Author's note: I've been sitting on this story for a while (years!) and thought I'd finally get around to finishing and posting it. Will be updated semi-regularly. Thanks for reading!
Some months after the Longest Night, when spring was finally beginning to bloom, I turned sixteen. My studies began in earnest, then, along with those of a half-dozen other fosterlings of the House. We studied the Trois Milles Joies, of course, and scores of other texts; we received instruction and attended Showings... and spent many sleepless nights struggling with the desires that the days' learning had awoken. To my disappointment, we were taught only the simplest of Naamah's arts, that any House might provide to patrons. We learned nothing of the darker pleasures, of the sharp spices that set Mandrake apart.
Just as Mandrake was different from the other Houses, so our training was somewhat different as well. Safety was ever a concern among our adepts. To be an adept of Mandrake house was to be responsible for the well-being of one's patrons—no matter how roughly they desired to be treated. It was a delicate balance to learn, and not taken lightly. And so, knowing well how heavily Naamah's gift of desire would weigh on the newest acolytes, Mandrake House adhered to a sensible, if unusual policy: no virgin acolytes would be taught the darker arts of pleasure.
It may be contrary to the common experience of growing up in the Night Court, but then, so is Mandrake itself. Other Houses can leverage an adept's virginity into a higher price for their first patrons, even holding auctions for the most desired adepts. There are always patrons willing to pay extra for the privilege of purity. But Mandrake's patrons prize experienced adepts, and without that experience, a new adept could wait years to begin making his marque. However, I, for one, would not have done well in any sort of useful studies without an outlet for the near-constant arousal that had plagued me since I passed out of childhood.
So, when we newest acolytes had been taught just enough to prevent embarrassing ourselves, Mandrake House threw a fête—another masque, as they were still very much in fashion. I learned later that the guest list for such a gathering is diverse. Lords and ladies, merchants and bankers, adepts from other Houses and independent courtesans are all welcomed. At the time, I knew little about who was present. That was the purpose of the masks—we were not to choose our first patrons by their social status. No money was to be exchanged that night for us acolytes. It would be unseemly, as we were not yet dedicated to Naamah. Mandrake would simply host a pleasant gathering, the guests would be entertained appropriately by the adepts of the House, and for the first time, I would be free to choose a lover.
"What do you think, Damien?" Astor asked, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we readied ourselves. He was smiling mischievously. "Man or woman?"
I grinned at him in the mirror. "Whichever one you choose," I teased him. "Whomever you fancy, Astor, I'm going to steal away."
"Ha!" He tugged on my hair, hard enough to hurt, and then leaned back to help me comb it. It fell just past my shoulders, gleaming a deep gold, and I am not ashamed to admit that I was proud of it. "You couldn't steal away a country milkmaid, you hideous-"
I drove an elbow backward, catching him in the stomach, just hard enough to cut him off. He stumbled away, wheezing far more dramatically than necessary.
"Astor the actor," Mathieu said, crowding in next to me at the mirror. "You should have been Eglantine."
Behind us, Astor left off his dramatics. He ran a hand through his blue-black curls, as he always did when he wished to remind us that he was half-Shahrizai. "I'm right where I belong, and you know it," he said. I heard in his voice an echo of the arrogance that the older adepts used so effortlessly.
"No doubt," I agreed, and smiled at the mirror. I, too, knew Mandrake was the right House for me, and Elua willing, I would begin learning its teachings soon. In the meanwhile, tonight...
So strange, I thought. The past months have been nothing but frustrated desire and temptations... But tonight... Ah, Elua! I could scarce bear to think on it. If ever there were another acolyte so eager to break the dull constraints of his virginity, I wouldn't have believed it.
The fête was a pleasant affair—tamer than one might expect, though still bearing the undercurrents of desire that were typical of the Night Court. It was an evening to celebrate Elua's precept, and not Kushiel's influence. Astor and I and the others mingled with the guests for a time. I put my practiced conversational skills to good use, and took note of those guests whose eyes held desire behind their masks. As I spoke to a charming woman dressed all in green silks, I caught sight of someone watching me—a young nobleman in a familiar fox mask, sharp dark eyes watching me from across the room. I begged leave of the woman, who gave me a knowing smile and waved me away.
"Well, well," said the fox, as I approached him. "I wondered if I might find you here, young Mandrake."
"The Midwinter Masque, wasn't it?" I asked, as if the memory of that one passionate, forbidden kiss had not caused me many sleepless nights since then. He looked just as I remembered, young and strong, ready to leap into motion at any moment. "I never did learn your name, my lord."
He grinned and extended a hand. "Comte Sebastien de Guiscarde, at your service."
"Are you?" I murmured, clasping his hand in greeting. He had a grip of iron, and I squeezed back, unwilling to yield.
The young Comte did not loosen his grip. "I understand it is your choice, tonight," he murmured back. "Although I don't even know your name...?"
"You may call me Damien," I said.
"Oh, may I?" His grin widened, mocking... but he pulled me a little closer, and I let him. "Well, young Damien, you may call me Sebastien. What will you?"
With my free hand, I loosened the ties of his fox mask and pulled it free, let it dangle from its cord around his neck. He had fine, sharp features, and an old, pale scar just above his brow; his dark eyes watched me, and again I could see desire in them, just as before. It called to me, echoing my own.
"Sebastien," I murmured, and took a step closer, so that only our hands, still clenching each other, separated us. "I want you."
Looking back on it, I cringe at the bluntness of that moment. Rather more sophistication is expected from the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. But I suppose it was excusable at the time, as I was only an acolyte. Later, Sebastien confided that he found my untutored, earnest desire quite appealing.
Well and so, in a short time I had signed my first contract, and one of the younger acolytes led us to a bedchamber—one in which the flagellary had been securely locked. There was to be no use of those toys tonight, and I was too much on edge to care much. All I wanted was Sebastien: I wanted to discover the feeling of his hands on me, his phallus against mine, his mouth...
I half expected him to kiss me the moment we were alone; instead, he moved away, setting down his mask. I watched him, admiring the swordsman's grace in his movements.
"Sebastien," I said. It was a small thrill, speaking his name as if we were equals. "Why me?"
He raised his brows, while his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. "I like beautiful boys," he said lightly.
I shook my head, watching his fingers work at the buttons. "That isn't what I meant."
"No?" Sebastien let his hands drop. His shirt fell open, revealing a well-muscled chest, a scar across his abdomen. "You remind me of my friends in the Guard, Damien. Bold, confident... mayhap even a bit arrogant?"
I suppose he read me well enough, though I felt anything but confident at the moment. "But... well... your tastes seem more suited toward a Valerian adept, if you understand," I said. "I would not expect you to desire a Mandrake."
"Ahh," Sebastien breathed. He stepped closer, his dark eyes intent on mine. "It's true, I do enjoy a submissive bed-partner. But there are times when it is not entirely satisfying." He reached for the buttons of my own shirt, brushing the hollow of my throat as he did so; the light touch made me twitch.
"Even the best swordsman in the world needs a challenge, sometimes," he continued, loosening my buttons. "Else he loses the excitement of the fight. It is the same with a lover, Damien... at least, for me. I enjoy it when a partner is obedient, and disciplined, and willing to submit. But occasionally, I hunger for a lover who will challenge me, and do more than simply yield. And when I know that he is just as eager to claim mastery as I am..." He traced my jawline with a fingertip, smiling. "Ah, that adds an extra bit of spice to the evening."
I moved forward, just enough; we were a hair's-breadth apart, though his touch on my jaw was our only contact. The memory of our first and last kiss hung between us, setting my blood to pounding. Elua, I wanted so badly... but also, I could see the same desire in his eyes, and I was enjoying making him wait.
"And how much... spice... do you have a taste for?" I whispered. Almost of their own accord, my hands rose to push his shirt off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, and then ran his fingers down my chest, all the while with a smirk that did not exactly answer my question.
"Do you intend to talk all evening, Damien nó Mandrake?" Before I could reply, he gripped my hips and jerked me to him. I could feel his phallus against me, as hard as mine. I gasped at the contact, paralyzed by the jolt of pleasure that shot through me.
Sebastien's lips curved, and then he pressed them against mine. For a moment, the kiss was slow, cautious—for a brief moment. And then...
Ah, Elua! Desire seized hold of me, as surely as Sebastien's hands on my waist. Though no longer forbidden, the kiss was just as passionate and fierce as our last. I've no idea how long it lasted before Sebastien leaned back, just out of reach.
"Tell me, young Damien, have you learned anything since the Midwinter Masque?"
My lessons seemed distant and inaccessible; all I could think about was a release for my surging desire. Somehow, I managed to murmur, "Yes..."
The young comte leaned forward once more. "Show me," he whispered against my lips.
And so I did, although it was no surprise that my own little knowledge was much outweighed by his own. That night, I learned by experience far more than what I had gleaned from books and lectures. We were both young, and eager, and neither of us slept until the dawn. No matter what was to happen between Sebastien and I in the future, I will always look back on that first night with joy.
After that night, to the delight of all the acolytes, our other training commenced. We learned the use of whips, of floggers and ropes and all manner of other items. We attended different Showings, were given new books to read. Occasionally, a Valerian adept came and allowed us to practice what we'd learned—to a point. And though we were not permitted to practice our new skills on each other, we acolytes were now free to act on our desires, which helped make the days a bit more bearable.
To my surprise, Sebastien attempted to call on me—not as a patron, but simply to visit. It was perfectly acceptable for adepts to have friends and lovers outside of the House, but for an unmarqued acolyte to have a visitor of Sebastien's status was unheard of. It caused quite a stir in the House when he came, on a sunny afternoon early that summer. The Dowayne's Second politely but firmly turned him away at the door, and that night I found myself called to the Dowayne's study to explain why such a guest sought my company.
"Without having spoken to him, I cannot be sure, my lord," I said, peeved that I had not even known about the visit until Sebastien had left. "But I assume it was simply a social call. I chose the Comte de Guiscarde as my first lover, on the night of the fête. We got on well together, and we are nearly of an age."
The Dowayne steepled his fingers, regarding me with an expressionless look. "And that was the only contact you have had with him?"
"Yes, my lord," I lied, burying the memory of the Longest Night deep in my mind.
He pursed his lips. "This Comte de Guiscarde should be looking for friends among his peers, not the acolytes of the Night Court."
"Am I not worthy of a Comte's friendship?" I blurted, annoyed.
The Dowayne fixed me with a stern glare. I shut my mouth, but didn't look away.
"You are not yet an adept, Damien," he said. "When you begin to pay your debt to this House, you will be free to consort with whomever you choose. But it is unseemly of this noble to seek out an acolyte, and I will not permit him to see you until you enter Naamah's service. Until then, you are to focus on your training, and naught else. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord," I said, a bit sullenly.
"Good," said the Dowayne. "Have patience, Damien. You shall be dedicated to Naamah soon enough."
"Soon enough"? I thought, as I left the study. Elua, a year ago wouldn't be soon enough! I wanted, so badly, to give free reign to my desires. Other Houses had full adepts younger than I, while I was still confined to what meager satisfaction my fellow students could provide. We did our best to please each other, but Elua knows it was not what we—what I wanted. I wanted to use the skills I was learning, I wanted to be in control... I wanted that thrill of power that I had felt when I'd first kissed Sebastien, in the cold stables on the Longest Night. I wanted to know how it felt, to be like the adepts I'd seen in the Showings, so powerful and confident, menacing and beautiful and dangerous. And it seemed, to my sixteen-year-old self, that I would never get the chance—with Sebastien, or anyone else.
Through the summer, our training stretched on, interminably long. Sebastien did not come to Mandrake House again, and I tried to put him out of my mind. The days grew longer, and warmer; then Midsummer passed, and the days shortened again, beginning the turn towards the Longest Night. In the final days of true summer, when the days were still hot and the nights just beginning to feel the chill of autumn, our tutors began to hint at a final step, one more task before we could be dedicated to Naamah's service. They would give us no details. When we asked the older adepts what they had experienced, they only smiled and said that we acolytes must find out for ourselves. In our shared rooms at night, we would murmur to each other guesses of what it might be... but in truth, we were far more excited about the end result: our dedication.
As it happened, I was the first of our group to undertake this final task. Early one evening, I found myself summoned to the Dowayne's Second, Janelle nó Mandrake. She met me in the House courtyard as the sun was setting. Some few patrons were already arriving for an evening's entertainment when I approached.
To my surprise, Janelle awaited me beside a carriage bearing Mandrake's marque on the sides. "Get in," she ordered. Knowing better than to ask questions, I did.
We rode in silence for some minutes, listening to the horses' hooves and the clatter of the wheels over the cobbles. When the Second finally spoke, it startled me.
"You have done very well in your training, Damien." Across from me, her dark eyes glinted. "All your tutors agree, you are nearly ready for your dedication. There remains only one final lesson."
Excitement flared, set my heart to racing. "Yes, my lady?" I asked, more calmly than I felt.
Janelle glanced out the carriage window, as we passed through a gate into another courtyard. "You now know as much as any new adept about the arts of love, and the arts of dominance. But you do not yet understand the art of submission."
The carriage drew to a halt, and I recognized the crest that was inlaid in mosaic tile on the courtyard wall. "Valerian House," I said.
She nodded. "Every Mandrake acolyte must experience a night in service to Valerian House. The manner of your service is at their discretion; but Valerian will determine whether you are fully ready to bear Mandrake's marque."
I stared at her, startled. "I... I am to take a patron? As a member of Valerian?" I could hear the disbelief in my own voice. This was hardly what I had expected to come of this journey. "I never agreed to such a thing, my lady. I daresay it violates Elua's precept."
The footman opened the carriage door, and Janelle stepped out of the carriage, then turned to regard me with calm, dark eyes. "No one is going to force themselves on you, Damien. Even Valerian adepts are free to refuse a patron. They will not require aught that you do not desire. You will have a signale, and you may use it at any time.
"But," she continued, "this night is our condition for you to enter Naamah's service." Her expression softened, and she added, not unkindly, "I passed this same night before my dedication, and so has every other Mandrake adept. If we have done it, there is no reason you cannot. Come, Damien."
Without waiting, she turned and made for the entrance. Scowling, I sat in the carriage for a moment longer, feeling foolish and stubborn. After the months of studies, all the lessons to transform me into a Mandrake adept, I was now expected to forget them? To submit? Elua knows, I had no interest in such a thing.
But... Janelle had to be telling the truth. If it were as bad as I imagined, my House would have far fewer adepts than it did. And I would have a signale. And... after this night, I could finally enter Naamah's service. In the end, that was what decided me. Well and so, I thought. I can play along with this game. I swallowed back my pride—with all the difficulty one might expect in a sixteen-year-old—and hurried after Janelle.
I had expected to be brought to Valerian's Second, but that did not occur. Instead, Janelle pulled aside the adept who greeted us, and murmured in his ear. I stood there, peering around the room, wishing I did not look like an uncertain child—nor feel like one.
"Cécile will see that you are cared for," Janelle said, returning to me. "I will be back for you in the morning."
Elua, she was already leaving? My surprise must have shown on my face. She smiled and patted my cheek reassuringly. "All will be well, Damien nó Mandrake. Trust me... And enjoy yourself," she added, with a sudden grin that startled me. Before I could answer, she swept away, and the Valerian adept Cécile beckoned to me.
I was shown to a room, rather like our own salon, a sort of drawing room in which Valerian adepts awaited patrons. There were a few patrons there already, engaged in conversations with the adepts, and some played at games of chance. It was very much like home—except that, at Mandrake House, I had never felt so uncomfortably out of place as I did here. Cécile murmured something about waiting for a patron, gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder, and wandered away. I scowled after him. It all felt wrong. I had dreamed of visiting Valerian House, but not this way. I eyed the other adepts around the room. More than a few of them met my gaze with interest, but I suppose they knew I was not there as a patron. More than a few of them flinched away from the scowl I wore, as well.
Only a few moments passed before a patron approached me: a young woman, dressed well enough for the Night Court, but clearly not a noble. I guessed her to be a merchant, perhaps. She bore a warm, olive complexion, and her dark hair was caught up in an artful knot. She paused before my chair, and eyed me with a tiny smile.
"Well, well," she murmured. "I can't say that I've seen you before, lovely boy..."
For all that I felt like a petulant child, the habit of courtesy was too deeply ingrained to ignore. I rose and gave her a bow. "The name is Damien, my lady—and I am only visiting, I'm afraid."
Her smile deepened. "Ah, you must be the Mandrake acolyte."
I blinked. "It seems that I am the only person in Terre D'Ange who did not know I would be here tonight."
She laid a hand on my arm, her smile turning mischievous. "Now don't be cross, lovely Damien. All Mandrake adepts pass a night in Valerian's service, or so I am told."
I managed a polite smile. "Forgive me, my lady..."
"Musette," she offered.
"My lady Musette... You have come here looking for a Valerian adept, and I fear I would be a poor substitute. I hope you will not take it amiss if I suggest that you find another companion for the evening."
She raised an eyebrow, and beneath it, her dark eyes were sparkling. "I believe I can decide why I have come," she said, and her fingers squeezed my arm before letting go. "Whether you give your signale or not, it would be a rare treat to pass the night with you, my lovely boy."
Desire had been constantly smoldering within me for months, waiting for the slightest provocation, any chance to burst into flames. Even given the strangeness of the evening, her words were enough to set that flame alight. Elua, I did want her, only not in the same manner she wanted me.
"You may say so, my lady Musette," I murmured. "But I have no interest in playing at being Valerian. I think you would be surprised by how soon I would give my signale."
Unconcerned, she moved closer, nearly brushing against me. "So be it, then," she murmured. One slim hand reached up to trace the line of my jaw. "There are other pleasures we might enjoy, if my... skills... are not to your tastes..."
I looked down at her for a long moment. She gazed back, unintimidated, her dark eyes still sparkling as if I amused her. I wasn't sure I liked that. But she was beautiful, and willing to accommodate my reservations- and I did not want to endure another minute in the salon with the others.
"Why not?" I said, recklessly, and gave her a grin. "If you truly wish it, my lady Musette, I suppose—I am yours for the night."
"Oh, good!" She exclaimed, laying her hand on my chest. Rising onto her toes, she pressed a quick kiss to my lips, then clenched her fist in the cloth of my shirt. "Come along, lovely boy..."
Bemused, I followed her to a private chamber where the contract was prepared. I was at somewhat of a loss when the scribe asked for my signale; I had not had time to choose one. Unbidden, an image of Sebastien came to mind: At the Midwinter Masque, tipped arrogantly back in his chair with his feet on the table, sharp eyes peering through his fox mask.
"Foxes," I said, and it was dutifully copied down.
My first true assignation... It was not exactly how I had imagined. The contract was a standard form, like those used at home. I skimmed it only briefly before signing my name, and then Musette did the same. My heart began to pound as I watched her do it.
"You understand," the scribe said to Musette, "that Damien is not of Valerian House, nor even a full Servant of Naamah?"
"I do," she replied seriously. The scribe turned to me, eyeing me over his spectacles. "And you, Mandrake... You understand that your signale means no more and no less than that of our adepts? You are here in service to our House, but you are not to be forced into aught."
"I understand," I said.
The scribe nodded, rolling up the contract. "Then may Naamah's blessing be upon you both."
A young girl came to guide us to a bedchamber. I followed behind Musette, admiring the way her high-necked dress clung to her hips. Once inside our room, she turned to smile at me. When the girl left us, Musette moved closer, until I could nearly feel the heat of her on my skin. Unsure of myself, I didn't move, watching her.
"Come, Damien," she murmured, and wrapped her arms about my neck. "Let me taste you." She tugged my head down for a kiss, lips warm and soft against my own. I kissed her back, desire growing despite everything. My hands found her waist, pulled her closer as I deepened the kiss. After a moment, she pulled away, but not without a teasing stroke of her hand across my phallus. "Patience," she admonished, with a swift smile. "On your knees."
I tensed, but obeyed. She stood over me for a moment longer, an unreadable look on her face. "Close your eyes," she murmured.
I did so, immediately feeling vastly more uncomfortable. I knew this tactic. I had no idea what she was about to do, and I would have no warning before she did it. I clenched my fists and tried to at least look unworried.
"Good boy," Musette said. "Stay there a moment—eyes closed!—and think about how you plan to please me tonight."
Gritting my teeth, I remained where I was, and listened to her move away. I heard the rustle of clothing, and guessed she was undressing. Then, a long silence, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to speak. I held my tongue, believing that I would speak my signale, if I said aught.
"Tell me, my lovely Damien," her voice came suddenly, startlingly close behind me. I twitched, eyes flickering open briefly. "How do you feel, this very moment? Nervous? A bit unsettled?"
"Yes," I admitted.
When she spoke again, I could tell that she was circling me, slowly. "Helpless? Oh, perhaps that's not the right word... but you know that you've placed yourself in my power, do you not?"
"Yes..."
"Powerless might be a better word, I suppose. You don't know what I'm planning, but you know that I'm in control."
I drew in a deep breath. She was right; the suddenness of the evening had given me no time to think things through. I was unsettled, and powerless as I had not felt since childhood. I had my signale, but that did not make it easier to guess what Musette had in store for me. Until I spoke that word, I was at her mercy. The realization was an uncomfortable one, and the urge to open my eyes became nearly unbearable.
Musette paused behind me once more, stroked my hair. "And yet, desire is there too, no?" she asked softly, and she was correct about that, too. As uncomfortable as I felt, I still wanted her. I could smell her faint perfume, now, as if my closed eyes heightened my other senses. She walked around me, fingers stroking my temple before they fell away.
"All of these things," she murmured. "The surrender, the nervousness, the desire, the powerlessness... all of these are what your patrons will feel with you, Damien nó Mandrake. When they place themselves in your hands, their trust in you will be a gift. Be sure you do not take it lightly."
Frowning, I suddenly remembered what Janelle had said in the carriage. You do not yet understand the art of submission. I opened my eyes, looked up at Musette. She had changed into a short silk robe, and she was standing before me, lips curved in a tiny smile.
Slowly, I got to my feet. "This was a test," I said, emotions whirling.
Musette raised one eyebrow. "Oh, the test will come later, lovely Damien. This was a lesson—two, in fact, that your patrons will be glad of you learning."
I stared at her, unsure whether to be relieved or furious. She smiled gently. "This evening was not intended to make a fool of you, Damien. It is important that you understand your patrons, and why they will come to you. The Night Court gives its patrons exactly what they need. You cannot do so if you do not understand what they want. For your patrons, that nervousness, that surrender, that powerlessness—and desire—are a part and parcel of why they will seek you out. Always remember what brings them to you.
"And you must remember as well: you are Naamah's servant. To serve your patrons in her honor, you must give them what they want... not necessarily what you want."
I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Elua, if I thought I had felt unsettled before, this revelation had made it worse. "Why... why this way? All the secrecy, and..."
"Like most lessons, this is better learned from experience than a book," Musette said. "You were told, were you not, what patrons find when they kneel at Mandrake's feet? But did it truly mean aught, until you felt it yourself?" Her smile deepened. "Although it must be said, we enjoy it far more than you did."
"'We'?" I repeated.
Slowly, Musette sank to her knees, letting her robe slide down her arms as she did so. She knelt abeyante before me, nude, chin proudly held high. "You are free to choose another, if you wish... But if you will still have me, my name is Musette nó Valerian, and I am yours for the night."
I stared at her, my forgotten desire returning. Ah, Elua, she was beautiful, and surrendering herself to me... I remembered what I had felt moments earlier, when our positions were reversed. Everything I had just felt, she now shared. The thought of her feeling helpless, and a little bit fearful of me, set my own desire to a roaring blaze. Thiswas what I had been craving: the control over another, the power to be cruel or kind, to cause pain or pleasure... and now, I knew exactly what she was feeling, too.
I walked a slow circuit around her, as she had done to me. Her slender back bore the full Valerian marque, done in a rich, wine-red ink that complemented her warm olive skin. This was the test, I realized: the chance to put my skills to use, with a full adept who could judge my readiness to be dedicated to Naamah. I came back around, bent to lift her chin. She waited silently as I studied her.
"You'll do," I said finally, as if I wasn't already aching to bury myself in her. Her eyes sparkled.
"As my lord wishes," she breathed, and I could hear the approval in her voice.