The Evard Variation

His classroom was supposed to be a boundary. A place where he was simply a teacher and Ashenivir only a student. A place where he would not be tempted to indulge his bad habit of letting their dynamic bleed into every interaction they had.

“So the base is the same for all four investitures, then.” Ashenivir scratched another note next to the diagrams he’d already drawn. His handwriting was an almost illegible scrawl, but his spell notations were, as always, perfect. “Which means you could alter them from the commonly taught ones to be more specific, if you wanted.”

“Correct.”

Rizeth leaned over Ashenivir’s shoulder to examine his work, far closer than was necessary, letting his breath brush against Ashenivir’s ear, which presently sported a new silver stud. Ashenivir had gotten the set a month prior—the sounds he’d made when Rizeth set his teeth around them had been uncommonly delicious.

“I wonder what an investiture of lightning might be able to do…” Ashenivir mused, tapping his pen against his lips. He sucked thoughtfully on the end, slow enough to be a deliberate tease. Despite Rizeth’s instructions that their studying would be only studying, Ashenivir still pushed. Two months into the new arrangement with two scenes to show for it, and the intensity of them had not been as lessened by the scarcity as Rizeth had hoped.

“If you could manage it without electrocuting yourself, you might find your body more resistant to lightning, for a start.” Rizeth put pen to paper, using Ashenivir’s hand to sketch out the alterations. “And a temporary ability akin to the lightning breath of a dragonborn might also be available to you.”

Ashenivir’s hand was pliant beneath his, skin soft and warm under Rizeth’s fingers.

You have to stop doing this.

He finished the example notation and stepped away. His skin was prickling, his chest tight, and Ashenivir was no better off—his cheeks were flushed, the tips of his ears darkening. He bit his lip as he examined what Rizeth had drawn, and looked hopefully up at him.

“Might we try that one, Master?” Goddess, his eyes were so bright, had they always been that bright? “Perhaps in our next…monthly review?”

“You do have something of an affinity for lightning magic,” Rizeth said. “But no. I have something else in mind for that.”

“Something else?”

“You will find out in a tenday,” Rizeth told him, unable to wholly suppress the smile that twitched his mouth at Ashenivir’s pout. “Behave, or it will be a punishment instead.”

This is your classroom, for Mystra’s sake! Get a hold of yourself!

“But I like to misbehave,” Ashenivir lowered his voice, and the way he looked at Rizeth now was absolutely impossible.

“You are here to study, apprentice,” Rizeth warned. Ashenivir dropped his gaze.

“Yes, Master Velkon’yss.”

He wouldn’t do this next time, couldn’t do this next time, he had to keep his distance. He had to, if he wanted to keep Ashenivir—and Goddess, it was dangerous how much he wanted to keep him. But he could pull himself together, he could keep their dynamic confined to the bedroom and be nothing more than a mentor outside of it. His will was surely strong enough for that.

Sometimes, he mused wryly after Ashenivir had gone, he was as poor a liar as his apprentice.

---

Maybe if he left the letter on his desk and didn’t look at it, it would stop existing.

Ashenivir paced the length of his room—which wasn’t much to pace and only made him feel more like a caged animal—then snatched up the missive to read through it again.

“Apprentice Zauvym,

It gives me great pleasure to inform you that, by the accounting of your last examinations, you are in a position to graduate from the Arcanum College at the end of the year. Your work has, by all accounts, been exemplary, and I offer my personal commendation on your dedication.

The graduation exams will be held Uktar 12th through 16th. Your graduation ceremony will take place at the end of that month.

Sincerely,

Archmage Seldszar T’sonri.”

It had all been worth it. Every late night, every headache, every skipped meal and ignored social obligation—and a personal acknowledgement from the Archmage no less! What more could he have possibly hoped for? It was all he’d ever wanted since the moment he’d arrived.

The letter shook in his hands and he set it down before he could tear it. Matron Zauvym would want to see it, if she hadn’t already been sent something like it. She might not have. The Arcanum wasn’t obligated to update her on his status here, she might not know yet. And if she didn’t know, she couldn’t start making plans for him to come home.

He didn’t want to go back to the estate. He didn’t want to leave the Arcanum, stop studying, leave behind the safety of the classrooms, the peace of the library, the pleasure of Master Velkon’yss’ quarters.

He didn’t want to leave Rizeth.

Ashenivir started to pace again, gnawing on a knuckle. That’s what graduation would mean. He couldn’t come running back here every month, not when he was House Zauvym’s wizard. Graduating would finally fix his mother’s opinion of him, and he would certainly lose any approval he might gain if he went disappearing off at someone else’s whim.

And Rizeth likely wouldn’t want him to keep coming back once he was gone, he had other obligations here, other students. He’d told Ashenivir he’d taken up too much of his time, but Ashenivir knew it went the other way as well. How much of Rizeth’s work was he a distraction from? Ashenivir belonged to him only so long as he was an apprentice; what possible pretence, what right, would he have to keep imposing on him once he’d graduated?

He couldn’t stay here forever, though, so what difference did it make if he graduated in a few months rather than a few years? Maybe it was better to leave sooner rather than later, get it over with.

Still, he wasn’t looking forward to telling Rizeth.

---

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Lyzira slid her lanky form into the seat next to him with her plate piled absurdly high, shoved up her sleeves, and set about her slab of gravy-drowned rothé steak with gusto. Rizeth dismissed the mage hand that had been turning his pages and moved his books out of the splash range.

“What manner of nonsense are you perpetuating now, Master Xiltael?”

She grinned at him, talking with her mouth full as usual despite his grimace.

“Your pet project, apprentice Zauvym. I hear a little whisper he’s set to graduate at the end of the year—under a decade from entrance to exit. Pretty impressive, I have to say, and I can only assume your tutoring is to blame.”

Graduating? This year?

“I was unaware,” he said.

“And here I thought you and Archmage T’sonri were the best of friends—did he not give you a heads up at one of your sleepovers?” She grinned at him. “Well done, though, he’s probably the fastest graduate we’ve ever had. Most of them take at least two decades before they’re remotely ready to be shuffled out into the unsuspecting Underdark.”

“Most of them do not share apprentice Zauvym’s dedication,” Rizeth said, and immediately felt he’d said too much. Lyzira leaned over and shamelessly stole a lingering mushroom from his plate.

“Still, you must be proud. Even in my classes he’s one of the best, and I haven’t heard a bad word about his skills from any of the Masters he’s studied under. Exemplary, I believe, is the word that gets bandied about.”

“It is accurate,” Rizeth agreed. He took a drink to give himself time to try to corral his spinning thoughts. End of year graduation would be Uktar, three months from now. Three months! It didn’t feel real, couldn’t possibly be right—Ashenivir was meant to have years left at the Arcanum, years more for Rizeth to tutor him, to…

“You don’t look pleased,” Lyzira commented, mopping up gravy with a hunk of sporebread.

“According to you, I rarely do.”

She snorted. “That’s true enough, you miserable bastard. Anyway, who knows, maybe he’ll come and teach once he’s graduated. Goddess knows we could use more like him on the faculty.”

“Master Xiltael, are you casting aspersions on the skills of our staff?”

“Never would, never have, never did.” She raised her glass in an imaginary toast. “And you can take that to a zone of truth.”

“Regardless, he will not be teaching—he has informed me that his entrance into the Arcanum was in service of his family. He will be serving as their House wizard once he graduates.”

Lyzira pulled a face.

“What a waste. He’ll rot away doing minor magic and crafting scrolls and whatnot for his Matron.”

“Nevertheless, it is what he intends.”

Lyzira sniffed, and returned to her dinner. A comfortable enough silence settled between them. She was capable of letting him be, when she didn’t have some ridiculous notion to bring to his attention. Her sense of when to pester and when not to push had improved steadily over the years, and was one of the reasons he tolerated her friendship. Rizeth, though, was far from comfortable.

Ashenivir had his own life outside of the Arcanum and he couldn’t—shouldn’t—try to be a part of that. He took too much of it as it was. But if he could only persuade Ashenivir to do as Lyzira had suggested...He could remain at the Arcanum, give Rizeth a reason to justify continuing their arrangement, for he could hardly keep summoning him when he was serving House Zauvym. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

Three months. Four more scenes if he counted the one he had planned for tomorrow. Goddess, why had he ever set such limits?

You know why.

Rizeth drained his glass and tried not to slam it down. Four more scenes.

He would just have to make them count.

---

Ashenivir knelt in the centre of Rizeth’s sanctum, head bowed and elbows clasped behind his back. Rizeth trailed light fingertips over his shoulders, and he shivered at the touch, sighing. Time to let it all go. He’d tell Rizeth about his graduation later—he wanted to enjoy the evening first.

“It will doubtless please you to know you will be fucked tonight.” Rizeth said.

“It does please me, Master,” he replied, and was certain he felt Rizeth’s brief smile behind him. He had promised himself he would learn to read his Master better, and had applied himself to the study of Rizeth’s moods with all his usual diligence over the past couple of months. He had a long way to go, he felt, but he was getting there. Rizeth wasn’t unreadable, he was just…subtle.

The more he studied it, the more Ashenivir liked it.

“You will not, however, be fucking me.” Rizeth stepped in front of him and tipped his chin up with light, firm fingers. “You are not Ra’soltha tonight,” he said. “Tonight, you are xi’hum.”

Ashenivir frowned as he translated the word. It wasn’t High Drow as such, just old-fashioned.

“A pet, Master?”

“A plaything.”

His mind dredged up the other meanings of the word—plaything, yes, a toy in the manner of an object, something to be used for the speaker’s pleasure. Ashenivir flushed at the idea, finding something incredibly appealing about the concept of being Rizeth’s toy. Certainly his Master knew well enough how to play with him.

“What will we be casting, Master?” he asked. His presence in the sanctum meant they would cast something, and he knew also that they would do it as one, as they always had. Rizeth did not answer immediately, instead dragging his thumb across Ashenivir’s lip, letting him lick it, suck it into his mouth. Ashenivir hummed, pleased, and bit Rizeth’s knuckle.

“Behave.” Rizeth grasped his jaw and shook his head from side to side. Ashenivir tried not to smile, enjoying the admonition, and relaxed his mouth—much as he appreciated his punishments, he had no desire to incite a real one tonight. “As to your question; we shall be engaging in a conjuration.”

Rizeth went to the workbench along the wall and took something from a tray, some dark orange, fleshy thing. Ashenivir took the offered item, excitement swarming in his stomach. It was a sucker—from a giant octopus by the size of it—and he could recall only one spell that required such a component. He lifted his gaze to Rizeth, fully aware of just how much his eagerness showed on his face.

Ashenivir’s favourite small, amused smile twitched Rizeth’s mouth. “I see you know the spell, xi’hum.”

The speeding thrum of his pulse vibrated in every inch of his body as he rose at his Master’s command. Rizeth took up a familiar position behind him, and Ashenivir shivered at the light brush of hands skimming down his bare arms. He raised them at Rizeth’s touch, the sucker now held out before them, cool palms caressing the backs of his hands.

“You’ll be the one controlling them, won’t you, Master?”

“Of course.” Rizeth’s breath was hot against his neck. “It would hardly be suitable for a xi’hum to be in charge of them, would it?”

Goddess, he loved how his Master’s voice vibrated against his skin when they were close like this, as though the words had come from his own throat.

“No, Master. But what will you do?”

“I will observe.”

He manipulated Ashenivir’s fingers, sketching them through the somatic gestures slowly at first, then with greater speed and smoothness as Ashenivir grasped the motions. Flickers of dull Weave nudged at his senses—it would take only the words to bring the spell fully to life. Rizeth murmured them against his ear, and it took just one recitation for him to know them.

“Cast with me,” Rizeth commanded, and Ashenivir obeyed. Their voices rose as one, the floor darkened before them and, at the height of the spell, Ashenivir cast the octopus sucker into the shadow. It vanished with a wet, lascivious sound, and the dark patch widened, spreading like spilled ink until it lapped his feet. With the spell well in motion, Rizeth stepped away, leaving him alone with what they had conjured.

The darkness began to bubble and writhe, blunt nubs pushing up and sinking back, rising higher with every passing second. Ashenivir’s heart thundered in his ears as one lengthened and stretched up towards him until it wound about his calf and thigh like the rope of entanglement, only thicker, slicker, heavier.

He did not think the tentacles as defined by Evard acted quite like this. He was not familiar enough with the spell to be able to say exactly where Rizeth had modified it, yet Ashenivir was certain he had. He was also certain he would enjoy it, as he enjoyed all his Master’s altered spells.

A second tentacle slid around his other leg, followed by another and another, feeling their way up his body with their blind, blunt lengths. They caressed his sensitive flesh, finding their way between his thighs and over his hip; they wrapped around his waist and lifted him, working in concert to arrange him to their liking. No, not their liking—Ashenivir glanced to where Rizeth leaned against the workbench, watching him intently.

They were arranging him to his Master’s liking.

Rizeth flicked a finger and the tentacles hauled Ashenivir high, yanking his legs apart. The ones that had been oh-so-gentle between his legs now moved with firm purpose. His eyes went wide as one squirmed its way inside him; not entirely solid, but firm enough to stretch him all the same.

“Oh, Goddess!”

In it went, and in, deeper than any cock, filling him with its slick, writhing mass. He let out a moan of confused delight, and the moment his mouth opened, another tentacle took advantage and forced its way between his lips. His cry of surprise was muffled by the dark length now fucking into his throat, and he did what any good Ra’soltha would do in such a situation: he relaxed his mouth and sucked. It tasted not quite like cock, but somehow like his Master, the flavour of his magic, some distant cousin of iron and honey.

The pool of inky darkness continued to pour forth more writhing appendages, and soon they encircled Ashenivir’s whole body, holding him so he could do nothing but grasp blindly for handholds that did not exist. They caught his arms, pinned them behind his back; they wrapped around his neck, a pressure on his throat reminiscent of his Master’s fingers. How many could the spell conjure, how many could Rizeth control?

The tentacle in his ass tensed, pulsing strangely. Ashenivir did not have long to wonder what was happening before it came inside him, hot and strange and good beyond measure. He moaned as it withdrew, splattering his thighs with thick spurts of hot fluid that for all the world felt like cum. He hoped it looked like cum, so that his Master could enjoy the sight of him so decorated. Another tentacle took the place of its spent brethren, but before Ashenivir had a chance to get re-accustomed to the strange, squirming rhythm, the one in his mouth tensed and pulsed and though he never could have hoped to swallow all that flooded from it, he tried anyway. It pulled free with a wet pop, and the slick drool of its release overflowed from his mouth.

Evard had never conceived of this!

Ashenivir smiled, and opened his mouth wide to accept the new tentacles that came to claim his throat. Xi’hum indeed. He was more than happy to be his Master’s plaything. As another set of tentacles wrapped around his wrists and pulled his arms above his head, Ashenivir closed his eyes and let himself fall away into sensation.

---

Rizeth had been planning this spell all month and now he regretted every second he’d wasted on it. Oh, Ashenivir looked as fine as he could have wanted, squirming amidst the mass of swarming tentacles as they fucked him, filled him, coated him with their unnatural fluids, but it was not him inside of his Ra’soltha. It was his spell, yes, but it was not him.

He kept seeing that boy in the hall. Knowing Ashenivir had gone to others had been bad enough; seeing it had been nigh unbearable. Hands that weren’t his, touching him. A mouth that was not his, kissing him, tasting him, taking so blatantly and freely what he could not—!

Rizeth closed his eyes. Took a breath.

This was why he’d made the spell. He needed to pull back more, the way he’d so far failed to, and the modification had been designed to allow him control and intimacy without putting himself in range of the dangerous feelings that touching Ashenivir inspired in him lately. Ashenivir’s new title had also been supposed to help with that, to put some mental distance in place by making him more toy than submissive. Rizeth had forgotten the more contemporary meaning of the word as pet and Ashenivir’s bringing it up had softened all its edges.

Now it felt not distant but impossibly intimate, and it terrified him just how much he liked it.

Ashenivir let out a muted cry, drooling spit and cum around the thick black appendage filling his mouth. Smaller tentacles tightened about the base of his cock, squeezing, caressing, tormenting him just as well as Rizeth could have done with his own hands. He gripped his wrists behind his back. His plans had all been made before he’d learned of Ashenivir’s impending graduation, and now all he wanted to do was touch him as much as possible before he left his life for good.

I want him to stay, he thought, aching with it and wishing he didn’t. I want him to stay for me.

The sounds of Ashenivir’s pleasure at the tentacle’s ministrations filled the sanctum—a wet and desperately filthy ambience that made Rizeth yearn to be a part of it.

You can’t keep him. He’s earned this graduation, you’ve seen how hard he’s worked. You have to accept that this is over.

Ashenivir’s eyes flickered open, found his. They were glazed with pleasure, his face stained with indigo flush—he was utterly wrecked, impossibly beautiful in his ruination. He was always beautiful, Rizeth had learned, and in more ways than simply physical. There was something about him, some innate light of personality that drew Rizeth inexorably towards him, and why did it hurt so much to know he could not keep him?

He knew why, though the temptation whispered darkly in the back of his mind to try. To ask him to stay, command him, mark him.

Because that worked out so well the last time. Face the facts, Rizeth, he doesn’t want you the way you want him. He needs what you do for him, that’s all.

With a start, Rizeth realised he hadn’t looked away from Ashenivir all this time, was lost in his half-blank eyes. Ashenivir probably barely saw him at all, would be unable to focus on anything save the immediate sensation of what was happening to him. Floating, the way he liked to. The way Rizeth liked him to.

Had he really been so upset when Rizeth had pulled back just because he needed what Rizeth did for him? Some days it hurt too much, he’d said, to think of his Master whilst he’d been in Sshamath, and Rizeth had thought for one impossible second that perhaps Ashenivir had missed him as much as he had missed his Ra’soltha.

He could feel himself hurtling down a path of dangerously wishful thinking, and knew he had to stop. He didn’t want to ruin this, didn’t want Ashenivir to hate him the way she had, and if he tried to make more of their arrangement than what it was, Ashenivir certainly would. Rizeth rose from the workbench, the tentacles parting to make way for him. He pulled them from Ashenivir’s mouth and the ones holding him lifted him at a mere thought—Rizeth hardly had to bend at all to kiss him.

He was a fool, and perhaps had always been one. Maybe if he’d grown up someplace else he wouldn’t be like this, so desperate to own someone just because he wanted them.

Ashenivir sighed into his kiss, and Rizeth shoved his foolish thoughts aside. He had three months left, and damn it all, he was going to enjoy them. Let it all go to pieces after Ashenivir had graduated—right now he was going to have what he wanted, even if it wasn’t as real as his stupid heart craved.

Rizeth closed his eyes, and savoured the taste of Ashenivir on his tongue.

Mine for now. For just a little longer.

---

His Master was kissing him. That was nice—unexpected, given he’d said he’d only watch, but nice. Ashenivir accepted Rizeth’s tongue gladly, sliding his own against it with a low moan. Another tentacle came inside of him; the slick fluid it left behind and the wet sound of another taking its place barely even registered any more. He was a vessel, and happy to be one.

Ashenivir made a startled noise as the tentacles shifted suddenly around him. They tipped him onto his back, legs still spread wide and now his Master stood between them. The delicate one wrapped around his cock flexed.

Rizeth stepped closer, trailing his hand up the inside of Ashenivir’s sticky thigh.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question! Ashenivir nodded, and something nudged at his entrance. No, something was already inside him, a thick and squirming tentacle fucking deep into him—his breath quickened.

“Relax, xi’hum,” Rizeth murmured, leaning close. The tentacles haloed him in slithering darkness so he was all Ashenivir could see. “Just breathe. Remember, I stop if you ask.”

Ashenivir’s arm was freed and he looped it around Rizeth’s neck, limp and strengthless but in position to tap for an ending if he needed to. Rizeth pressed his mouth to Ashenivir’s then, and slowly worked his cock into him alongside the still-pumping tentacle. Ashenivir screamed into Rizeth’s throat as he was filled more completely than ever before, and squeezed his eyes shut against the enormity of the sensation, struggling to breathe as his Master had commanded.

“Good boy,” Rizeth kissed his throat, licked his racing pulse. “So good for your Master.”

Ashenivir could only whine incoherently. He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except take it. Rizeth’s pace was slow and steady compared to the tentacle’s desperate writhing—lightning shocks of pleasure rocketed up his spine, each more powerful than the last. Rizeth slid a hand into the tangles of his hair and held him steady to kiss him deeply whilst the tentacles continued their maddening touches.

It was unbearable. Ashenivir whimpered, kissed Rizeth back desperately, trying to tell him without words how close he was because he’d lost his voice long ago.

“Come for me,” Rizeth whispered against his lips, and Ashenivir whited out. His head filled with vibrating static, his body humming on a high frequency of pleasure. Rizeth swallowed the animal sound of his orgasm, and Ashenivir had no idea if his Master followed him over the edge, he was too far gone—all he knew was that the tentacles were withdrawing now, vanishing in a swirl of shadow, and all that held him up was his Master. He collapsed forwards and Rizeth caught him.

“Good, xi’hum. Very good.”

Ashenivir curled his fingers into Rizeth’s shirt. Yes, he was good, a good plaything, a good pet. A hand stroked his hair and he whined, eyes falling closed as he was lifted into his Master’s arms and carried from the room.

He leaned his head against Rizeth’s shoulder. Xi’hum. A new name, a new title.

He liked it very much.

---

Rizeth took his time in bringing Ashenivir back. He carefully fed him a restorative to return the strength to his limbs, and another to speed his healing process. Rings of bruises faded away, and the focus gradually came back into his eyes, though he was still hazy and voiceless even as Rizeth helped him into the bath. He was steady enough that Rizeth was confident he would not pass out and drown himself, so he sat on the bench along the wall and folded his hands into his lap and told himself that watching Ashenivir bathe was enough.

“Master, there’s something I should tell you,” Ashenivir said, when at last his voice had returned. He slid down until his chin touched the water, hair floating about him in delicate tangles.

“You will be graduating at the end of the year.” Rizeth kept all inflection out of his tone; he would not steal the joy from Ashenivir’s achievement. He flicked a mage hand into motion and sent it to untangle Ashenivir’s hair. “I am aware. Your other teachers are impressed with your efforts, as well they ought to be.”

“The Archmage himself gave his commendations in his letter.” Ashenivir lifted the elegant line of his leg and stretched out his foot. The mage hand drifted a goodly way towards it before Rizeth caught himself.

“It…it’s a good accomplishment, isn’t it?” Ashenivir asked.

“It is,” Rizeth confirmed. “You have done exceptionally well. You still have three months to go, however, and the final exams are no easy task. The graduation exams I oversaw at the solstice saw many apprentices fail to meet their challenge.”

“Do you think I’ll fail, at the years-end ones?”

Rizeth almost wanted him to. If he failed, he would stay, at least until the middle of next year and the next round of exams.

“No,” he said. “I do not.”

Ashenivir hummed a noise of acknowledgement and sank further into the bath, ducking his head below the water. For someone on track to reach one of the greatest parts of a young wizard’s life, he did not seem as happy as Rizeth had expected him to. Then again, he was likely just exhausted.

When Ashenivir resurfaced, Rizeth dismissed the mage hand and helped him from the bath. His skin was perfectly soft and warm under his palms as he dressed him, and taking his hands away was nothing short of torturous. He hadn’t wanted extensive closeness after a scene in decades—he wanted now to take Ashenivir to bed, to lie down with him and hold him close and breathe him in.

“Are you certain of what you will do when you graduate?” he asked, to distract himself. Ashenivir nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“As my Matron wishes—take my brother’s place as House wizard. It’s the reason I came here, after all.”

Rizeth smoothed Ashenivir’s robes over his shoulders for the excuse to keep touching him. One hand curved over his neck, Ashenivir’s collar cool beneath his palm; Ashenivir leaned into the touch, looking at him now but with an unhappy cast to his eyes. Rizeth spoke before he could convince himself not to.

“You know, you are an excellent candidate for taking on a teaching position yourself, if you wanted.”

Ashenivir frowned. “It’s not what Matron Zauvym needs from me.”

“Remember what I told you before you left,” Rizeth said. “You will not always have to do as your family demands.”

“Family is important.”

“True.” Rizeth moved his hand to Ashenivir’s cheek, and he pressed into it with a soft hum. It’s just comedown, it doesn’t mean anything. “But they are not everything.”

“You could…you could command me to…” Ashenivir trailed off, sighing.

“I could not. I would not—but I would ask that you consider what it is that you want.”

It’s not going to be you, Rizeth. It never will be.

“I…I’ll think about it.”

“That is all I ask. You do not lie to me here, but I do not want you to lie to yourself either, not about your future. Your needs are paramount in your life.”

“Yes, Master.” Ashenivir did not sound wholly convinced.

“And if you require any assistance in preparing for your exams, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Of course, Master.”

When Ashenivir had gone, the silence in his quarters became unpleasantly oppressive. Rizeth wandered back to his sanctum, gazing at the empty space where the conjured tentacles had been. Not a trace of them remained, of course—no trace of their encounters ever did, save memories and Ashenivir’s collar.

Three more months. Three more scenes. Then this brief chapter of his life would be over.

He turned from the room, closing the door too hard behind him. It had been too long since he’d taken a trip to the surface, he thought. Once a decade had been his habit, but it had been closer to three now. When Ashenivir graduated, he would take some time off. Clear his head.

Perhaps a few months of sunlight would burn these foolish desires out of him once and for all.