That first visit to Valerian House is another night that will live in my memory for a lifetime, I am certain. I took full advantage of the opportunity to use my skills, and of Musette. It seemed that I passed my test, for she sent a glowing report of my performance to the Dowayne of Mandrake House. A week later, I found myself in Naamah's Temple with Astor and the others, releasing doves into the clear autumn morning to seal our dedication into Naamah's service. The six of us spent the rest of that day in quiet contemplation of our vows. And then, the following evening, we were allowed to join the other adepts in the salons and await our first true patrons.
I should not have been surprised that Sebastien came to the House that evening, looking for me. He had been my first kiss, my first lover; of course he would claim the distinction of being my first patron. He told me so, later. When he arrived, though, I was surprised to see him, and it amused him.
"Come, Damien!" He cried merrily, drawing the curious gazes of other patrons. He seized my arm in an iron grip, urging me toward the hall. "We are going to celebrate your dedication to Naamah!"
Realizing he meant for us to leave the House, I hesitated. It was tempting, but... "Comte de Guiscarde, I would be delighted, but I fear I can ill afford it. I am the newest of new adepts; I do not have coin to spare."
He grinned, and produced a gold coin, making it dance across his knuckles as he had done on the Longest Night. "I am paying you for your time, lovely boy—but only if you call me Sebastien," he added mischievously.
I eyed him askance. "You wish to be my patron for the night?"
"That," he held up his index finger, "is not what I said." The gold coin disappeared, and he leaned closer, cupping my chin in one hand. "We're going to Valerian House."
There was a sort of possessiveness in his touch that I could not ignore; I gripped his wrist, holding it immobile. "Why?"
Sebastien gave me a look that sent heat radiating through my flesh. "Because I have waited for months to see what you and I might both do with a Valerian adept."
I swallowed roughly. "I... we should prepare a contract."
"Of course," he murmured, smiling.
And so, my first night as Naamah's Servant was considerably different than most adepts'... But oh, Elua, I enjoyed every moment of it. At Valerian House, Sebastien left the choosing to me. I settled on a girl with pale hair and a sweet smile; she was near to our own age, and had only just begun to limn her marque.
Mandrake's arts, and our adepts, balance many elements: cruelty and control, dominance and power, the infliction of pain and of humiliation. Everyone finds their own balance, has their own preferences, and part of an assignation involves aligning these desires to one's patron. The comte and I seemed to have a shared understanding of what we desired from each other, and from the object of our attentions. Sebastien and I plied our untender skills upon my pale-haired girl until desire drove the two of us together... and I daresay she was impressed, as well.
After that night, it became a pattern for us. Sebastien drew great pleasure from watching me perform my duties as a member of Mandrake House. He would often contract me for a night spent with himself and a third, who was sometimes a member of the Night Court, sometimes not. Occasionally he would leave the two of us to our own devices, simply watching us, while other times, he would join us.
Though I did not know it that first night in Naamah's service, Sebastien and I would become good friends, and lovers, despite our too-similar desires. He was refreshingly unlike any nobles I had ever met: direct, honest and open. He had a habit of speaking as he pleased, unconcerned whether it would affect his peers' opinion of himself. He had none of the false manners that colored so many of the nobility's actions... It seemed that his time spent in the infantry had made him practical and pragmatic, and he had little patience for the subtle games played among the peers of the realm. In truth, he seemed to prefer my company over theirs, for that very reason, he told me once.
He was ever mindful of my marque, saying he wished to see it when it was finished, in all its beauty, and he paid me well. Despite the unpolished edges of his manner, Sebastien could hold his own in the Night Court, and particularly in Valerian House. His time in the military had instilled an air of command, one that expected nothing but obedience; he knew his own desires, and knew exactly how to get what he wanted. His cruel streak could rival any Shahrizai's, though he balanced it with a light heart and a genuine joy in celebrating Elua's precept—it made him a favorite of Mont Nuit.
I am not ashamed to admit that I learned much from Sebastien. All the intangible elements of interactions with patrons, the subleties of control that could only be learned by experience—I gained them on the nights spent with him. He relished his role as my unofficial tutor, often murmuring instructions in my ear as I plied my skills on the others in our bed. Whether I followed his advice was determined by my mood—I could not let him think he commanded me, of course—but I always remembered his words, saving the knowledge for future use. A great deal of the adept that I am today, I owe to his tutelage.
As the months passed, my marque crept slowly up my spine, inked by Sebastien's generous patron-gifts, and soon by others who began to contract me as my reputation grew. I came to love him, a little—how not, when we spent so much time together, and he was so good to me? I have never had so close a friend outside of the House. Such friendships with my usual patrons would be nearly impossible. But Sebastien was hardly like my usual patrons, and his friendship became a blessing to me, an enrichment in my life that I had never expected.
Some eight months after dedicating myself to Naamah, I was contracted to participate in a Showing at Valerian House. Such events occur often, for our two houses naturally complement one another. I had seen several even before I began to earn my marque... but this was my first opportunity to participate, rather than observe. I was more nervous than I care to admit, as Astor and I waited for the guests to arrive.
"Stop pacing, Damien," he said. "This is no different from any other assignation. Or from our training, for that matter. You have plied your skills before an audience as many times as I have. Maybe more, if you include your friend the comte."
I scowled at him. The son of a Shahrizai lord and a woman of Alyssum House, Astor had an uncanny ability to read others. It served him well in Mandrake House, but sometimes he was too shrewd for my liking.
"True," I conceded. "But an audience full of nobles will be less forgiving than our instructors. Or our friends."
He laughed softly, waving a dismissive hand at the mention of nobility. "Forgiving of what?" He asked, rising to his feet. "Ihave never had any complaints from my patrons, and I have not heard any about you, either. This shall be no different." He crossed the small antechamber and stopped before me, gripped my shoulders. "You will be cruel, and violent, and beautiful, as you always are; and you will leave them wanting more. With any luck," he added, grinning, sliding his hands down my chest, "both of us will gain new patrons after tonight."
"Not likely," I said, letting him undo the ties of my shirt. "The guests will be those that share our appetites. They may appreciate our performance, but they are not like to contract us for themselves."
Astor shrugged, unconcerned, and pushed my shirt off my shoulders. "Stop being contrary," he ordered, tossing my shirt aside. One hand, warm and slim-fingered, lingered on my bare chest; the other reached lower. Before I could retort, the door to our small waiting-chamber opened, and a Valerian acolyte entered with bowed head.
"They are ready to begin, my lords," she murmured. With a quick curtsy, she left the room again.
Astor stepped back from me, his deep blue eyes sparkling. We had been chosen as partners to complement each other, for the Showings in the Night Court are an art form, first and foremost. The participants are chosen with aesthetics in mind, and this night was no exception. Astor's eyes were a contrast to my own green ones; his blue-black hair a balance to my own dark gold; his olive skin, so unlike his other Shahrizai features, a perfect complement to my fairer tones.
I reached for my shirt, where Astor had left it crumpled on the floor. He stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Go out as you are," he suggested, grinning. "They will not be expecting that." Squeezing my arm, he left the room.
I did the same, exiting through a different door, for we had planned to enter the stage from opposite sides. Just outside the waiting-chamber hung the dark curtains that hid me from the audience's view, though I could see the dais and Astor waiting in the shadows at the other end.
The third member of our group, a Valerian adept named Rielle, was already on the dais, waiting for us. Completely bare, she knelt abeyante at the edge of the dais, facing the audience. From where I stood, I could see her full marque in the candlelight, valerian leaves and chains inked into her skin from nape to the swell of her buttocks. She had been chosen for this with as much care as Astor and I; her porcelain skin was lighter than mine, her rich chestnut curls gathered up onto her head and secured with her only adornment, a pair of long, porcelain hairpins.
She had been waiting there for a long time, since before the first guests arrived. In the darkened seating area, the guests were not visible from the dais, but I could hear the low murmur of conversation, just above the soft music being played in the rear of the chamber. I glanced again at Rielle. She had been there, bare and waiting on her knees, obedient, able to do nothing but feel the guests' unseen eyes on her body. That thought caused the first stirring of arousal in me, and I smiled to myself as I began to imagine what I would do to her.
A sort of careless arrogance stole over me, a familiar feeling that banished my earlier nerves. I was Damien nó Mandrake, and I had had countless nobles kneeling at my feet, begging for whatever I would give them. That was what the guests had come to see tonight; an interplay of power and helplessness, the interactions of Mandrake and Valerian, all three of us having earned our title of adept with good reason.
The musicians ceased their song, and the murmurs in the darkness fell quiet. I caught Astor's eye across the dais; he nodded once, and we strode onto the stage together.
The three of us had earlier discussed the nature of our performance; we each had our roles to play. I stopped beside the pommel horse in the center of the dais, while Astor went to Rielle and, with surprising gentleness, drew her to her feet. They kissed, slowly building towards passion, for it would not do to rush. I watched them, silently, enjoying the sight and giving my own desire free rein. When they broke apart, Astor smiled, stroked her cheek, and then gestured towards me.
She feigned confusion, then reluctance. When he insisted, she took a step back, and there was fear in her voice when she pleaded, "No, my lord, please—"
Astor caught her arm in a cruel grip, gentleness forgotten. "Go," he snapped, shoving her roughly towards me.
Eyes downcast, she approached me, clasping her hands together, white-knuckled. She was a lovely girl, some five years older than I, with large, round eyes and a youthful cast to her features. It was the fear in her expression, though, that truly tugged at my desire. I did not believe it was solely for the benefit of the audience.
"Your signale, girl," I demanded, loudly enough to be heard by the audience.
"Scarlet, my lord," she answered, just as clearly.
Astor came up behind her, placed his hands on her hips and urged her forward, until she and I were nearly touching. "Kiss him," he murmured in her ear.
I stood motionless, letting her close the distance between us. The kiss was hesitant, her lips just brushing mine, and for a brief moment I felt a sense of madness—how strange it was, the familiar ritual of submission and dominance, given this extra dimension of performance! And then desire took hold, and I kissed her back, and I thought no more about it. Astor had been right; once it began, it was only another assignation.
I will not linger on the details of the Showing; I daresay our audience enjoyed it. Afterwards, Valerian acolytes snuffed out the candles on the dais, and in the darkness, the three of us retreated to the waiting-chamber. Another adept came to take our partner away and tend her bruises. Rielle excused herself with smiles and a kiss for each of us on her way out. After Astor and I had dressed once again, we made to leave.
It is Valerian House's custom to serve refreshments after a Showing, and allow the guests to meet the adepts, as if we were renowned theatre players. As we entered the chamber together, Astor nudged my arm.
"Look who's here," he murmured. I followed his gaze to see Sebastien at the far end of the room, chatting with a noblewoman. I felt a smile tugging at my lips. He had been away, spending a holiday in Marsilikos, and I'd missed his presence. I left the mingling to Astor, and threaded my way through the guests towards Sebastien.
"Ah, Damien, my friend!" He exclaimed, when he caught sight of me. He embraced me, as he was wont to do, without a care for what his peers might think. He gave me the kiss of greeting, and turned it into somewhat more, besides.
"I hadn't realized you'd returned," I said, when we parted. I gave him a stern look. "Why didn't you send word?"
He grinned. "What do you think I'm doing now, my friend? Just arrived this morning. When I came to call, they told me about your Showing, so of course I had to come and watch. And well done indeed," he added, clapping an iron hand on my shoulder.
"Well, I've had... practice," I reminded him, with a small smile.
"Oh, yes," he murmured, with a flash of heat in his dark eyes. Then he turned to the young woman at his side, whom I suddenly realized I had been rather rudely ignoring. Of an age with Sebastien, if not younger, she was small and slender, in a pale blue gown. Her hair was a deep auburn, almost too dark to be called fiery, until the light picked out strands of gold when she shifted.
"My dear, this is Damien nó Mandrake. Damien, the lady Béline, Comtesse de Collente. Lately of Marsilikos, now visiting family here in the City."
"'Tis a pleasure, my lady." I nodded, respectfully, but it was not anywhere near a bow. Her eyes met mine, and I could read her as easily as a book. It is a trick we adepts must learn: the art of reading one's desires, even if they do not know themselves. Haughty, proper, confident in her nobility, with an air of authority that said Valerian's services would be more to her liking than my own, Béline was also mildly offended by my greeting. Elua, she had a lot to learn about the City, if she expected any Mandrake adept to bow to her, here in the Night Court! I could sense already that she was everything I resented in the nobility of Terre D'Ange; so convinced of her superiority by simple virtue of her parentage that she took offense to any minor slight.
"Damien," she murmured, with a smile that didn't reach her sea-gray eyes. "I've heard much of you on the journey from Marsilikos. Sebastien thinks very highly of you, and I must echo his praise; from what I have seen, you are quite... skilled."
"You're too kind, my lady." I grinned. "Many of those skills were learnt under Sebastien's tutelage. I live in hope that he will allow me to ply those skills upon himself, one day."
Sebastien laughed. "Perhaps one day, my friend—if you are good," he added. With another exchange of pleasantries, they took their leave so that I could greet the other guests; Sebastien promised to call again soon, and winked at me over Béline's shoulder as they left.
After Sebastien's return to the City, our friendship carried on as it had before, with one exception: his courtship of the Comtesse de Collente meant that I saw him a bit less often. Finding myself more in demand as both my reputation and my marque grew, that suited me, though I still enjoyed each occasion I had to see my friend.
Sebastien and Béline... I suppose that she attracted him for much the same reason as I did: she challenged him. He confided in me that I'd guessed correctly: she preferred to wield power rather than submit to it. The two of them were as well matched as Sebastien and I, or perhaps better.
Occasionally she would accompany a group of us on a hunting outing, or at a theatre performance, but though she seemed comfortable with Sebastien's other friends, she rarely spoke more to me than a polite minimum. I am proud to say that I didn't attempt to tease her, or provoke her, or anything else that I might do to a noblewoman who so clearly thought herself above me. I could respect the fact that Sebastien cared for her, and so I was simply as coolly polite to Béline as she was to me. It seemed to suit us both.
Given all of that, it took a surprisingly short time for Sebastien to convince her to join us in the Night Court. And that, of course, was when everything changed.