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Part Two, Chapter Seven

If he was going to stay, he was going to have to earn his keep. That was the Arnii way. Zevran imagined that must be the way it was in all Houses, but wondered what exactly he was going to be tasked with. His daily errands remained the same for the moment, but the sword matches against the tall Shem began to increase in intensity and duration. He was only occasionally, finally, getting an upper hand before he was again reminded of his place. The rest of the winter passed rather painfully.

As promised, the burn did heal quickly, although a sunken mark would always remain. The housemaster's curiosity was peeked at how he managed to mend it so effectively, noting the others' tendency to scar from infection. Zevran carefully chose to be tight lipped in his response, simply quoting a Chantry line about how cleanliness was divine in the eyes of the Maker.

A blessing, the evenings remained quiet for the young man. Housemates would come and go throughout the day, often lounging in the downstairs sitting area or sleeping on their makeshift mats. Once the sun set, however, the house emptied. Zevran briefly wondered where they all went to, but stamped down his inquisitiveness in place of the certainty that he could be alone. This was his time to reflect on whatever he wanted, which lately was any memory he could conjure of the manuscripts he read or scribed for the Master.

One particular evening, Taliesen leaned into the doorway to observe the Daedric lad scribbling onto some parchment over his mat.

"I do hope that's nigh my ink and paper." A broad grin displayed on the housemaster's long face paired with a chuckle once he caught the astonished expression, "It is quite expensive."

Zevran was so lost in his thought that he did not hear anyone coming and hastily moved the parchment behind him, embarrassed. Biting his lip, he tried to think of a way to explain his theft, but he was cut off by the Shem's demand.

"It nigh matters; you can owe me for what is used later. Come."

"Come where?" He asked.

He was about to retreat down the hall when he veered back at the hint of refusal in Zevran's tone. Willing the play a bit, he coolly questioned, "You ever wonder where we go at night?"

"No," Zevran purposefully lied as he forced his lips in a straight line, which only emphasized his youthful stubborn façade.

Taliesen snorted, "Yes you do and even if you nigh care, you are coming with me. Up."

Apparently, he had no choice. He tidied his space, the ink, quill and paper in the floorboard below, threw on a shirt he washed earlier and let dry on the windowsill, and met his cohort at the lower landing. The walk was brisk and it was the first time the lad had ever really ventured out of the house at night. The streets were empty by comparison during the day, but he could hear activity all around him. The buildings were lit within and he watched as residents took to supper or sat in private conversations. They traced the main thoroughfare for about a block before turning down a side street. The tavern on the corner flushed the alley with lantern light, loud banter and music resonating as they passed. Taliesen gave a passive wave on their way into the darkness again, motioning toward another less well-lit building beyond.

They reached a wide, arched door lined with a frieze the Daedric could not make out in the shadow. It was then that the Shem stopped just before tugging the oak handle. Turning to the youth, he chose now to dispense some critical knowledge, "There is a saying with the Antivan Crows, Zevran. Long ago, when the merchant princes began having their way with the City, the Guild decided that the best practice was to keep their skills, their trade, within. They decreed that all theirs sons," he paused to motion between the two of them, "our brethren, would carry on the march as their legacy. And their daughters…" Taliesen looked at the door more shrewdly before continuing, "They would be our mothers."

He recited the line as though he memorized it from a holy book, "Forever their sons wrought crows, their daughters courtesans."

And the door opened. A scent of roseleaf welcomed them as their eyes adjusted to the light. Ushered into an enclosed foyer, the lad could hear soft music on the other side of another door before him. Taliesen was already a bit distracted by whatever the tune was about and with a smile offered the handle to the newcomer. With some hesitance Zevran pushed open the entry, opening into a much larger space lined with a long bench around the outer wall covered with plush, ornately adorned pillows. There was a second balcony above them, although he could not see the stairs that led to it. Two doors to the right and one door to the left remained closed and the center of the room was filled with several square tables yet also decorated with soft padding beneath them. The Daedric nudged to his right to see a fair woman playing the lute. She looked up from her knelt position and smiled sweetly.

A hum below the music and easy conversations also pervaded the place in a way that was not lost on him; the tenor felt calming. Like the Chantry.

The housemaster was already gone from his side and made his way to a spot designated for him. Vulnerable and exposed by the door, the lad felt he had few options other than to follow, choosing to quietly, tentatively sit beside him near the rear of the space. The men around him looked familiar, but they were not the same Salty Brood he was accustomed to. In the dense smoky incense, he caught Velnas in another corner. His stinging satire seemed subdued by the attention of the young, beautiful woman near him. Her smile reached ear to ear in response to something he said, and Zevran could not imagine it was anything like what he normally heard from the Shem's mouth.

"Who's this?"

He felt fingers brush his neckline and jerked back in near panic. A bushel of curled brunette locks framed a delicate heart-shaped face. Her full lips contorted into a bemused smirk as she sat back. Taliesen popped an olive in his mouth and rested his chin on her shoulder before answering, "This is Zevran. He's a new convert."

The term seemed to have meaning to the woman. She raised an eyebrow and mustered an apologetic smile, "A convert? Oh, he just looks like a boy."

The housemaster nuzzled her neck a little and chuckled as he said it, "That is because he is one."

The woman turned back gracefully to look Taliesen in the eyes, nonverbally confirming the innuendo. She sighed through her smile and sat up from her pillow, "Rue, please have Sinette come."

Meekly, she turned back to her admirer and said, "I believe I have your solution."

"You always do," he replied, slipping an item into her palm and kissing her cheek lovingly.

Zevran's heart was pounding and he could feel sweat beading on his brow. He innately understood what this place was and what just transpired. But he would be a fool to say he was prepared for such a thing. Back on the Steps, there were rules about conduct around others, especially women. The only female he ever associated with was the maid lent to the Master on occasion, an elderly Shem in her own right. Otherwise, he was only allowed to view them from afar. As whimsical as they were, women seemed so foreign to him. Only once did he ever see a Daedric woman following after a governess from Orlais. She was like a tiny replica of the Shem in front of her, attentive with all focus on her charge. But these sightings were rare and always outside the villa, as women never made uncalled visits to the Master.

On their weekly outings, the old man expressly forbade him from looking directly at women. The one and only time he did caused a stir that nearly resulted in his arrest. It was by accident. He was waiting for the Master outside a client's home in the merchant quarter when he unintentionally caught a young lady's attention walking with her father. Zevran was nearly fifteen at the time and when she stopped to speak to him, he instantly broke into a charismatic smile, never turning away. Her father and escort, oblivious to the fact he lost his companion, turned to see the unorthodox pair having a flirtatious conversation in the middle of the street. The lad was unabashed in his innocence to the social faux pa he just committed, more relishing in the attention from a pretty girl. But before the Master, who was emerging on the front steps, could even interject, the patriarch was at the Daedric's side with slurs and calls for an apology. Indeed, for nearly two weeks after, Zevran received enough verbal reprimand that he never dared have the Master stopped in the street again.

A curtain of silk came into a view. The dress was embellished with fine needlework of feathers and flowers, covering the figure in a woven display of green, white and red. Long blonde strands fell over the top of her corset attached to a petite profile. Bright blue eyes peered down onto the seated guest, and she gifted an enchanting smile before referencing to her friend, "Nell, you called for me?"

Nell sat upright with a gleeful expression and wrapped her arms around her new companion, "Taliesen was telling me all about the terrible position this poor fellow is in. He's new here, you see. I was hoping you could help," she paused to hug him more closely, "show him the way."

She meant it in the kindest manner possible, but the statement left Zevran wanting to flee the place entirely. He peeked over to see the gratified smirk on the housemaster's face, leaning back against his plush pillow to see what the newcomer would do.

Sinette's smile never faltered during the theatric display. In fact, a sense of compassion even flickered from behind her eyes. Holding out her hand, she conceded, "Come with me. I know what would make you feel better."

The desire to follow her was not the problem; she was alluring, after all. Rather it was how public the scene had become. Suddenly, it felt like all eyes in the room were on him, much like when the House welcomed him with a brand to his back. This was a test of some kind. He knew it. And if he chose not to follow through, then he was unsure of the consequences that might befall him.

The best he could do was ignore the audience. Or better yet, he could try to play up to it. Swallowing what was left of his dignity, Zevran flashed a disarming smile of his own and took her hand. Gently, she pulled him upright, backing away into the center of the room first and then toward one of the doors behind her. He could feel the spectators watch his departure like a renewed burning on his shoulder. Instead, he let it fuel the intensity in their eye contact, her smile never fading like starlight within reach.

Mustering enough courage to leave the room did not mean he had enough courage to last, however. Once on the other side of the door and in the privacy of a foyer, the Shem woman sensed his hesitance.

"Oh dear," she simpered, running her free hand on his high, define cheek, "Nigh be this way. Trust in me."

She led him up a set of stairs; one that he was relieved did not open out over the sitting area like he was on parade. The woman peered around before opening a door to one side and sliding in with her partner. A fire was already started, offering the room a cozy feel. She poked at the embers to ensure a flame and then turned back to her uncomfortable suitor. To her, the Daedric appeared like he was about to get into trouble; a notion of which made her chuckle all the more appreciatively.

"Come here," She sat on the end of the bed and patted a space beside her. Zevran obeyed, convincing himself that he still may make it out without coming across poorly. Sinette's hollow cheeks and fine brow were emphasized by the amber firelight. She was older than him. Perhaps Taliesen's age. They were silent for several minutes while she studied him. There was no expectation on her part, but he guessed that she was waiting for something.

He was about to speak when she interrupted, "You are beautiful."

His words were lodged in his throat and clearing them, Zevran questioned, "Is that nigh something I say to you?"

She ignored the comment, "Your smile downstairs was so charming. And your eyes… You are nigh who they say you are."

He frowned, confused. The woman reached over and drew the length of his jaw with her fingertip; the sense of which sent a pleasant chill up his spine. A corner of her mouth lifted by his response, her focus steadily on him. She cooed, "You come from Tevinter, yes?"

"No," he shook himself from her touch, brows knitting down. He was from Antiva. He was probably birthed not far from where they were at that very moment.

Her hand cupped his chin again, her soothing voice lost in thought, "I have neh seen such golden eyes."

He pulled back, but she followed into a thoughtful kiss. The embrace seemingly erased any thought the Daedric might have had, replaced instead with youthful desire. Insecurity aside, he returned the favor, his fingers instinctively weaving into her hair and caressing the back of her neck. He could feel her hands rest on his pounding chest, the rapid thudding of which sounded like horse hooves within his own ears. Heaving, Zevran straightened himself to take a breath, but was given little opportunity to recover. Gently, Sinette caught his attention by pulling one hand from behind her head and landing it squarely on her corset. Keen to keep eye contact, she used him to undo the top clip and then the second of her outer dress all the while tugging at the thread below holding his trousers in place. It was like both were released at once, and she dared beckon him further, her hand instructing him to undo the top of her chemise.

From then it was a blur for the lad. He felt flushed and eager. He let her guide him to the right position as he focused on the contours of her lips. They interlocked deeply, his hurried kiss meeting her tongue with equal fervor. The passionate exchange was not to last long, but it was enough for him. Out of breath, a line of sweat coinciding with his rushed exhaustion, he nestled himself into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her fingers tracing his back was relaxing.

"Maker," was all he could muster.

She grinned into his cheek, partly turning toward him with a gentle, sincere look. The way she spoke was matter of fact, but hinted at the notion she was happy for her part, "And now you are a man."

For the coming several days, Zevran was stunned into a near dreamlike state. All he could think about was Sinette. The way she smiled. The way she caressed him. The shape of her hip on his hand. Her soothing, melodic voice. They laid there and talked for a while afterwards about benign things. The weather. How he enjoyed watching the ships. The many uses of honey. He dozed and awoke alone the next morning. Although slightly uneasy, he managed to slip away without anyone's notice and back to the House.

"I see you are distracted," Taliesen chided roguishly as he met his pupil in the back forum that afternoon for their now daily lesson. He grabbed a stick and leaned on it slightly, "Happy?"

Jolted from a thought, Zevran wanted to lie. He managed to say nothing instead.

"Good!" The housemaster chimed, "It is one of the few perks we get. Tis a waste to nigh enjoy it, no?"

"How often are you there?"

He pursed his lips and mused, "Oh, some of the brothers are there nightly. Whenever they get the coin, that is."

Zevran queried with the pointed end of his stick, "And how much did you pay for Sinette?"

Taliesen peered up, "Oh, my friend. It is nigh what you are thinking." Before confusion set in, he quickly corrected, "These women are courtesans!" He emphasized their description with a fiery zing, "They're nigh some cheap whores. Sure, the brothers could find such things if they desired, but why would they when they have the best ladies in the City?"

"But, you exchanged something." He noted, "I saw you."

"Aye," the Shem affirmed rather defensively. "That was a token of my appreciation - for your benefit I might add. They rely on us as much as we rely on them, anyway. You should take note."

It would be one more thing he owed him. The notion of debt did not sit well, although his foreign housemaster seemed unaware, or cared little, about such things. To owe a debt was not couth in Antivan society as it was never certain when the debt would be called for repayment. The Master never exchanged anything with a client without something in return, either coin or mutually agreed favors. The only guests who came with neither were supposed Guild members, but perhaps there were affairs even the lad's eavesdropping was not privy to in the villa.