legible words he managed to get into each line. His hair got in the way, falling in his face, the tips of the narrow braids he wore at his temples dragging in the wet ink, turning black as they smeared it across the page. And with every jagged letter, every misshapen word, his humiliation grew hotter and hotter.
He did not make a sound. He only bit down harder on the pen and tried to make the next line better.
By the time he was done, he was trembling all over. The paper was a mess of unreadable scrawlings and the floor all around it was splattered with ink. Ashenivir dropped the pen with a gasp that was more of a sob and sat back. All strength left him and he could not maintain his posture, head hanging low to his chest.
Footsteps crossed towards him. The wretched paper left his vision as Master Velkon’yss lifted it away. A moment later, he tipped Ashenivir’s head up to look at him and there was no anger in his face, not even the slightest trace of disappointment. He was, in fact, smiling in that very faint way he did when he was actually pleased. He cupped Ashenivir’s cheek.
“Well done, Ra’soltha,” he said.
Ashenivir burst into tears.
Wrapped in a blanket and clutching a mug of tea so tightly it might shatter, Ashenivir knelt by the couch and leaned against Master Velkon’yss’ legs, trying to put himself back together.
“That affected you far more than I anticipated,” Rizeth said.
“It was…I’m fine, Master,” Ashenivir said. At least his voice worked now, even if it was still raw. “Only…”
“Speak, Ra’soltha.”
“I know I earned it, but I…I do not like disappointing you.”
“You did not,” Rizeth said. “You misbehaved, which is a Ra’soltha’s prerogative. I would only have been disappointed if you had attempted to avoid your punishment.”
Ashenivir still could not rid himself of the sick uncertainty swarming in his gut. He sipped his tea—sweet, overmuch so, exactly as he liked it. It didn’t help.
“You did well,” Master Velkon’yss continued. “I am pleased with you.”
“But I failed,” Ashenivir blurted out. “There were only five days left, I could have done it. I should have done it, I should have been more disciplined, I—”
Tears threatened again, all his emotions strung up so high that he couldn’t help it. He hated failing. Hated it, hated feeling stupid, looking incompetent and weak. He couldn’t stand to be imperfect where anyone could see. Because if he failed, he was useless; if he failed, he was a disappointment, and there was nothing, nothing worse that he could be. If there was one value Matron Zauvym had instilled in him, it was that.
“I expected you to,” said Rizeth, and Ashenivir snapped his head up, eyes widening.
“What?”
“You have been too determined to always be perfect,” Master Velkon’yss shook his head. “What point is there to reward if you have no punishment to balance it with? What do you learn if you never fail?”
All the torments, all the teasing—it had all been on purpose. Not to make him suffer, but to bring him to a point where punishment was necessary.
“Oh,” Ashenivir whispered, looking back down at his mug. “I see. I should have noted the lesson sooner.”
“There you go again, apprentice,” Master Velkon’yss said, with a short sigh of frustration. “Why should you have noted a lesson you did not know you were being given?”
“Because…because…” he stumbled over the words. He should have, shouldn’t he? He was supposed to be clever, supposed to be a good student, a good submissive, and if he really was those things then he should have noticed!
Master Velkon’yss pulled his hair, not enough to hurt but enough to force his head back and make Ashenivir meet his eyes.
“What do you learn if you never fail?” he repeated. “This time I want an answer, Ra’soltha.”
“I…” Ashenivir wished he was allowed to look away. Rizeth’s sharp ruby gaze demanded too much. He swallowed, and when he spoke it was almost a whisper. “Nothing, Master. If you do not fail, you learn nothing.”
“I have no use for a Ra’soltha who cannot understand the value in failure,” Master Velkon’yss said. “When you serve me, your misbehaviour is part of that, and you will take your punishments with as much determination and strength as you take the challenges I give you.” He at last released Ashenivir’s hair, took his chin, and ran a thumb across his lips.
“Do you still want this?” he asked, voice lower but not softer.
Did he? The rough sex and the rules; the rope and the toys and the strange magic; the teasing and the torment—yes, he wanted all of those still, but this? It wasn’t the punishments that worried him; it was knowing that he was expected to fail. He would happily let his Master punish him, even to the point of tears, but failing in front of him?
If he wanted to submit to the pleasure, he had to accept the pain on more levels than simply physical. Ashenivir had thought he’d given up power when he let Master Velkon’yss command him—now he realised he had given up hardly anything at all.
Rizeth was right. What point was there to reward if there was no punishment to balance it? To know the consequence of failure, truly know it, made the act of avoiding it far sweeter. His Master wanted him to fail and it was, in a way, just another challenge, one that pushed him far more than any other possibly could. To fail an order and take his punishment was not to disappoint—it was simply to submit to his Master and the rules that bound them. He trusted his Master, and he had to trust now that Rizeth would take his failures and turn them into something wonderful.
Did he still want this?
“Yes,” Ashenivir said. “Yes, Master, I do.”
Rizeth’s mouth curved in that subtle smile that made Ashenivir shiver.
“Then I think, Ra’soltha, that you had better keep that collar.”