I stared at them, my shivering intensifying. I could smell the fetid water of the zenana's stagnant pool and there was a foul taste in my mouth.
"Mavros." I clutched the front of his doublet. "I can't do this."
"Here." He steered me to a couch near the fire. "Sit." Glancing around, he snapped his fingers. An adept appeared almost instantly, a shy lad as graceful as a fawn, proferring cordial on a tray. "Drink this," Mavros ordered.
I obeyed, downing the glass. It was perry brandy, sweet and spicy. I wondered if it had been distilled at Lombelon. I could hear my cousins laughing and chatting pleasantly among themselves. A tightness in my chest loosened and the memories of Daršanga receded. This was Terre d'Ange, and there was no Three-Fold Path here.
"Better?" Mavros asked, crouching before me.
I nodded.
"Good." He frowned. "Imriel, listen to me. These are Naamah's Servants, bound to her worship in their own way. And yes, they serve Kushiel, too, and find pleasure in it. No one is here against their will. All here have chosen this. You need not take part in it. But it is time you understood your heritage. Are you willing?"
I drew a breath, feeling better. "I'm willing, Mavros. It's just…"
"I know," he said softly. "A little of it, anyway. But I swear to you, we honor Blessed Elua's precept here. Any one of us would sooner die than dishonor it."
"I understand," I said faintly. "Believe me, I do."
Mavros nodded. "We have a standing agreement with Valerian House. By coming here with us, you agree to abide by it." Rising to his feet, he ticked off the points on his fingers. "No maiming, ever. No branding and no flechettes; no wounds that will scar unless it has been agreed upon in separate contract beforehand. You will ascertain the signale of any adept with whom you engage, and honor it on pain of death. Is that clear?"
I looked away. Valerian adepts moved gracefully throughout the dungeon; lighting sconces, stoking the fire, proffering wine and cordial. Others lit lumps of opium, letting them smolder in fretted incensors. Thin threads of blue smoke rose, rendering the air heady.
That, too, reminded me of Daršanga. I pushed the thought away.
"Yes, I understand," I said to Mavros. "It won't be necessary."
"As you say." His twilight gaze rested on me. "I only ask that you abide."
"I will," I said stubbornly.
Mavros bowed to me. "So be it."
What ensued was an orgy. If there be any other name to give it, I do not know it. I sat there, glued to my couch, and watched all manner of love given license. And ah, Elua! I yearned at what I saw; yearned until it hurt.
This is what I saw.
Valerian's adepts, filing into the Shahrizai dungeon and presenting themselves to the Shahrizai, their eyes downcast. And yet, oh Blessed Elua! There was pride there in a manner I failed to expect. I saw it in the set of their shoulders, in their covert sidelong glances. They wanted to be chosen.
They wanted to be challenged.
And they were. Oh, gods above and beyond, they were! I watched my Shahrizai kin smile, their fingers beckoning. They played dangerous games, shameless before one another. Chains jangled and leather snapped, the wooden wheel spun. Flesh, nubile flesh, was laid bare. I groaned at the sight of emerging weals. Ah, Elua! There was a terrible beauty in it. For the first time, I saw it. A part of me yearned to claim it for myself; another part yearned to reject it. Torn by my own conflicting desires, I watched in helpless fascination.
"My lord!" A naked adept knelt on the floor alongside me, her golden hair spilling over her bare shoulders. She gazed up at me in entreaty. "Why do you hold yourself apart? Is there nothing here that pleases you? No one?"
I stared past her, gritting my teeth. Aprilios Shahrizai had another adept on the wooden wheel, laughing as it spun, slinging his arm sidelong with a cat-o'-nine-tails, his aim unerring. Each knot raised a welt.
"It's not that," I said shortly.
The adept lowered her eyes. "Do you find me displeasing, my lord?"
"No." I drained my glass and set it down. "No, of course not." I touched her cheek, raising her chin. "What's your name?"
"Sephira, my lord." Her eyes were hazel, her tawny brows a shade darker than her golden hair. Sidonie's coloring, except for the eyes.
"Mine's Imriel," I told her.
She blushed, the blood rising visibly beneath her fair skin. There was somewhat appallingly erotic about her kneeling there, naked and vulnerable, while I sat fully clothed. "Yes, my lord, of course."
"You may use it, you know," I said. "My name."
Sephira shook her head. Averting her gaze, she leaned away and picked up a decanter of perry brandy, neatly refilling my glass. Her hair trailed over my clad legs, making my skin prickle all over. "Oh no, my lord. I couldn't."
"Why not?" I asked.
She replaced the decanter and folded her hands in her lap. "It's not done, my lord."
"So?" A wave of recklessness overcame me. I drank off the brandy, slamming down the glass. "Elua's Balls! Does it always matter what's done? Must we always be bound with restrictions? Look at this, this"—I waved my hand at the participants—"utter carnal madness. How can it matter what's done in the midst of this?"
"It matters to me, my lord." A note of stubborn pride crept into Sephira's voice.
"Why?" I asked, then sighed. "Never mind. I don't care." I tangled my fingers in her hair, gripping it hard, forcing her head up. It felt horribly good. "Why are you here?" I asked. "What do you want of me?"
"To please you, my lord," she breathed.
I tightened my grip. "That's not good enough."
"All right." A flare of defiancé crossed her face. "I want to see what Melisande Shahrazai's son is capable of."
I swore aloud and nearly slapped her. Sephira never flinched. Her breathing quickened, her breasts rising and falling visibly, pink nipples erect. I felt a thread of tension binding us together. It grew tighter as I gazed at her.
"This is a game of wills, isn't it?" I said slowly. "One I am losing."
"My lord." Sephira turned her head, kissing my palm that had nearly struck her. She took my hand in hers, stroking and kissing it. "It is within your power to give me what I crave," she whispered. "And it is within your power to withhold it. That is the only game that matters here." Her voice dropped lower. "Do you want me to beg you? I shall. Please, my lord. Allow me to please you."
"I can't." I looked at the scene beyond her. "Not like this."
"There are private chambers, my lord," she murmured.
Across the dungeon, Mavros met my gaze. He stood, legs braced, one hand twined in the hair of a kneeling adept who performed the languisement on him. Male or female; I couldn't tell from the bare slender back and glossy brown hair. Mavros' eyes were at once fever-bright and strangely grave. Roshana whispered in his ear, a crop held loosely in her hand.
I looked into the dark mirror of my desire and beheld my reflection.
"All right," I said. I got to my feet, swaying, dazed and a little drunk, dizzy from the opium fumes. "All right, then. Why not?" At my feet, Sephira knelt, looking hopefully up at me. I held out my hand to her. "Show me."
She led me first to the flagellary, opening its doors wide. "Will you choose, my lord?"
"I don't…" I swallowed hard. Almost of their own accord, my hands rose, touching the objects within. I selected a few items. My skin was hot and they felt cool to the touch. "Go on," I said, my voice thick.
Sephira led and I followed. Firelight danced over her naked skin. She had already begun to make her marque, a scrolling base of Valerian leaves etched on the small of her back, beginning to climb her spine. I watched the way her buttocks moved beneath it, round and enticing. With each step, it felt as though I were falling into an abyss, as though the floor was opening beneath me. And yet I kept going, following her to a private chamber, lit by flickering torches and warmed by a charcoal brazier. The floor was strewn with thick cushions, and there was a whipping cross on one wall. When she closed the door behind us, it was blessedly quiet, save for the sound of my own harsh breathing resounding in my ears.
"Here, my lord." She turned to me, smiling.
"What…" I cleared my throat. "What is your signaled"
"Sunshine," she said.
"Sunshine." I echoed the word, thinking inadvertantly of Daršanga, remembering the day Phèdre had convinced Erich the Skaldi to help pry away the boards walling off the garden; the day I had seen the sun for the first time in months, cold and grey and unspeakably marvelous. I shuddered.
"My lord?" Sephira took a step closer. "Are you well?"
"Yes." I thrust one of the items I had chosen at her, a black silk blindfold. "Put this on."
She obeyed, tying it in place. When it was done, a thick swathe of silk obscured her features. She might have been any woman. She might have been Katherine, playing at one of Phèdre's covertcy games back at Montrève. With her golden hair loose and unbound, she might have been Sidonie. I took a harsh breath.
"How old are you, Sephira?" I asked.
Her blind face tracked my voice. "Eighteen last autumn, my lord."
"The age of majority." I laughed humorlessly. "Do you know what you want?"
"You, my lord," she said simply.
"Why should I believe you?" I asked.
She took another step closer and reached for my hand, placing it between her thighs. I fingered her, finding her slick and wet. Her nether-lips were plump. Naamah's Pearl throbbed as I rubbed it, and Sephira gasped.
"Believe me, my lord," she said raggedly.
I did believe, then. Grasping her head with both hands, I kissed her hard, feeling her lips part beneath mine, her body swaying against me, desperate and yearning.
It was nothing like Balm House; it was nothing like anything I had ever known. All the pent longing I had endured, all the shadowy desires I had feared to express found voice that night. I devoured her mouth, plundering it with my tongue. I ran my hands down her sides, grasping her buttocks, pulling her against me, grinding her naked loins against my rigid phallus, trapped beneath my breeches. All was permitted, all was encouraged.
"Do you like that?" I asked harshly.
"Yes, my lord!" she gasped. "Oh yes!"
Groping on the cushions, I found items I had dropped; a pair of ring-shaped pincers. They were made of silver, weighted and heavy. I cupped her breasts, thumbing her erect nipples, dropping a kiss upon each one.
"Here," I murmured. "And here."
Sephira moaned as I attached the pincers, her breasts swaying, nipples stiffening further as the weights dragged at them. The sight of her was enough to drive me mad.
"Turn around," I grated.
She obeyed my unspoken command, making her way blindly to the whipping cross and standing spread-eagled before it. I fastened the leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, and found myself weeping without realizing it, soundlessly. Sephira turned her blindfolded head toward me.
"Yes, my lord," she said softly. "Like this, please."
I dashed away tears. "Why?"
She strained against her bonds, rubbing her pubis against the rough wood of the cross, heedless of splinters. "We want it alike, my lord. Does it matter?"
"Yes," I said. "It matters to me."
"I don't know!" Sephira's voice broke. She ground herself helplessly against the wood. "Please, my lord! I beg you, grant me ease!"
I could have withstood her desire, or mine; I could not withstand the weight of their combined urgency. The thread that bound us had grown taut. I made my way behind her, fumbling on the cushions for the deerskin flogger I had dropped. I grasped it hard, feeling its braided grip imprinting my sweating palm, and swung it.
A dozen soft thongs smacked Sephira's buttocks.
She jerked in her bonds, sighing.
Oh, Elua! It felt good, so good. Over and over, I swung the flogger, watching the sweet pink welts rise on her skin, kissing her buttocks, curving around her ribcage. There, yes; there and there. The surge of her pleasure drove us both; the sting and smack of the thongs, the profound release in submitting to it. I rode atop it like a ship on a wave's crest. My arm grew tired as I swung it, losing myself in the rhythm, yearning to drive her higher and further, to make her squirm and moan; to force her to utter her signale. The flogger was a gentle weapon as such toys go, and I had chosen it as such, knowing myself a novice. But it made its point, giving rise to other possibilities; those glimpsed in the Shahrizai dungeon, in the dank shadows of Daršanga.
I dared not think of those.
"Have you had enough?" I whispered at length, my voice husky.
Sephira writhed. "Yes, my lord!"