To Know One's Limits

“Oh, this wedding is going to be simply perfect!” Matron Illiavra held up two near-identical silk swatches. “Which do you think, Ashenivir?”

“I thought Dirius said Fellanistra already had her dress?” Ashenivir replied, trying to keep his tone suitably non-confrontational. Maintaining the appropriate façade of dutiful compliance for his mother was, as usual, exhausting.

Matron Illiavra wrinkled her nose.

“That thing was her mother’s, and her grandmother’s before that. I will not have a daughter of mine looking so unfashionable.” She set the swatches aside and made a note in her neat little ledger. “It’s a shame it’s taken so long to finally be planning this—Dirius has been so very patient, Dark Lady bless his heart.”

“Less than a decade, mother,” Ashenivir said quietly.

“For the Arcanum, yes, but let’s not forget all that wasted time spent malingering about at the estate.”

Ashenivir’s stomach clenched, and he took a sip of his tea to try to calm it. It didn’t help. His mother insisted on making it for him when he visited, and she never got it right. It was always too bland—better for his health, she said, to not be as sweet as he liked it. The taste was irrelevant anyway. All that mattered was that drinking it made her happy, and Goddess knew he’d had few enough ways to do that in his life.

“Well, you took as long as you needed, I suppose.” Matron Illiavra finished with her ledger and started flipping through a pile of letters. “House Zauvym needs a good wizard to replace the one we’ll lose. I know you won’t disappoint me in that regard, judging by what I hear from the Arcanum. And I’m certain once he’s provided a few grandchildren, your brother will have time for us again.”

“Yes, mother.”

“And then I shall have both my sons back with me, and I shan’t be so lonely any longer,” she said, smiling. “You know, I’m very much looking forward to your coming home. Nilaena’s so quiet I scarcely know she’s here even when she isn’t at the Shrine.”

Don’t you ever wonder why she doesn’t speak around you? Ashenivir shoved the thought down. The last thing he needed was for his mother to see defiance on his face. He couldn’t handle an argument right now.

Ever since she’d learned of his graduation, her summons had been incessant. She needed his input—his compliant agreement, more like—on every little matter related to the wedding. She needed him to meet with Dirius and learn how he managed the magic for the estate, right down to every minor piece of decorative upkeep. She needed to explain to him, over and over, what his responsibilities would be once he came home.

“—do you think, Ashenivir?”

He blinked. “What?”

Matron Illiavra sighed sharply.

“I said, I might have to think about remarrying, after Dirius is wed. There’s no guarantee Fellanistra will have daughters, and I’ve always wanted another.”

Ashenivir’s jaw clenched, but somehow he managed to keep his voice level.

“If it is what you want, mother.”

She rose and came over to brush a hand through his hair. She tangled a few loose strands in her fingers.

“This needs cutting.” Ashenivir wanted to yank his head away from her touch—he didn’t dare. He just waited until she let go. “Well, any potential marriage is a ways off yet, since it relies on my finding a suitable male in this city.” She patted his cheek with a laugh. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll end up marrying before I do!”

“I do not think that likely. I’ve been too busy at the Arcanum to consider such things, and besides,” Ashenivir said, “you will still need me as House wizard. I wouldn’t be able to marry until you had another son.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Her smile turned coy. “I might make an exception for Lady Eilist’tra.”

His face heated the way it always did, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. He hated himself for the reaction because she’d read it wrong as usual, but he made the futile protest anyway.

“Mother, you know I’m not going to marry Keszriin.”

“You don’t have to keep hiding how you feel! You’re allowed to pursue her, even if she is of a ruling House.”

“That’s not…I’ve already told you I have no interest in women. Keszriin is a friend, nothing more.”

“This again.” She shook her head and crossed to the oversized wall mirror that reflected the dining room to twice its size. She kept hold of Ashenivir’s gaze within it as she adjusted the diamond clips in her coronet of braids. “How disappointing—I would have thought you’d outgrown that nonsense by now.”

“Mother, I—”

She cut him off, turning back to him.

“You’ll need to meet with Dirius again on your next visit. He and I have already drawn up plans for the next set of improvements to the estate, which you’ll be taking over. I know you have your exams as well, but you’ll manage it, won’t you?”

He wanted to scream at her that no, he wouldn’t manage it. He wouldn’t come and meet with Dirius, wouldn’t come back here ever again, not if she kept on treating him like this, like a failure who had to earn every half-ounce of respect she might deign to throw his way.

But he didn’t. He just smiled, sipped his too-bland tea, and bowed his head politely.

“I will do my best, mother.”

---

At the Arcanum he was safe. Matron Illiavra’s controlling grasp could not reach him here, not entirely—magic was his, his studies were his own, and he intended to enjoy the few months of freedom he had left as much as he could. No matter how sick the thought of it made him, he had earned this graduation, regardless of whose decision it had been to send him to the Arcanum in the first place.

His friends felt similarly that his achievement was well-earned; a cause for celebration, even. And, predictably, their plans were running away with them.

“No-one will notice a few missing driftglobes,” Dresvan said. “There’s so many in Tragdendeep you can’t turn around without bumping into one. The deep gnomes won’t care.”

They were clustered around a table in the recreation room, him and the Hyn twins. Keszriin was off ‘arranging things’ elsewhere in the city. That, Ashenivir was certain, was code for ‘getting carried away.’ Vuzree had washed their hands of the whole thing and was in the library, studying—Ashenivir wished he’d had the sense to go with them.

“And after dinner, we could go out to the lake.” Pellanue wriggled in her seat, thrilled at the idea. “We can do fireworks!”

“The kuttra’ih’aras don’t like it when people have parties in Kuttragarten,” Ashenivir pointed out. Pella rolled her eyes.

“Druids, schmuids, what are they going to do? Plant us?”

“We should still respect—”

“Who else is Keszriin bringing, do you know?” Dresvan interrupted. “Pell, weren’t the two of you working on guests together last night?”

“No-one you can get your grubby little hands on,” Pellanue said, then threw a wink at Ashenivir. “Maybe someone for you, though.”

If he could craft a spell to stop him blushing every time anything remotely resembling his love life was mentioned, Ashenivir would die happy. Pellanue grinned and leaned across the table to ruffle his hair.

“I hear K’yozen cleans up pretty good.”

“I…I’m not interested in him.” The memory of using him to try to provoke a reaction from Rizeth still made regret and guilt churn his stomach. That hadn’t been fair, to K’yozen or to Rizeth.

Dresvan poked his cheek. “Now say it without your face on fire.”

“Can’t we just have dinner or something?” Ashenivir tried. Pellanue sprawled across the table and grabbed his hands.

“Come on, Shen, you’re graduating! You have to let us treat you.” She gazed imploringly up at him, pouting. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, I promise, just show up and look cute.”

“I don’t know, I have so much to do,” Ashenivir said. He tugged his hands free and looked away. “Maybe it’d be better if we just…don’t do anything.”

“No, don’t say that! You know how disappointed Keszriin will be if we cancel everything.”

Ashenivir was saved from having to find a reply that wouldn’t make everything worse by the arrival of a message runner.

“Message for you, apprentice Zauvym!” Yevena beamed as she handed him the note, bouncing in place more than usual, practically vibrating where she stood. Ashenivir’s mood lifted when he saw the familiar neat, slanting handwriting. He barely took in what it actually said—the only important part was the date, six days from now, for his ‘monthly review’.

Thank Mystra.

“Um.” Yevena was still there, fidgeting with the end of her ponytail. “So, I heard you’re graduating soon.”

Ashenivir groaned. Did everyone at the Arcanum know what was going on in his life?

“Yes.”

“Great! I mean, congratulations and everything, and, um…” she was having trouble meeting his eyes, her face flushed deep indigo. Oh no, Yevena, please don’t— “Before you leave, would you…that is, can I…maybe take you out to dinner some time?”

Dresvan spoke up before Ashenivir could formulate a reply.

“Yevena, I hate to break it to you, but he’s gay.”

“Oh.” Yevena blinked. Her hand tightened around the strap of her satchel. “Um. Oh, Goddess, I’m sorry. Not about that, it’s fine that you’re…I mean…”

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Ashenivir said, and she looked so much like she was about to burst into tears that he was on the verge of just agreeing to go to dinner with her anyway, when she nodded frantically.

“Okay. Okay! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I have messages to deliver. Um. Have fun at graduation!”

She turned on her heel and fled. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the recreation room in uncomfortable silence. Ashenivir stared after her; he should follow, apologise, try to fix this—

Dresvan shoved his shoulder. “You were about to say yes to dinner with her!”

“No, I—”

“You’re a terrible liar, yes you were. I thought you had more spine than that—you talk back to Master Velkon’yss for Mystra’s sake!”

“That’s different, it—”

“Leave him alone, Dresvan.” Pellanue came around the table and pulled him into a protective hug, half-smothering him in the process. “He’s a nice boy who doesn’t like letting people down, unlike you.”

“Who do I let down?”

“Your teachers, our parents, society in general…shall I go on?”

Ashenivir sighed and leaned against Pella, ignored as the twins continued to bicker. Dresvan was right, where was his spine? Why couldn’t he just ask for what he wanted, the way he did with Rizeth?

He realised he still had the note in his hand, and managed a smile. At least there was one person he wasn’t going to disappoint.

---

“Mother, I think I should delay my graduation. Matron Illiavra, there’s been a mistake; there is an entire branch of study Ashenivir has managed to neglect and graduation will be impossible. Mother, I can’t leave the Arcanum, I’ve bound my life force to the building and will die if I walk out the doors.”

Ashenivir flopped face down onto his bed and mumbled into his pillow.

“Mother, I am an idiot and a doormat and if you send me one more summons, I’m going to run screaming into the Underdark and never come back.”

He rolled over and stared blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t have the energy to say no to her at present. Exam preparations were already eating up his time, and Keszriin’s graduation party had, in the span of a few days, spiralled entirely out of control. The past evening she’d cheerily handed him a list of names and Ashenivir had just sat there, unable to put faces to half of them, and let her chatter on about how excited she was about it all.

He couldn’t stop it, so why bother trying?

Ashenivir scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to force his exhaustion away, hating how out of control everything seemed to have gotten. Why couldn’t the rest of his life be as easy to face as his Master? He knew how to ask for what he wanted with Rizeth. He could tell his Master to stop when he needed it; had learned how to fail without wanting to curl up and die from it. Rizeth always gave him clear expectations, honest answers—never ridiculed him, or dismissed his feelings, or treated him like an object instead of a person.

“If he did, I might actually enjoy it. At least he’d be doing it on purpose,” Ashenivir muttered. He still had a few hours to go before his scene tonight, and never had time dragged so painfully. He called idle sparks of colour to his fingers, rolled them over the backs of his palms, back and forth and back and forth, searching for distraction and finding none. With an angry flick of his hand, he dismissed the cantrip. It was child’s magic, anyway, he was capable of so much more.

And what, in the end, did that matter? What did it matter how many spells he could cram into his head if all he did with them was whatever his mother wanted? He wouldn’t be a wizard when he graduated, he’d be her wizard.

He sat up, deciding to go to the scene early. If Rizeth wasn’t in his quarters, he’d just kneel at the door until he arrived, and if his Master was annoyed at his doing so, so be it. He could use a punishment right now.

Usually his mood raised as he descended the south stairwell—today it plummeted as he did, spiralling worse than ever. He should ask for rope, that was what he should do. Just tie me up and leave me, Master. Put me out of my head and don’t bring me back. No need to think, no need to do anything but what he was unarguably good at: serving as a vessel for someone else’s needs.

He toyed with his collar as he made his way through the cool, empty corridors towards Rizeth’s quarters. Rope wasn’t what he wanted. Pain, maybe, but he didn’t think Rizeth would hit him as hard as he’d need to get so far out of his head nothing would matter any more. But, as he well knew, pain could be more than just physical harm. He gripped his collar tightly.

Maybe if his Master made him a useless, wretched, disappointment of a submissive, he’d be able to handle being a pathetic coward of a wizard for the rest of his life.

At the very least, it might be fun.

---

“I’ve been thinking,” Ashenivir said, once he was on his knees, and it wasn’t technically a lie since he had been thinking it, if only for the past few minutes. “Master, I like it when you hurt me.”

Rizeth tipped his chin up with a finger. “I am aware of that, Ra’soltha. Tell me exactly what it is you want.”

“I want you to degrade me,” Ashenivir said, suddenly flush with nerves, though he’d been so certain when he’d knocked on Rizeth’s door. “Treat me like an object, tell me how I’m worth nothing more than what you use me for.”

“You have never mentioned this desire before.”

Rizeth eyed him with a slight frown, but he did not, so far as Ashenivir could tell, look upset by the request. Nor did he appear surprised, or angry, or confused, or…Ashenivir had no idea how he looked. He was far better at reading Rizeth lately, but today he didn’t have the focus.

“I…remembered that one of my old bedmates used to do it,” he said. That was also not technically a lie. Zarist liked to throw a lot of harsh words around, enjoyed the name-calling more than the sex half the time. It had been good enough to satisfy Ashenivir at the time, though he’d once again dropped Zarist when he’d taken back up with Rizeth. Why settle for the pale imitation when you had the real thing? “I thought you’d be better at it. And I wanted to do something we haven’t yet, before I graduate.”

Rizeth took Ashenivir’s chin in his hand, holding his head very still as he thought. Ashenivir waited, heart in his throat. If Rizeth denied him, fine, at least he’d kept to the rules and asked for what he wanted. He’d just take whatever his Master had planned to give him, and act out enough to get punished.

At last, Rizeth gave a slow nod. “Very well, if that is what you want. But if you want me to be cruel to you, then you will first tell me what I cannot say.”

“Cannot? The point is for you to do as you wish with me, Master. I’m to be your object, your xi’hum, as I was before.”

Rizeth tapped his cheek with a finger.

“No. The point is for you to feel degraded. I will do as I wish with you—that has never been up for debate—but everyone has limits, Ra’soltha.”

Ashenivir fought an impatient sigh. He wanted to be out of his head already, not discussing how to get there. Rizeth had agreed to his request, couldn’t they just get on with it? Besides, what could he possibly say that would actually hurt him? Rizeth was his Master, not his Matron. He couldn’t cut that deep.

“I can’t think of anything, Master. I promise I will call a halt if it’s too much.”

“Ra’soltha,” Rizeth warned. Ashenivir rolled his eyes and got his hair pulled for his insolence. That was more like it—his breath came harder, his head a little clearer with the sparkles of pain over his scalp. “No limits, no scene.”

No scene? A hot flash of panic lanced through him. No scene meant nothing for another month, he couldn’t wait that long!

“Alright! I…don’t call me stupid, or anything like that,” he said. Then, in a roll of fear he desperately hoped for once didn’t show on his face, he realised he did have a limit. “And…and don’t call me anything female. Please.”

His heart thudded in his throat as he waited for Rizeth to ask why, to demand an explanation. He struggled to push back memories of his mother and how long it had taken her to stop calling him—

“Good, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said. “Was that so hard?”

“No, Master, you were right to push me, I—” Rizeth yanked his head back viciously.

Finally!

“I do not recall giving you permission to speak,” Rizeth snapped. “You think you have free right to your voice? What have you done to earn it?” His tone was much harsher than it usually was when he gave orders, almost angry. It was unsettling, and Ashenivir blinked up at him, uncertain if he should reply.

“And now you have no answer. I don’t know what I expected from such a worthless toy.” Rizeth shook his head, lip curling. “Well, your mouth may be no good for speech, but we may yet find a use for it. Open.”

Ashenivir barely got his mouth open in time for his Master to force his fingers inside.

“Wider. And keep your eyes down—you are a toy, and toys do not look at their owners.” Rizeth pushed two fingers deep, making him gag. “What are you?”

“A toy, Master,” Ashenivir mumbled, the words a garbled mess.

“Pathetic.” Rizeth shook his head. “But a toy doesn’t need to speak to serve its Master, does it?”

Ashenivir was glad he wasn’t looking at Rizeth then. It. He wasn’t sure he liked that. Still, he wasn’t going to call a halt yet. Maybe he was just nervous at this being new—yes, that was all it was, just nervous excitement at a new game with his Master.

Rizeth pulled his fingers free, and soon Ashenivir’s mouth was wrapped around the hot, hard length of his cock. He took it eagerly, keeping his eyes on the floor as his Master held his hair tightly and fucked into his throat. He moaned, losing himself in sensation and sound, losing his voice and his mind and his breath.

It was fine; it was nothing. He was nothing, nothing but a toy, and toys didn’t need to breathe, or think, or do anything but let people use them.

His head was yanked free with a sudden jerk, and he gasped at the emptiness of his mouth, then whined as Rizeth’s cock slid against his cheek, pressing into the slick hardness of it. He kept his eyes down and stretched out his tongue, already missing the taste that gave him purpose.

“Look how desperate it is.” Rizeth’s voice was a dark rumble, almost a threat. It turned to white-heat in Ashenivir’s stomach, even as being called it again made something start panicking in the back of his mind. “I think this toy would do just about anything for a cock in its mouth, wouldn’t it?”

Ashenivir nodded, for he still didn’t have permission to speak. The panicking thing in the back of his mind was at war with the way Rizeth’s actions made him feel. He tried to let it go, to become the toy he served as. He was making his Master happy. That was his only purpose.

“Touch yourself,” Rizeth ordered. “This toy’s Master wants to see it nice and hard for when he decides to fuck it.”

He was harder than he’d expected to be, given the internal tumult he was having trouble getting a hold of. Ashenivir slicked his palm with spit, stroking eagerly and hoping his Master liked the sight—and he must have, for he shoved his cock back into Ashenivir’s mouth.

“Look at this pathetic Ra’soltha, choking on cock and touching itself. I hope it’s enjoying itself, because it will be on its back soon enough and if it thinks it will have hands when it’s serving as a fucktoy, it can think again.”

Ashenivir shuddered. He liked half of that, hadn’t expected to like it quite as much as he did. He should tap out, ask Rizeth to stop calling him it before they continued—because he did want to continue, he wanted to be a fucktoy, a good and useful thing for his Master to ruin.

“Shaking? Is it afraid? No, it can’t be, since it is only a toy, and toys have no feelings.”

Heat swarmed in Ashenivir’s stomach along with the discomfort, and his hand slid faster. This was almost so good, the pleasure almost worth anything else. It didn’t matter about one little word, that was his Master’s choice. He didn’t have control here, didn’t have it anywhere, lately—he didn’t want it, didn’t need it, not when his Master made everything make sense. When he was on his knees, he knew exactly who and what he was.

“Oh, but this toy does have a feeling, it seems.” Rizeth’s voice was almost gentle, adamantine under silk. “This toy likes fulfilling its purpose.”

He pressed his cock to Ashenivir’s cheek again, slicking spit and pre-cum over his face. Ashenivir sighed, turning his head to it, licking at the warm, velvety skin as though he were starving—tasting it was all that mattered, pleasing his Master all that mattered. Ashenivir rolled his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath too hard, too loud, too fast. The hand still holding his hair tightened its grip.

“Is my toy going to come already? How disappointing.”

It was like a knife in his gut. Cold, hard panic buzzed Rizeth’s voice into incomprehensible static and why was he shaking, why couldn’t he breathe, why couldn’t he think—

“Stop!”

Rizeth was gone at once and Ashenivir pressed his hands to his face, knowing he was hyperventilating and hating it, hating himself, and why was this happening? He whined, clutching at his hair.

How disappointing.

Oh. Right. Of course, of course he couldn’t even escape her here!

Soft hands at his wrists.

“Ashenivir,” Rizeth said, low and quiet. He carefully prised Ashenivir’s fingers from where they dug into his scalp and drew his shaking hands from his head. Ashenivir realised then that he was crying. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t get anything out through the bands of iron wrapped around his chest. She wasn’t supposed to be able to affect him here, not with Rizeth! His submission was one of so few things she had no say over, no control of, and now she’d ruined it and he only got one scene a month and he needed this and she’d taken it from him, why wasn’t there anything that could just be his—?

Rizeth squeezed his hands and he sucked in a ragged breath.

“Talk to me, Ashenivir. What happened?” He sounded truly concerned, and Ashenivir almost laughed. Rizeth, worried! About him! As if he deserved something like that. Still shaking, he looked only at where Rizeth held his hands, trying to ground himself in the contrast of lilac-grey against deep violet.

“Matron Zauvym likes to…to use that word as a weapon.” He spoke haltingly, breath hitching. “Disappointing, I mean. It’s what I’m best at.”

Rizeth’s hands tightened on his. “Is that so?”

Ashenivir shrugged, still not looking at him. Tears splashed onto their joined hands and he cringed internally. What a mess this had turned out to be. After a moment, Rizeth pulled him into his lap, right there on the floor, and held him against his chest. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into Rizeth’s shirt, lungs still tight, shivering with something more than cold.

“What possible reason is there for anyone to be disappointed in you?” Rizeth murmured into his hair.

“In my Matron’s view, quite a lot.”

All of it threatened to surge up and overwhelm him—the Shrine, the changedance, the long years afterwards before the Arcanum. Trapped at the estate with no way whatsoever to fix it, to make his mother happy with him again.

Rizeth didn’t press. He just held him, stroking his back and letting him breathe. His Master wasn’t disappointed in him, he never was, even though he’d thoroughly ruined the evening. He never should have asked for this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered eventually. “I didn’t know that word would…that it would affect me like that, it…”

“You put your mind in a vulnerable place when you submit,” Rizeth said. “Everything is more intense, and you are particularly receptive, xi’hum. This is why I asked your limits before we began.”

“I would have told you, I didn’t know—”

Rizeth hushed him.

“I believe you. And I also believe that your Matron has some foolish notions about her son.”

“She just needs me to be perfect.” Ashenivir’s voice cracked on the words. Rizeth tilted his head up.

“You are,” he said, and kissed him. Tears stung Ashenivir’s eyes again, and he wished with all his heart that he never had to leave these rooms. Here with his Master, with Rizeth, he was always good enough. He was safe here, and what in the world did it say about him that the only place he felt that way was in the place he asked to be hurt?

He couldn’t meet Rizeth’s eyes when he pulled away.

“I’m such an idiot. I ruined the scene, and now…now we only have one left, and…”

“The evening is not over, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said. He drew Ashenivir to his feet. “And you are not an idiot. Come with me.”

---

The violet light in the bedroom was little more than a suggestion, laying the room in rich, comfortable shadow. Ashenivir sat in Rizeth’s lap, face streaked with drying tear tracks, and still feeling like the worst kind of idiot. Rizeth carefully tucked his hair behind his ear, then gently ran his knuckles along his jaw.

“My Ra’soltha,” he said softly. “So good for your Master, so obedient.”

Still moving slowly, with such deliberation it nearly brought Ashenivir to tears again, he ran his hands down Ashenivir’s arms, then lifted them to set them around his neck. His palms were warm where they curved around Ashenivir’s waist, a perfect fit, strong enough to hold him together even now. He rubbed soft circles into Ashenivir’s hips with his thumbs.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and Ashenivir obeyed. “Perfect, that’s right. Breathe for me, Ra’soltha, just like that.”

Little by little, the tight band of panic released its grip, and an inch at a time, Ashenivir finally managed to fill his lungs. With breath to spare now, he let out a sigh and leaned his weight more on Rizeth’s shoulders.

“It’s alright, you can float now.” Rizeth kissed lightly along his jaw. “Your Master will take care of you.”

Rizeth’s mouth moved down his neck to his shoulder, not in any rush, just one soft kiss after another. One hand caressed Ashenivir’s thigh as lips brushed over his upper arm; it slid inward over sensitive skin, stroking gently. The delicate touch brought an involuntary shiver, and his breath caught on a quiet moan.

“Beautiful,” Rizeth murmured. Ashenivir wanted to ask if he really thought that, but he couldn’t find the words. “Such a good boy, so sweet for me.” Rizeth’s warm hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and even. “Does that feel good, my xi’hum?”

“Yes,” Ashenivir sighed out. Rizeth’s thumb rolled over the tip of his cock and he bit his lip. He loved to hear his Master tell him how good he was, Rizeth knew how much he liked it, and this was nothing but that, an endless murmur of good boy, my Ra’soltha, so obedient, so sweet, so perfect. He let his body move to his Master’s touch—he didn’t chase the pleasure, he simply existed and let his Master pull him along until at last, he felt that wonderful calm roll over him, the one that only came under his Master’s hand.

“Are you close?” Rizeth asked. Ashenivir nodded, though he was sure his Master hardly needed the confirmation; Rizeth knew him so well. His hand slid faster, still gentle, but moving with purpose now. Ashenivir could not help a soft whimper, rocking his hips into Rizeth’s touch. Rizeth kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, xi’hum?” Ashenivir nodded again, breath now a sharp pant as heat coiled up his spine. “Good boy, just like that.”

He hadn’t been given permission, but he opened his eyes as he came, wanting—needing—to see Rizeth in that moment. Rizeth’s clear ruby gaze met his head on; his Master looked pleased with him, looked satisfied. And, Ashenivir thought with a strange ache deep in his chest, he looked proud.

---

He was allowed to stay far later than usual that night. He didn’t even ask, he just lay on the couch with his head in his Master’s lap and didn’t move. Rizeth sat with him in silence, rubbing soothing circles into the back of his neck.

“I am a disappointment,” he said, after Goddess only knew how much time had faded past.

“Ra’soltha—”

“No, it’s true.” Ashenivir swallowed. “I took too long to come to the Arcanum, and kept my brother from marrying. I’ve taken too long to graduate; I should have studied harder, done it sooner, then he wouldn’t have had to wait, my Matron wouldn’t have had to wait.”

“You are talking nonsense and I think you know it,” Rizeth said, still stroking his neck.

“I let her down the moment I…” the words stuck in his throat. “I let her down. And now I have a chance to fix it by graduating, but I don’t want to leave. Everyone’s so happy about what I’ve accomplished, and I should be happy too—it’s all I ever wanted since I came here. But I’m not, I hate it, it makes me feel sick thinking about it, and my Matron won’t leave me alone about Dirius’ wedding, and I don’t want Keszriin to be upset with me, and I hurt Yevena, and—”

“Ashenivir,” Rizeth said firmly. “Breathe. If you are in search of my advice, you need to be able to explain this to me without my having to tie you up first.”

Ashenivir flushed, though he still thrilled at Rizeth using his name. Three times tonight, and all it had taken was him being a colossal idiot. He took a breath, as ordered.

“Keszriin and the others want to celebrate my graduation. They’ve…she’s…made a lot of plans. They don’t want me to worry, just show up and enjoy things, but she’s invited so many people and it’s just…it’s too much.”

“If you do not wish to celebrate, you do not have to. That is your choice to make, not theirs,” Rizeth said.

“I know, but they’re so excited, and Keszriin’s gone to so much trouble…”

“Why is that your responsibility? Your life and your achievements are not theirs to play with. If they are truly your friends, will they not understand what you want?” Rizeth chuckled dryly, and Ashenivir greedily stored the rare sound away. “I am hardly the one to preach about friendship, but I am reliably informed it is supposed to be a mutually caring relationship.”

Rizeth was right. Of course he was right. Keszriin loved him, they all did, and if Ashenivir put his foot down like an actual adult, they’d stop.

“And now what is this about you hurting someone?” Rizeth continued. “I hope you have not been getting into altercations, apprentice.”

Ashenivir finally managed a smile, even almost a laugh. He rolled to look up at Rizeth—his Master wore the slightly ironic expression that meant he was amused, teasing. Ashenivir liked that one. He was fairly certain he was the only person who got to see it.

“No, Master. Yevena, she’s a message runner—she often brings me your summons. She…asked me to go to dinner with her.”

“I can only assume you did not return her affections.”

“She was at least accepting of my lack of interest in women,” Ashenivir said. “It was probably easier to take than any other kind of rejection.”

“You say that as though there are those who do not accept your lack of interest.”

Ashenivir suddenly found himself extremely interested in the fastenings of Rizeth’s shirt. Dark gold buttons, very nice, a lovely contrast to the deep grey material they were attached to. Rizeth caught his wrist and held it still. “If we are having this out tonight, Ra’soltha, we shall have it all out. You do not lie to me, and you do not keep secrets.”

“I know the rule, Master, but…” he couldn’t. Not tonight, not now. He didn’t want to think about his Matron, about all he was and all he wasn’t in her eyes. “Please don’t make me talk about it, I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

As always when he set a boundary, Rizeth didn’t push. He accepted Ashenivir’s limits, treated them with the respect his Matron never had. Ashenivir closed his eyes and pressed his face to Rizeth’s stomach. Rizeth let him stay there a moment longer before tugging him up.

“Come along, Ra’soltha, it is past time for you to return to your quarters,” he said. “You have my class first thing tomorrow—do not think you can start arriving late just because you will be graduating shortly.”

“I would never miss a moment of your classes, Master.” Ashenivir got slowly to his feet. He felt drained; warm on the outside but hollow on the inside. Goddess, he was exhausted. He would have given anything then to crawl back into Rizeth’s lap for the rest of the night. “I…thank you. Not just for tonight, for everything.”

He thought he’d regained enough focus to decipher Rizeth’s expressions again, but this one was still inscrutable.

“Goodnight, apprentice,” he said, and Ashenivir knew he was dismissed.

He fought a yawn as he levitated back up to the apprentice’s floor. He’d talk to Keszriin and the others tomorrow. They could do something quiet instead, just the five of them; maybe smuggle some wine into his quarters. That was all he needed, and as for the rest of it…

He’d figure it out. He always did.