Chapter Two
Crystal Hot Springs, the town was called. A cavern of twisting rivers and wide, dark pools criss-crossed with stone bridges, all scattered around a vast central geyser whose heat had been palpable since the moment they’d arrived. Copper pipes sprouted from the water to run like metallic vines from building to building, hissing with irregular gouts of steam beneath the slowly pulsing amber glow that emanated from great clusters of crystals embedded in the cavern ceiling.
“It almost feels like home to have light above us again,” Ashenivir said. Rizeth could practically hear his mind whirring away, trying to solve everything he saw—or at least to find the right question to ask about it. He was greatly enjoying seeing his apprentice’s wide-eyed curiosity in full colour again. “Oh, what’s that?”
He darted to the side of the bridge they were crossing, and Rizeth had to grab his arm to keep him from going over the edge.
“If you are that desperate for a bath, apprentice, I am certain we can find you one.”
Ashenivir made no attempt to pull out of his grasp and simply pointed down at the steaming water. “There are merfolk here!”
Sure enough, there were. Three of them sculled along under the bridge, apparently unaffected by the near-scalding water. Ashenivir leaned out over the edge again, precarious. Rizeth hauled him back.
“You will have ample time to interrogate the townsfolk later,” he said. “We have a few days here whilst the caravan resupplies.”
“A few days in an inn?”
The flush on Ashenivir’s face was more than heat. With the Arcanum long miles behind, and the surface a good two tendays of travel away yet, four walls and a door sounded very close to paradise. Rizeth realised he was still holding Ashenivir’s arm. He released it, quickly clasping his hands behind his back.
“I am certain we can find one.”
It didn’t take much searching to do so. The Gleaming Burrow seemed as well-kept as any Mythen Thaelan establishment, and Nankaraya, the elderly svirfneblin who ran the place, greeted them like long-lost friends. After introducing them to her equally aged drow wife, Vieranna, she rattled off a list of the establishment’s services embellished with a vast quantity of rambling anecdotes. Having, in the span of minutes, learned more about the town and the mayor and the local crafts scene than he ever wanted to know, Rizeth finally managed to cut through the chatter long enough to secure a room.
He sent Ashenivir off with their bags to find it whilst he tried to extricate some useful information about the town from the talkative old women.
“There’s the Vault of Need,” Nankaraya said, when he asked after arcane suppliers. “Shavildi’s always got useful bits and bobs.”
“Got good business contacts, does that girl,” Vieranna added.
“Debatable business contacts, you mean,” Nankaraya sniffed. “I’ve seen the look of some of those boys. Menzo kiddies, from down your way.” This last she directed at Rizeth.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said stiffly. “I settled in Mythen Thaelas some time ago.”
“Oh, I’d love to go there.” Vieranna leaned against the bar with her chin in her hands. “Does the cavern really glow?”
“Our cavern glows, beloved,” Nankaraya pointed out.
“Yes, but that one’s blue.”
Rizeth excused himself, feeling he’d endured as much of the proprietors as politeness demanded, and went to find Ashenivir and their room. Two beds, of course. Taking reverie a foot away from him all the way here had been a special kind of torture. He’d kept snapping awake, petrified he’d find himself having rolled over and pulled Ashenivir into his arms.
He paused at the top of the stairs and rubbed his temples. It would be easier once they were on the surface with a settled place to stay. He could partition his feelings off into one room, and at the very least he’d rest easier being able to touch Ashenivir again—if he could occasionally feed his craving, maybe he could keep it from launching out of him and terrifying Ashenivir right back to Mythen Thaelas.
The room Nankaraya had given them was at the end of the hall. Rizeth stepped inside and immediately slammed the door shut behind him.
Ashenivir knelt, naked, in the centre of the floor, in perfect position with his head bowed. He raised it as Rizeth entered, and even in this unfamiliar place where he had no safeguards, where the door wasn’t even locked, he felt at once an enormous sense of relief.
He found the key still in the lock and turned it. The room was small, the rug worn, the sconce lights too bright, and he could hear chatter from the taproom below, yet Ashenivir’s presence nullified every irritation of this imperfect place. Rizeth crossed to him, forcing his steps slow, and hooked a knuckle under his chin. In that always-expressive face, he saw an echo of the relief that filled his own soul.
“Master,” Ashenivir breathed out. Relief—and need.
“I take it you are hungry, Ra’soltha.”
“Always, Master.”
He ran his thumb over Ashenivir’s lower lip, pressed it into a mouth that opened willingly to his slightest touch. A quiet moan, more felt than heard, slipped from Ashenivir as he sucked; a small sound, for how much gratitude it contained. Rizeth grasped his hair tight and pulled his head back, drawing a pretty gasp and a prettier whine.
“Open wide,” he commanded, and Ashenivir did. He left him like that whilst he removed his travelling cloak and swept a quick prestidigitation over himself to clear away the grime of the road. Not as good as a real bath, but he wasn’t about to wait any longer than he had to.
Ashenivir’s mouth was still open when he returned. Rizeth stroked his cheek.
“Such a patient boy,” he said. “You may feed yourself now.”
Ashenivir lunged forwards. His fingers were clumsy at the laces of Rizeth’s breeches, then eager and warm around his cock, stroking him to hardness in short order. Rizeth slid a hand back into his hair, restraining him just enough to remind him who was in control.
“Thank you, Master.” Ashenivir dragged his tongue up the length of Rizeth’s cock. “Thank you.” He took the head into his mouth, swept his tongue across the tip, the lick accompanied by a sweet, satisfied moan—his next thank you was muffled around it, and heat pulsed in Rizeth’s stomach. Ashenivir gazed up at him with a mouth full of cock and eyes full of need and oh, he’d missed that look.
“Very good, Ra’soltha,” he said. “Do you want more?”
A nod, and an urgent press of tongue. Rizeth allowed him a moment to anticipate, then hauled his head down. Desperate groans slipped from him as he struggled to breathe, hands already behind his back again, well-trained after so many years. Rizeth took his mouth hard, savouring the choked noises as his cock hit the back of Ashenivir’s throat. Pleasure burned through him, and he tightened his grip.
“I am going to come in your mouth,” he said. Ashenivir moaned—his eyes watered, glistening like liquid desire. “Afterwards, you may touch yourself until you swallow. Am I understood?”
Ashenivir’s hum of acknowledgement vibrated against his cock. Rizeth hauled on his hair again, too pent-up to drag this out, and Ashenivir too delicious to even try. It wasn’t long before he finished, and he watched with great satisfaction as Ashenivir knelt before him with cum pooled on his tongue and hurriedly brought himself to completion.
Afterwards, he sat on one of the beds with Ashenivir knelt at his feet, clean and satisfied. He made soft, near-purring noises as Rizeth stroked his hair, letting out a contented sigh when Rizeth’s nails scraped lightly over his scalp.
“I missed this.”
“I can tell.”
A swell of affection rose within him as Ashenivir pressed closer to his legs; he ignored it and drew one of his bags over. A moment’s thought called the first item to hand within the extradimensional space—he dropped it into Ashenivir’s lap, drawing a startled sound.
“What—?”
He dropped a second item, then a third, making no effort to hide his amusement at the astonishment on Ashenivir’s. The rope of entanglement, the lightning gauntlet, the manacles and their chains—Ashenivir picked up a coil of rope and turned hopeful eyes on him.
“Not here,” he said. Ashenivir pouted. “Wipe that look off your face. I have no intention of neglecting your needs once we reach the surface.”
“Thank you, Master,” Ashenivir said, the eagerness in his voice too much to bear. Master and Ra’soltha, that’s all you are. He doesn’t want more than that. Rizeth busied himself returning the toys to their bag so he wouldn’t have to look at him.
“You may thank me properly later.”
Ashenivir beamed. “I look forward to it.”
They retired for the evening in their separate beds, further apart than they’d been in days, and Rizeth spent most of his resting hours staring furiously at the ceiling and battling the urge to order Ashenivir into bed with him. The only consolation was that at least when he woke from what reverie he did manage to snatch, he didn’t have a damned crick in his neck.
This town hadn’t been here the last time he’d gone to the surface. Whether it had sprung up in the decades since he’d returned to the Underdark, or whether it simply hadn’t been a part of any caravan routes back then, he was uncertain. Either way, it was a pleasant enough little oasis of a trading hub, if a tad sweltering for his tastes.
He found the store Nankaraya had mentioned easily enough, though the Vault of Need turned out to have little of use to him. No Menzo kiddies present either, just another chatty svirfneblin woman, and he’d far rather endure that than any current residents of his former home.
He did pick up a few shards of the crystal that proliferated on the cavern ceiling from her—if nothing else, the fact that it continued to glow after it had been harvested made it useful, and he thought perhaps Ashenivir might like it. He realised afterwards that what he’d just done was buy Ashenivir a souvenir, and debated whether throwing himself into the geyser might not be the simplest cure for his idiocy.
A long, distracting walk seemed the second-best solution, and one considerably less scalding, so Rizeth went wandering. He spent a good few hours taking in the small town and the svirfneblin ingenuity prevalent throughout. Not a speck of magic in the machines that harnessed the heat of the springs; all of it was pure engineering. Ashenivir would be fascinated, he thought, then winced. So much for a distraction.
He made it back to the inn without giving in to the urge to fling himself into the geyser, more than half-hoping Ashenivir would still be in their room. The safe structure of dynamic might calm him, and he wanted to take full advantage of the few days of semi-privacy the stay here afforded them. Ashenivir, however, was not in their room. He’d gone to the Burrow’s private baths, Nankaraya told him, which were available to any who stayed there for a small fee.
Do not do it, said the voice of reason.
“How much?” said Rizeth.
It took him a moment to find Ashenivir through the thick haze of steam that hung over the bathing pools; he was half hidden behind one of the fungal blooms that served as decoration, sunk in the water with his eyes closed, looking more relaxed than he had in days. The heat flushed him, made his skin glow, and he had his hair bound in a loose knot to keep it out of the water. If he sat up, away from the edge, his mark would be visible.
Rizeth very badly wanted him to sit up.
“Enjoying yourself, apprentice?”
Ashenivir started up with a splash. “Master! I…yes, it’s wonderful.”
Rizeth stepped down into the bath, seating himself on the low stone bench alongside Ashenivir. The hot water was a marvel, and some of the tension at last lifted from his shoulders, not least for the fact that they were alone. Not quite the privacy of their room as he’d hoped for, but a sliver of safety for now.
Ashenivir lifted his arms in a languid stretch, angling his head in such a manner that Rizeth at last saw his mark. Clear, pale lines of magic—his magic—emblazoned on enticingly wet skin. He gripped the bench tightly.
“I think I prefer your bathing room, though,” Ashenivir said, lowering his arms as he shifted closer.
“Behave yourself, Master Zauvym.”
“You know I don’t like it when you call me that.” Ashenivir, teasing intent glittering in his eyes, climbed into his lap. “Call me by my real title.”
“Apprentice—”
“Not that one.” His voice was husky, dangerously hungry—Goddess, they needed to get to the surface, this was absolutely out of hand. Rizeth’s hand, in the meantime, had found its way into Ashenivir’s hair, and to keep himself from stroking it, he grabbed it. Hard.
“Behave yourself, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth growled, and hauled him into a kiss. Ashenivir opened to him, the taste of his mouth after so long enough to make Rizeth’s head spin. He’s mine. Why should I have to deny myself this because some stranger might see?
His other hand curved over the back of Ashenivir’s neck, and the mark seemed to thrum beneath his touch, calling to its maker. Ashenivir moaned into his mouth, rocking against him. Rizeth bit his lip.
“I told you to behave.”
Ashenivir bit him back. “Make me.”
Rizeth knew exactly what he was doing and let him, because it was Ashenivir and what other choice did he have? He pulled him close and put his mouth to his neck, over his racing pulse. Wet skin, hot beneath his tongue, and this impossible boy grinding atop him, apparently in a disobedient mood today, and he would punish him later; right now Rizeth wanted and damn it, he was going to have—
“Don’t tell me you’re shy, Bhalrom!” Xullzalle’s voice floated through the steam, followed by a laugh. “You’re normally so confident in all things.”
“I’m confident I can drown you if the mood takes me.”
There were a half-dozen pools out back of the inn, but of course the footsteps came towards theirs. Rizeth pushed Ashenivir back onto the bench, putting a good clean foot between them before Xullzalle and Bhalrom appeared. The duergar had a death grip on the towel around his waist; the scout was unbothered by such things, and leapt into the pool with an almighty splash.
“Masters Velkon’yss and Zauvym!” they exclaimed upon surfacing. “Enjoying the springs?”
Rizeth cleared his throat and made an exceptional effort not to look at Ashenivir.
“They are hospitable enough.”
Xullzalle beamed. “Now then, Master Ironbelcher, in you come.” They reached up and yanked Bhalrom into the pool—his curses echoed off the stone, and Rizeth took the opportunity to make his escape. He was supremely glad for the heavy layer of steam as Ashenivir followed him from the bath, though Bhalrom and Xullzalle were too absorbed in their argument to pay attention to anything else.
He caught Ashenivir’s arm at the door to the changing-rooms.
“I know you know you are in trouble.”
Ashenivir dropped his gaze, but Rizeth could tell he was fighting a smile. Satisfaction and lingering hunger radiated off of his Ra’soltha, and only decades of carefully constructed self-control kept Rizeth from putting him over his knee right then and there. He sighed, more affection than annoyance, and released him.
“Behave.”
Ashenivir’s smile at last broke free, though he ducked his head to try to hide it.
“Yes, Master.”
Ashenivir worked his fingers idly through the damp tangles of his hair as he followed Rizeth back into the inn. He’d tied it up out of the way, but it had still gotten in a mess. Rizeth’s fault for pulling it. His fault for misbehaving.
Yes, he was in trouble, but how lovely it was to be able to get into trouble again! And he was looking forward to exploring the town with Rizeth after his punishment—he’d missed his Master’s voice, and intended to ask as many questions as possible to indulge in the sound. He tugged his hair over his shoulder, picking out knots. It left his mark exposed again, but what did that matter, when Rizeth was the only one who knew what it meant? As far as anyone else was concerned, it was just a tattoo.
Rizeth halted in the doorway, so suddenly Ashenivir nearly walked into him. The line of his shoulders had gone tense, the taproom ahead deathly silent.
“What is it, Master?”
“New arrivals.” Rizeth’s voice was quiet, colder than Ashenivir had ever heard it. It was soon clear why.
There was a drow at the bar, talking with Vieranna. She was tall, clad in dark leather armour edged with silver, a deep red cloak draped over her shoulders. She had her hair pulled back high and tight, exaggerating sharp cheekbones and the harsh tilt of her brows. As she shifted her weight to lean on the bar, Ashenivir got a better look at the design emblazoned on her cloak in thick, black lines.
A spider.
His breath caught. A Lolthite. A spider priestess, a real one, right here, right in front of him. And she wasn’t alone—there were two armed males with her, the same spider splashed across their dark cuirasses in stark white.
Horror stories of the Cult of Lolth had kept him up at night for tendays as a child, whispered tales of cruelty and torture, of the dark rites the Spider Queen demanded of Her followers. Yet he’d never actually seen one before, and aside from the cloak, she didn’t look so bad. At least no more intimidating than some of the Darksong Knights he’d met.
Vieranna handed the Lolthite a key, not looking happy about it. The Lolthite smiled, a harsh upward twist of her mouth.
“I get the distinct feeling I am not welcome, cousin! I thought this was neutral territory.”
“It is,” Vieranna ground out. “You have your room. Don’t bother the other guests.”
“There will be no issue so long as they know how to act around their betters.”
The Lolthite clicked her fingers, and she and her escort swept up the stairs. The moment she was gone, the whole taproom breathed a sigh of relief. Vieranna slumped over the bar with her face in her hands.
Rizeth finally moved, and Ashenivir followed him mutely over to a table as the taproom chatter picked back up again. All the lingering warmth of the bath had evaporated.
“Don’t you boys worry about her,” Nankaraya said, when she brought them over a pot of tea, along with steaming bowls of white noodles in broth. “She’ll not be any trouble, or she’ll be out on her ear.”
Ashenivir thanked her quietly, unnerved more by Rizeth’s continued silence than by the Lolthite’s presence. He sipped at the tea Ashenivir poured for him, and ate methodically, mechanically—Ashenivir wished he knew what to say to ease his tension. He picked at his own food, sneaking glances at Rizeth and growing more concerned with every silent second that passed.
He was reaching to pour himself another cup of tea when Rizeth leapt to his feet, eyes flashing. Ashenivir opened his mouth to ask what was going on, and the next thing he knew, his face was pressed into the table and the teapot was smashed on the floor.
“Now here’s a rare sight,” the Lolthite purred. The edges of her gauntleted fingers dug into Ashenivir’s neck. “A Mythen Thaelan back in his proper place. You must have paid a pretty price for this one, cousin.”
Ashenivir struggled in her grip, cringing at the feel of her breath on his neck. She was examining something—his mark. For some reason, it had caught her attention.
“Get your hands off him,” Rizeth snapped, the words taut with fury. Ashenivir couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but the table and the vague shapes of the Lolthite’s armed entourage out of the corner of his eye.
“Possessive of your pets, are you? I’m not surprised, given how rarely those runaway slaves let themselves get re-captured.” She pressed harder on Ashenivir’s neck, trailing her other hand down his back. Panicky static roared in his head; he couldn’t think, he wanted to be sick, he had to make her let go, why couldn’t he tell her to let go? “What are you doing wandering around unsupervised, anyway? Does your Matron know you’re here?”
“I said, get your hands off him.”
“Neutral territory, priestess,” Nankaraya called. Her voice held none of its usual friendly bounce. “Make it hostile and you’re out.”
There was a horrible pause. Ashenivir seemed to hear spiders skittering past his ear. Then the Lolthite shoved his head into the table again, hard enough to make him see stars, and at last let go.
“Neutral territory,” she acknowledged. Ashenivir lay frozen, not daring to move. “You’ve lost your way, cousin. I’ll be sure to make a sacrifice to bring your soul back to the web.”
Her footsteps stomped away across the taproom, but Ashenivir didn’t sit up until he heard the door slam. His heart pounded, he couldn’t catch his breath, and he knew, abstractly, that he was shaking. He stared at the table, trying desperately to keep his mind inside his body.
“I am so sorry, my love,” Nankaraya said, as she and Vieranna hurried over. “We don’t get her kind here often. They mostly avoid us.”
“Are you alright?” Vieranna’s hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched.
“I…” He glanced at Rizeth. There was a fury in his face Ashenivir had never seen before. He’d seen him angry, yes, but not like this, not like he was on the verge of something violent. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? If you need anything, just say the word.” Nankaraya’s brow was creased with concern. She swore something in Gnomish. “Damn the mayor and his neutral territory, I should kick her out!”
“It’s alright, really,” Ashenivir said. He forced a smile. “I…I think I’ll just go and lie down for a bit. I’m sorry about the teapot.”
“Don’t you worry about that, it’s nothing—oh, go with him, Master Velkon’yss,” Vieranna said. “He’s not alright at all!”
“Of course.” Rizeth’s voice was clipped, sharp. “Come along, apprentice.”
Ashenivir stood, vaguely amazed to find enough strength in his legs to carry him. The world had narrowed to only the strip of floor between him and the stairs, but that was alright; he only needed to balance on it until he made it to their room. Leaving the concerned taproom to the reassurance of its owners, Ashenivir kept his head down and followed after his Master.
The second the door shut, Rizeth had him up against it. Ashenivir gasped into the harsh kiss, head spinning, eyes wide, what little breath he’d recovered gone again in an instant. Rizeth’s hands were everywhere at once, grabbing at his clothes, his hair, his collar.
“How dare she?”
“Master—”
“How dare she touch you?” Rizeth’s full weight pinned him to the door, the hand in his hair tight—too tight. “She doesn’t have the right to lay a finger on you, you’re mine.”
His voice was rough, edged with the same near-violent anger that had darkened his face just moments before, and when his hand wrapped around Ashenivir’s throat, for once Ashenivir didn’t want more. Static still threatened beneath the surface of his mind, and this was not the Master he needed right now. He couldn’t get the words out between the tightness of his lungs and Rizeth’s furious mouth on his, but he didn’t need words.
He tapped Rizeth’s hip three times.
Rizeth at once went still. His hands fell away, and he dropped his forehead to Ashenivir’s shoulder, his next words no more than a ragged whisper.
“I’m sorry, Ra’soltha.” He pressed his face to Ashenivir’s neck for a moment, breath unsteady. Ashenivir had almost found the nerve to wrap his arms around him when he abruptly stepped back, half turning away. “I’m sorry, I—”
Ashenivir laid a tentative hand on his arm.
“Master, are…are you alright?”
He didn’t know if it was his hand or Rizeth’s arm that was shaking. When Rizeth turned back to him, there was still so much anger in his eyes it was hard to hold his gaze. For a moment he just stood there, his mouth a thin, pale line—then all at once he drew Ashenivir into his arms. The embrace was tight, near crushing, but the strength of it eased his breath. He pressed his face to Rizeth’s chest. Safe. He was safe now.
“Why did she think I was a slave?” he asked. Rizeth was silent for so long Ashenivir thought he hadn’t heard the question, and when he did answer it was low, halting, as though he didn’t want to speak at all.
“They brand their slaves,” he said. “They mark their property.”
He drew back, an urgency in his eyes almost as unsettling as the anger had been. “That is not what your mark is, I promise you, Ashenivir, you are not a—”
“I know,” Ashenivir said. “I never thought that.”
Rizeth stared at him, searching his face, his grip unyielding, as if he thought Ashenivir might run if he let go. Then he sighed, his arms relaxed, and he leaned his forehead to Ashenivir’s.
“I hate that place,” he said, still low but softer now. “What it forces you to be if you want to survive. And I loathe even more those like her who keep it that way by force and by fear.”
Ashenivir remained silent. Rizeth never talked about his time in Menzoberranzan—Ashenivir didn’t even know how long he’d lived there before he came to Mythen Thaelas.
“Decades I’ve been gone and still it finds me.” He’d gone so quiet Ashenivir could hardly make out the words.
“It’s not your home,” he said.
“No,” Rizeth replied. “It never was.”
He kissed Ashenivir again, gentle now—all the rage and hurt seemed to have at last gone out of him. Ashenivir’s own heart had calmed, and he sighed as Rizeth’s tongue touched his lips. He let him in, this more familiar Master, let Rizeth pull him close with one hand on the small of his back and the other curved over his mark. He could have gone on kissing him all afternoon if it was like this.
Rizeth broke away.
“Enough,” he said, and put his fingers to Ashenivir’s lips when he tried to regain his mouth. “Enough, Ra’soltha. I need to clear my head.”
“Let me clear it, Master.”
“Not right now.” Rizeth stepped back, tugging his robes straight. “You should not go out alone whilst she is here. She will not hold to the neutrality of this place if she catches you where there are fewer witnesses.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ashenivir protested.
“Do not go out alone.” There was fear below the iron, Ashenivir could feel it. He bowed his head.
“Yes, Master.”
Rizeth blew out a short, sharp breath. “For better or worse, I know exactly what her kind are like, especially when it comes to Mythen Thaelans. Please do not put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I understand,” Ashenivir said. “I’ll be careful.”
“See that you are.” Rizeth’s expression softened, and he tucked Ashenivir’s hair behind his ear. “I do not enjoy the idea of you ending up in Menzoberranzan under her whip.”
His hand lingered, tracing the curve of Ashenivir’s ear, the line of his neck.
“I…” Ashenivir’s mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed. “You should be careful too, Master. It will be a very short trip for me if you die in a hot spring before we even reach the surface.”
Rizeth chuckled, though there was little humour in it. He dropped his hand. “I will speak with Master Do’tyl—he may agree to move some of the caravan guards here.”
Once he was gone, Ashenivir flopped face down on his bed with a groan. And the day had started out so well. He should have been halfway through a punishment by now, with the promise of exploring the town with Rizeth afterwards—instead he had to watch his back in case some overzealous cultist tried to drag him off to Menzoberranzan’s slave markets. At least they weren’t staying here long. And maybe the Lolthite would leave soon, knowing how unwanted she was.
He rolled over and touched his fingers to his lips. Rizeth had kissed him, which was some consolation at least, and he might get more over the next few days, for if it was too dangerous to wander the town, they’d just have to stay at the inn. Hiding from a Lolthite wouldn’t be so unpleasant, he felt, if it involved being locked in a room with his Master for hours on end.
That, in fact, sounded quite pleasant indeed.