Mastered

By Lux Caverna

The end of an empire. The beginning of a life.

For five years Lirel has mourned his betrothed, killed in the dreadful battle that ended the open-hearted Eofan empire. His new life among the closed-minded Rihadeshi is empty of love, of home, of everything he’s always cherished. A job tutoring the son of a Rihadeshi aristocrat seems his only chance to keep from starving.

And here he meets Tiris. Bold. Mysterious. Captivating. The kind of man Lirel longs to submit to.

Falling in love feels like betrayal.

But it also feels like ... hope.

Mastered is 147,000 words of slow-burn male/male romance set in an imaginary empire. It has several scenes of corporal punishment and explicit sex between two men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lux Caverna
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463983805

Book preview

1

The tip of the sword never moved. It stayed at Samaril’s throat, the hand steady, that muscular arm keeping the blade perfectly still. This is what a warrior looked like: steady, courageous, invincible. Handsome face stern, shoulders broad, eyes wary. Free hand gentle and firm on Lirel’s shoulder.

Lirel shook, swallowed against nausea. Rescued. But he didn’t feel relief.

So. The man’s voice was deep and firm. You have a choice. Deep and firm and edged with anger. I can execute you now, or you and your companion can leave this county and no one will know that you were about to rape and murder this man. His eyes transfixed Samaril.

The young man was swallowing convulsively, his face slick with sweat, his hands frozen in the act of tugging up his trousers. Shaking. Lirel almost felt sorry for him; after all, Lirel had volunteered; and Samaril was so eager for his first fuck. But, murder … He crumpled his shirt and waistcoat and jacket in sweaty hands.

Behind me, Zun Lirel. Please. His rescuer shifted the sword hilt to his left hand, gestured caution into the air with his right. The sword was immobile at Samaril’s throat. The man’s eyes never left the young man’s face.

Sir. Lirel stepped behind him. He looked at the trembling young man and struggled to find his voice. Don’t … don’t kill him. Please.

A tightening of the strong shoulders, then, Do you hear him, his rescuer said softly. Then, Sir, not another movement! His right forefinger stabbed the air.

Samaril’s gaze shifted toward where the forefinger was pointing; and it was then that Lirel saw the older highwayman, who had come back to the little clearing. The highwayman froze. His son. Samaril had called him Da’.

Put that sword away, the older highwayman said. We’ll talk.

But, Did you hear him, Lirel’s rescuer said again, softly, to Samaril. Did you hear the man you were going to rape and murder? Did you hear him begging for your life?

Samaril’s hands tightened on the waistband of his trousers. He looked into the swordsman’s eyes the way the rabbit stares at the hypnotizing snake. Y-Yes, he whispered.

Do you think you deserve that kind of forgiveness from the man you were going to kill?

Samaril’s face crumpled, and for a horrible second Lirel was terrified that the young man was going to say No and doom himself.

He didn’t hurt me, sir, Lirel said hastily. You didn’t, he said to Samaril. You don’t deserve death, he said to that frightened face.

Put that fucking sword down, Samaril’s father said, and we’ll talk.

If you use that sling, Lirel’s rescuer said, I will kill him before I fall.

The father froze; then Lirel heard the thud of a large dropped stone.

Is this what you’ve come to? the swordsman said softly to Samaril. That you prey on your own people?

Fighting the fucking Rihadeshi, the father growled. We’re robbing and fighting the Rihadeshi.

He’s Eofan. The swordsman’s voice was steel. You were going to rape and murder an Eofan man. And if he hadn’t given her his money, you would have raped a Cliff Person. You are harming your own people.

Working for the Rihadeshi, aren’t they?

The swordsman’s hand tightened, and for an instant Lirel was afraid he’d witness a murder.

And so are you, the swordsman said. Each time you break the law, you prove that non-Rihadeshi can’t be lawful. Can’t be trusted. And the grip tightens. He was still staring into Samaril’s eyes, still holding the sword at his throat. You can help your people, he said gently.

Can’t! Samaril said, almost crying. "Can’t live with them Rihadeshi. Can’t live like them. I’m Eofan; they look down on me. Can’t marry a woman; don’t want one. He looked at Lirel. Can’t have what I want. Wasn’t going to kill him, he said to Lirel’s rescuer. Just—Just maybe he’d want to … " He dropped his eyes, unable to finish that sentence.

 … stay with you, Lirel’s rescuer finished for him in a gentle voice. The broad shoulders relaxed. He lowered the sword and looked at Samaril, who was wiping his eyes with one wrist.

Picked a fine time to have a child. Samaril’s father came over to him, put his arm around his shoulders, kissed him hard on the side of the head. Pledged a Rihadeshi woman, I did. Then the Empire fell, and the new one started, and our pledge was dissolved, and my precious boy— He gave Samaril another rough kiss. "What does it harm if a man loves another man? Why’s that Rihadeshi Emperor got to care? Hanging. They would hang him."

The Emperor’s Lands, Lirel murmured. Eofa and Cliff People and Stone Valley People often fled the new Rihadeshi Empire to hide in the wilderness lands, there to love and live as they would.

Get raided? Samaril’s father snarled at him. Die here or die there?

It’s a chance, Lirel’s rescuer broke in. You could find someone there, he said to Samaril, who had yanked up his trousers and was fastening them. Find someone and pledge with him. Help your people. Protect them.

We’ll take our chances here, Samaril’s father said.

If I see you again, Lirel’s rescuer said, I’ll kill you both. If I hear you are robbing people, I will hunt you down and kill you myself. He looked at Samaril’s father, and it was clear that he meant it.

The father looked back for a moment; then, Come, son, he said, and he strode across the clearing, bending to hoist up his pack before stepping into the trees.

Please, the swordsman said to Samaril. Think about it.

Samaril cast a wistful look at Lirel, who gave him a weak smile; then the young man trotted across the clearing, picked up his pack, and disappeared into the autumn-bare woods after his father.

Watching them, Lirel swallowed hard; and suddenly the world narrowed to his shaking, to the tears threatening to spill—

Sir.

—to the clutch at fabric—

Zun Lirel.

—to the struggle for breath—

"Zun Lirel."

His rescuer was looking at him, handsome face patient and sympathetic. Your jacket, sir, he said. Then, when he’d taken it from Lirel’s shaking hands, Your shirt, sir. Do you need help with the buttons.

Buttons. Lirel looked down. Oh, yes: shirt. You wore it. So the shirt was tugged on automatically, and his rescuer stood by, watching the woods around them, as Lirel tucked it in untidily. Fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat until they were fastened. Then the man handed him his jacket. Stood patiently as Lirel donned it. Said nothing about Lirel’s muddy knees.

Do you have a coat, sir?

Not anymore. The highwaymen had it now. Had Shadowleaf’s greatcoat … Lirel blinked back tears and shook his head.

Can you sit a horse? the man asked.

I … think so. If it’s not—

And he got a smile. Jaffl is the steadiest horse in the stable, the man said; and he led the way through the undergrowth to a tiny clearing where a horse cropped grass in a desultory way.

Jaffl looked up when they came into the clearing, sidled away casually, and went back to grazing. Ambled away when the swordsman reached for the bridle.

You blasted fool, the man said in an amiable tone to the horse.

Jaffl tried sidling away again as the swordsman strode up, but the man grabbed, and the bridle was captured, and Jaffl was defeated.

You blasted animal, the man said conversationally to the horse, leading it to Lirel. He slid the sword into the sheath at his waist and mounted the horse.

Then he reached down to Lirel. Your foot on mine, sir, he said.

It was an awkward reach and an awkward way to mount, but the man’s foot, steady in the stirrup, and the man’s arm hauling him up helped; and finally Lirel was seated behind him.

Arms around my waist, sir, the man said. That way you can’t slip off.

So now he was embracing his rescuer, snug against that muscular back, feeling the trim waist shift each time the man moved. A lover’s embrace—

You—You know my name, Lirel said as they started off down the deer path down which the highwaymen had dragged him, but I don’t know—

Tiris. The man ducked his head to avoid a tree branch, and Lirel ducked with him. From Sandivil House. The maid told us.

Silver. Is she—Is she all right? It would have been worse if she’d been taken—much worse. Lirel could forget muddy knees, but Silver—

Fine, sir. Tiris chuckled. "Angry that the wagon from Sandivil House took so long to make the trip from the coach stop at Relhan to the house. Very angry that you’d been taken. Very, very angry that I wouldn’t let her come rescue you herself."

Silver was a soldier—no, had been a soldier. But Lirel wasn’t about to tell a Rihadesh—surely the man was a Rihadesh—no one else would have a horse, could have a sword, so Lirel wasn’t about to tell him that Silver had been a soldier in the Eofan army fighting the Rihadeshi. But he found himself smiling at the thought of Silver—compact, intense, eyes sparking in anger, facing down the highwaymen with sheer fury.

You, Tiris went on, —you … gave her—

She had nothing. I had a copper coin. And he couldn’t hand a woman who loved only women over to two men who would rape her. So he’d slipped her the coin and been dragged away to pay the highwayman’s tax in private. It was better that way. He could kneel in the mud and satisfy them with his mouth, but Silver— The horror silenced him. Better that way; it was better that way.

It was courageous of you, said Tiris. A real sacrifice.

I had to. It was better that way. But suddenly the shaking threatened to loosen Lirel’s grip; he blinked back tears. His mouth on those cocks—he hadn’t, since Shadowleaf—

A shame— There was an angry edge in Tiris’s voice. "—that the other passengers didn’t think to ransom you."

They were Rihadeshi. I’m Eofan. And he was so tired of it all—the daily insults, the slights, the sneers. Tears trickled down Lirel’s cheeks and spotted Tiris’s greatcoat; Lirel struggled to stay silent, to not let this Rihadeshi man know he was weeping.

Still …  Tiris’s voice was rough with anger. You’re another person. They should be ashamed.

Still, it was better that way—that Silver hadn’t— Tears blurred the woods around them. Just better that way.

To Lirel’s surprise, he felt Tiris’s warm hand grip his, clasped at Tiris’s waist. Rest against my back, sir, Tiris said. I’ll not let you fall.

So Lirel found himself nestling into Tiris’s back, head on Tiris’s shoulder, stifling his sobs until the tears stopped. The rhythm of Jaffl’s ambling was soothing; the sound of the hooves thudding into earth echoed the thump of Tiris’s heart; Tiris’s sturdy back steadied him.

Is it— Is it far? Lirel asked.

Not far.

And it wasn’t far. They came out of the woods to the road stretching back to Reskol and ahead to Relhan—well past the boulders where the fallen tree had blocked the way, where the two highwaymen had threatened the coachman with a sling-shot stone and robbed the coach’s passengers. Robbed even the Cliff Person and the Eofa shivering on the top of the coach—not allowed inside with the respectable Rihadeshi passengers. Robbed the Cliff Person and dragged the Eofa off to be—

Were they— Sir, were they really going to kill me? Lirel asked.

Yes. Couldn’t let you go; you’d tell the constables. And they’d have to do something.

Just because an Eofa was raped. Surely not. Surely no Rihadesh would care.

Tiris’s hand squeezed Lirel’s. The constables would have done something, sir. Because they’d raped a man.

And a man fucking another man would be executed, by Rihadeshi law. While a man raping a woman … Was there even a penalty?

That’s—That’s sickening, Lirel said. And if they’d raped Silver instead … 

Women are— It’s natural for a man to fuck a woman. Rihadeshi law says so.

Rihadeshi law. Rihadeshi law also said that people were born male or female, not neither or both. And Rihadeshi law said that people were whatever sex their genitals indicated, even when their minds contradicted their bodies. Rihadeshi law was horrifying. But he couldn’t say that to a Rihadeshi man. This one was beardless, as the law required of non-Rihadeshi men; but some of the younger Rihadeshi shaved—a fad of some sort—defiance of their elders. Tiris seemed old to follow fads, but no non-Rihadeshi could carry a sword.

Jaffl plodded serenely down the road, through the stands of pine darkening as the sun set under a lid of clouds. Occasionally a bare-limbed oak stood stark against the green of pines; the pale leaves of a stand of winter-white birch rustled in the early autumn wind. Lirel shivered. So different from where he’d come from, from Endelhan—so graciously flat and barely into its autumn, so much warmer than this mountainous place in the harsh north. This land so much closer to winter. Shadowleaf’s greatcoat gone, and a mountain winter coming on …

Sir, does the child … , he asked.

Dovl knows only that his new tutor is arriving later.

That’s good. He didn’t need to know that his new tutor had almost been raped.

Besides— Tiris’s voice was warm with amusement. —his new pony arrived. I fear your arrival was probably forgotten in the excitement.

Lirel let out a shaky laugh. At five, I would have been more interested in the pony than the tutor.

As would we all. Then, You went to the university.

Not … graduated, Lirel confessed, forcing down the stab of agony that the memory always produced. His grandfather had wanted so much for him … The— He considered his words. The old Empire fell halfway through my last year. I … lost my place at the university. As had every non-Rihadeshi student.

Was that the university that was burned?

No. Thank the gods: illiterate Rihadeshi soldiers setting fire to the ancient library of the university at Galhan, drinking and whooping in the light of the flames devouring two thousand years of history and learning, then burning out the rest of the buildings in an orgy of drunken destruction. No, Lirel said, I was simply dropped from the rolls, along with every other non-Rihadeshi student. A sacrifice to the new Rihadeshi Empire.

He waited for Tiris’s outrage: outrage that an Eofa who hadn’t even finished his degree would be educating a Rihadeshi nobleman’s child; that an Eofa had certainly misrepresented himself to Mar Naal’s lawyer and gotten himself hired under false pretences; that the Eofa had seen a chance to consort carnally with two men and pretended that the highwaymen had kidnapped him; that the filthy Eofa certainly would taint the Rihadeshi child because he’d allowed two men to put their cocks into his mouth; so the lying, filthy Eofan degenerate would be sent back to starve in the city …

He waited; but the outrage didn’t happen.

Much was destroyed that year, Tiris said.

And in the years after. But, Yes, Lirel said; and still he waited.

The road was rising now, and Jaffl plodded up it. Nothing but trees and boulders on either side. Darkness was falling, but Jaffl seemed to know the way.

Is the village far? Lirel asked.

Behind us. We came onto the road past the turnoff to Relhan.

It would be a long walk from Sandivil House to the village. Trapped in the house, surrounded by Rihadeshi: Lirel bit his lip to stanch the tears. Tired. He was exhausted after a night of fitful sleep on the swaying coach, hungry after a night and a long day without food. And then the kneeling in the mud …

Not far to the house, sir, Tiris assured him, squeezing Lirel’s hands clasped at his waist.

That squeeze almost undid Lirel—tenderness after a day of exhaustion and fear. Don’t, he thought. Don’t don’t don’t—and he wasn’t sure if he was reminding himself not to weep or telling Tiris not to pretend Lirel was human.

Then around a curve, and a gate—a solid one. Jaffl stopped, seemed to sigh.

In the dimness of coming night, Lirel saw that the gate was part of a wall—high, thick—that stretched into the forest on both sides. The remains of some earlier defense, probably: trees now allowed to grow right up the wall; an invading force could climb the trees and scramble over. Palis wouldn’t approve; his treatise on defense was vividly descriptive on the need for—

Light now: a lantern on the other side of the gate. Coming, sir! A man’s squeaky voice.

Clang of key being inserted into the lock; and Jaffl stepped back from the squeal of one half of the gate opening.

Then he stepped forward smartly and nosed at the lantern-bearer’s hand—the hand of a wizened little man.

Yes, I’ve got a bit of sugar for you, the man said.

Need to oil the gate, Rathuris, Tiris said.

Can’t seem to keep it oiled, sir; can’t climb up high enough. But horses don’t seem to mind the squeal if they get a bit of sugar.

I’ll send someone down, Tiris said. His voice was fond. Should examine the gate, anyway; I’ll send the smith.

Thank you, sir. Rathuris held up the lantern, smiled at Lirel. Glad to see you found the young man, sir. He nodded and smiled again at Lirel, and Lirel heard the gate squeal closed behind them as Jaffl picked a way up the road.

Past the gate-keeper’s cottage, where a tiny woman stood in the lighted doorway and curtsied as Tiris and Lirel passed. Through more dark trees, above which— Lirel gasped. Sandivil House was huge: four stories high, lights glowing in a dozen windows. At the drive leading to the grand entrance, their road turned left, and Jaffl’s pace picked up. On the other side of a thick stand of pine and holy-berry trees was a cluster of buildings around a large courtyard lit by a handful of lanterns. Busy courtyard where men swept, hauled water, worked on tack. The blacksmith’s forge had the usual group of onlookers. A handful of dairy maids carried buckets of milk from the dairy barn across to what must be the buttery. Dogs barked somewhere.

A stablehand took Jaffl’s bridle. Found him, sir? he said to Tiris.

Unharmed, Tiris said briskly. Thanks to Jaffl. He patted the horse’s neck.

Another stablehand brought out a set of steps and mounted them to help Lirel slide from the horse with Tiris’s help. Careful, sir, he said, keeping firm hold of Lirel’s arm.

The steps were … wobbly; as was the ground, Lirel realized when he stepped down. Or perhaps it was his legs: this was very embarrassing.

Been an exhausting day for Zun Lirel. Tiris had dismounted unaided, briskly covering with his greatcoat the sword in its sheath. Thank you, Hillraven. He took Lirel’s arm.

So they weren’t all Rihadeshi here. Hillraven was a Stone Valley name; perhaps there were others: Cliff People, Eofa, other Stone Valley People. Better than all Rihadeshi.

Lirel cast Hillraven a smile as Tiris led him through the courtyard toward the house. Herb garden, kitchen garden laid out beside a little statue—probably Weru, Who watched over gardens. Another paved courtyard, and a huge covered area filled with wood—men fastening canvas to act as walls against some predicted bad weather. Everyone they passed nodded or curtsied to Tiris, and all the men were beardless—non-Rihadeshi? Lirel didn’t dare to ask.

Finally, door. Wide door into a stone-flagged passage, through a stone wall three feet thick. Lirel shivered. Down a short passage—door to the right slightly open to a room of welcome warmth; door to the left from which came a whiff of privy—past a closed door on the right, into a largeish room with a tiny sanctum in one corner and a large table in the center. Fire crackling in an enormous fireplace.

Warm yourself, sir, Tiris said, setting a chair near the hearth. I’ll be but a moment.

Lirel collapsed into the chair, grateful for the delicious warmth.

A woman with a book stepped into a doorway on the other side of the room. Ah, she said. Zun Tiris. The master wishes to speak to the new tutor.

Zun. Then Tiris wasn’t Rihadeshi, who insisted on the honorific Mar. Lirel tried to tamp down the hope struggling to life within him. Two non-Rihadeshi servants did not a comfortable household make. And, the sword … Men had been publicly castrated and hanged for less.

A moment, Manara Gehthea, said Tiris. I’ll just put away my coat and help Zun Lirel …  His voice faded as he passed through a wide doorway near the sanctum at the end of the room.

The woman—Rihadeshi, Gehthea being a Rihadeshi name, and, besides, her hair was braided into a bun in the Rihadeshi style; and Manara indicating that she was unmarried, which was why her hair wasn’t covered by a net—stood quietly, studying Lirel; her gaze was a little distant, as if she had her mind on something else. Lirel tried smiling; Gehthea didn’t react. Then she looked down at her book.

Have you read— she began.

But a narrow door in what appeared to be a butler’s pantry near the sanctum opened, and a bearded footman with a small candlelamp bustled out. Zun Lirel, he said to Lirel, who nodded. "Master wishes to see you. Now." He seemed to catch himself before snapping his fingers to Lirel as if he were a disobliging dog.

Lirel stood and then looked down at himself in dismay. Shivering, muddy … I— he began.

"Now, if you please! Sir! Please!" The footman looked frantic.

Of course. As he crossed the room to the footman, Lirel straightened his shivering shoulders, tried to brush mud from his clothing with cold-parched hands, ran numb fingers through his tangled hair. He was sick with hunger.

Following the footman through the door and up a cramped staircase, he tried not to feel resentful. After all, he wasn’t a guest, to be welcomed and fed and pampered; he was an employee, to be … well, ordered about and employed. To serve, even if he was wet and cold and ravenous.

Besides, he reminded himself sternly, you’re Eofan. Probably they’d treat a Rihadeshi servant better.

Past a closed door and up another flight of stairs—a servants’ staircase, which according to Chathamun should be wider than this, for the convenience of those who must carry burdens from one place to another. At the top of this flight, another flight and, mercifully, an opening into a dark space; and another door into a wide corridor hung with woven tapestries and dozens of paintings. And another door, into a—

Lirel’s bow was automatic and not as exquisite as his grandfather would have approved; but Mar Naal—surely it was Mar Naal seated behind the desk—was reading a letter and so didn’t notice.

The footman’s throat-clearing was so delicate, it sounded accidental.

A silence, during which Mar Naal continued to read his absorbing letter. Lirel let his gaze flick around the room: good fire in the fireplace; darkness outside the windows on either side of it; bookcases well filled; brace of pistols exhibited in their box on a table near a window, behind a riding crop placed with artful negligence; a pair of small swords leaning in a corner; well-polished desk in which the candle flames reflected; a portrait or two; door leading to another room; a small sofa and two lolling chairs.

And Mar Naal, who finally lifted his eyes from the paper to see who could be interrupting him. Cool gaze that took in Lirel’s muddy knees, his tousled hair, his fatigue. Flicker of a gesture to the footman, who bowed and left and closed the door.

Lirel tried the bow again—better, this time.

Naal was staring at him, and for a horrified second Lirel was reminded of the way the cat stares at the mouse before pouncing. Or—his heart skipped a beat—the way he’d been eyed by men wanting— No; carnal relations between men were illegal now, and no Rihadeshi nobleman was likely to want that.

Then Naal’s eyes went to those muddy knees again, and Lirel felt heat flush his face. Surely Naal knew what those muddy knees implied …

Zun Lirel. Voice as frosty as the wind outside. You have disappointed my son, who looked forward with much eagerness to dining with his new tutor.

Probably the boy would have rather dined with his new pony; but Lirel said, It was not planned, Mar Naal.

Nevertheless. Naal placed the letter atop a pile of papers. I have spoken to the maid. It was generous of you to give your last coin to her, to give to the highwaymen. A pointless gesture.

What? They would have … raped her, Mar Naal.

That cool gaze again, Naal studying his face, taking in his muddied knees. Women are meant to be bedded, Zun Lirel, Naal said crisply.

An instant of dizziness, Naal’s dismissiveness taking Lirel’s breath literally away for a moment.

Naal’s eyes hardened at the expression that must have been on Lirel’s face. So you— Naal looked again at Lirel’s knees. —accommodated them. Gazed somewhat dreamily at Lirel’s knees.

Oh, no. They … forced it. Lirel heard his voice: thin, insubstantial. The voice of a man pleading for his life.

Naal rose and strolled toward one of the windows. Did they … penetrate you? He came to the table with the pistol box and looked down at it. Caressed the riding crop.

No. They did not. Lirel’s heart had dropped within him; Naal was going to send him away. And Lirel had no money, no place to go, no one to take him in; he’d have to take to begging.

Or drop to his knees in the next few minutes and do something at which he was very skilled.

Those cold eyes again, as Naal turned. Indeed, he said.

Sudden shift in the air, and Tiris’s voice said, Sir. Lirel heard the study door close.

Naal’s jaw tightened. I did not send for you, Tiris.

Beside Lirel, Tiris bowed. I thought perhaps to describe what happened, sir. How Zun Lirel kept himself from being raped.

By accommodating those … degenerates!

It was that or death, sir. As you, of course, remember.

Naal glowered at him. That was an unfortunate incident, he said. But at least the young woman died pure.

Died … Oh. Lirel’s mind reeled through a dozen Rihadeshi melodramas, with young women poised to die rather than give way to assault. Entertaining in the abstract; sickening in real life.

Fortunately, Tiris said, Zun Lirel was desperate enough to attempt something which … I’m sure he’s never done. And saved his own life. I arrived before they could lay hands on him again and use him as they were evidently planning to use him. They were forcing him to unclothe himself when I found them. I was just in time, sir.

It was a good story, Lirel thought hazily. Multiple highwaymen forcing themselves on an innocent traveler. Not the pathetically eager young man pleading to exchange caresses while his father sat in the woods to give them privacy.

Indeed, Naal said again. His gaze drifted down to Lirel’s muddy knees, drifted up again to his face. Lingered. Then Naal drew himself up. You will not speak of this to anyone, he said, his eyes hard. His hand tightened on the riding crop. I hold the purity of my House dear; I will not have filth brought into it. Do you understand, sir?

Of course, sir. Lirel’s voice sounded thin.

"And you will not speak of your … adventure to my son, sir! Is that understood?"

As if he’d talk about rape to a five-year-old. "Of course, Mar Naal." Lirel added a bow and a submissive slump to his shoulders; wondered if it was too much; saw from Naal’s gratified face that it wasn’t.

I regret that I must leave tomorrow, Naal said. If this is how you comport yourself, I regret very much that I must accommodate business arrangements by traveling so soon after your arrival. I have, however, asked an acquaintance to oversee my son’s studies. He will report to me any … irregularities in your behavior, sir. He is a general, sir, and strict in his morals. You will be watched.

Of … course. Mar Naal. The room seemed to be moving; Naal’s voice sounded distant.

You may go. Naal turned to the window, his hand still smoothing the riding crop. He turned his head. Tiris, I wish some brandy.

Yes, Mar Naal. Tiris bowed and gently touched Lirel’s elbow.

Somehow Lirel stumbled from the room. Tired. He was so tired that everything around him seemed distant.

This way, sir.

Tiris’s hand took Lirel’s elbow, guiding him through the vast corridor to a blank wall that became a door into the space to the servants’ stairs. Went down the stairs ahead of Lirel, turning to support him.

The stairs are … rather narrow, Lirel informed him, by Chathamun’s standards.

We do often find them inconvenient, sir. Tiris’s voice was soothing—the gentle voice of someone acquiescing to a madman.

Down and down and down the stairs—such a long way down, and the vertigo of exhaustion threatening Lirel’s balance; but Tiris’s steady hand was firm, holding him up.

Finally, the door into the large room with the large table, where two plates of ham and potatoes and turnips and boiled cabbage had been placed at the far end: two people were going to have supper, the lucky bastards; Lirel hadn’t eaten since last night, and the food smelled ravishing.

Gehthea sat near the fire, reading a book.

To Lirel’s surprise, Tiris pulled out a chair and seated him in front of one of the plates.

Oh. He looked at the food. Oh, lovely. But—

My hands, he said faintly, looking at the food.

Of course, sir.

An instant later, a wet cloth was put into his hand. Lirel cleaned his hands with it while he looked at the lovely food. Someone had made food for him; it was so generous of them that he felt tears rise to his eyes.

Thank you, he said, holding out the cloth and looking at the food. There was a fork and a knife for him to eat the food. So thoughtful of them.

The cloth was taken from him, and Lirel picked up the knife and the fork and began to eat. The food was hot and it was glorious: someone was an excellent cook.

After a few minutes, Tiris sat across from him, at the other place, and began to eat.

For a while Lirel simply ate and felt his world begin to steady. It was relaxing here, where the great fire crackled and Gehthea read her book and Lirel’s stomach filled with delicious food.

And tea. A woman placed a steaming teapot between Lirel and Tiris.

Lirel looked up at her. She was past youth and had the sturdy frame of someone who worked hard and ate well. Her hair was braided, but held no net. Did you cook this? he asked.

I did. Her eyes were wary.

It’s delicious. Thank you.

Her eyes softened at this; she must have been expecting complaints. As if anyone would complain about the luxury of this food.

You’re very welcome, sir. I mean, Mar … 

Lirel. It’s Zun Lirel, Marish … 

The woman laughed; Tiris looked at her and grinned; there was a joke here somewhere.

It’s ‘Manara,’ Zun Lirel. Ain’t found no man to suit me. Manara Keshewa. Oh, yes: no hair net.

Keshewa, Tiris said, has very high standards in a husband. He laughed.

"You, there. Keshewa flapped a work-worn hand at him. Just don’t want a stringy man."

Stringy … , Lirel said uncertainly.

Keshewa made a fist and pumped her bicep. Want me a strong man, not some man with stringy muscles. A strong, hard-working, hard-fucking man to keep up with me.

Oh. Lirel focused again on his plate.

Keshewa, Tiris said, has yet to find a suitor who can best her in arm wrestling.

Not yet! Keshewa said with a touch of pride.

And we hope she won’t, Tiris assured Lirel. Because then she won’t be here to cook for us.

Alas, Lirel said, sated enough to try a joke, I’m not Rihadeshi. The penalty for a non-Rihadeshi man daring to mate with a Rihadeshi woman was death.

Pity. Keshewa gave him a saucy wink. Face like yours, I’d be willing to lose the contest.

Even Gehthea, with her book, laughed at that. Lirel was surprised to find her looking straight at him. He has the face, Gehthea said to no one in particular, of Vintu’s statue in the temple at Solhan. Have you seen it? she asked Lirel.

No, I’m afraid not, Manara Gehthea.

Too bad. A most handsome statue. She went back to her book.

Our Manara Gehthea been all over, Keshewa said with some pride. Traveled all over and seen everything. Tells us about it too, me and the others—all about things we never seen and … can’t hope to, us being just women now. She sobered for a moment, watching Gehthea read her book. Wish I could, Keshewa said wistfully.

At that, Gehthea looked up. A strong man will take you wherever you wish to go, she said to Keshewa. All the more reason to hold out for one.

Keshewa’s smile at that seemed to light the room. I think I have an extra sweet-apple or two, she announced, turning to walk briskly into another room lit by firelight.

Keshewa, Tiris said happily to Lirel, is possibly the best cook in the empire. And her sweet-apples are fit for the gods.

And, oh, they were: an apple, cored and sliced, each slice rolled in spices and sugar before being fitted together again around a core of butter and then wrapped in buttery pastry to be baked. The whole drenched in cream before being served and a testament to the generosity of cows.

Keshewa ate one with them, beside Gehthea, after Tiris had seated himself beside Lirel, Rihadeshi women being forbidden to sit next to men. Lirel was hesitant, aware of how he must smell after four days traveling in the same clothes, but Tiris seemed not to notice.

Partway into the sweet-apple, there was a clattering from the stairs at the other end of the room, and in burst Silver, a tidy cap perched crooked on her head. Gehthea looked up at her, then seemed to remember something and sighed.

Zun Silver, she said mildly, I supposed you to be abed.

Not sleepy, Manara. Silver, making her way toward Lirel, passed Tiris, who whispered, Curtsy.

The curtsy was a distant cousin of one, half-born. Silver flung herself on Lirel; the hug was generous, and Lirel felt like weeping.

Did they hurt you? Silver asked.

No, Zun Silver, he assured her. Zun Tiris rescued me first.

She glanced at Gehthea and Keshewa—the automatic glance of a non-Rihadeshi speaking in front of possibly untrustworthy Rihadeshi—and said, I should have stayed and fought them.

I wanted you to be safe. He smiled at her, silently begging her not to say more. He didn’t want to talk about the kidnap here.

Did I not lock the door? Gehthea asked herself; and Lirel saw alarm flicker across Silver’s face.

No, Manara, I think not, she said with such innocence that she had to be lying.

Well, I must be more careful. Gehthea rose, fingering the keys at her waist. Come, child, and I’ll see you back to bed. She coolly ushered Silver toward the staircase. And I’ll see the door securely locked. You girls must be kept safe; there are men about.

Proof of this came from the servants’ staircase: a tall, beardless footman bearing a silver tray with an empty snifter and a half-empty decanter of brandy. He bowed to Gehthea and Silver as they passed; his bow was a dancing master’s delight.

Tiris rose to take the tray. I’ll lock up as usual, Danthis, he said. See that you and Juril have a proper fire going; it’s going to be a chilly night.

Sir. Another splendid bow before Danthis left.

Keshewa grinned impishly as she rose and picked up their empty dishes. That girl’s going to be entertaining, she said to Tiris.

Just a few rough edges, which Gehthea will smooth a bit. But Tiris was smiling. He looked at Lirel. A bath, sir, he said. It’s been waiting for you, sir. He lighted a candle at the fire.

A bath. Oh, a bath. Lirel followed Tiris back toward the entrance from the courtyard, to the room where a wooden tub steamed delightfully, the little fire in its iron water heater crackling cheerily. Tiris set the candle on its shelf, its flame haloed in the steamy air.

She’s … a soldier, Lirel said hesitantly, and wondered if he should have said anything. "Zun Silver, I mean. Was a soldier."

I know. Tiris’s smile lit up his face. She told me more than once as we were arguing about who would rescue you. With soldiers like her, it’s surprising we lost the Empire. Then, Garderobe across the corridor, sir. If you’ll give me your suit, sir, I’ll see what I can do with it. Your trunk preceded you; if there is a key, I can unpack it for you.

And see Lirel’s shabby garments. I— Lirel began; then, Of course. Tiris would be seeing his well-worn clothing anyway, when Lirel wore it. He handed over the key. I … did not think to have you serve as my valet, he said, trying to make a joke of it.

The butler at Sandivil House is a man of many roles. Tiris’s grin as he bowed was genuine.

Clothes off, Tiris gone, and door locked, Lirel luxuriated in being alone as he sat on the wooden bench to wash himself. The soap lathered well, and being able to at last wash his hair and body felt glorious. Even in autumn, travel by stage was dusty; and being with the highwaymen … He rinsed his mouth; he rinsed it again; he scrubbed; he scrubbed; and watched the dirt and soap vanish between the slats of the floor as he rinsed—all traces of the day disappearing. Rinsed his mouth and spat. The steps to climb into the tub were wet already; he was perhaps the last to use it tonight, but still, clean at last; and, oh, he needed a hot soak.

Lirel sank into the steaming water as deep as he could sink, eyes closed. Wonderful; and so comforting after—

With no surprise at all, he felt tears start down his cheeks, and he gave himself up to sobbing. So long—it had been so long since he’d had such comfort: the quiet bath, the full stomach, the kindness of those around him. And it had been such a horrible trip: days being jostled on top of coaches; nights dozing in the noisy stables with the other non-Rihadeshi travelers; the glares and occasional shoves by Rihadeshi travelers, with one man threatening to beat Lirel for glancing at the man’s daughter; the dwindling handful of coins as Lirel went from eating three meals a day to eating two and then one and then none; the nerve-stretching stress of not knowing if he’d even be accepted as the boy’s tutor at the end.

And the highwaymen … Lirel’s brain veered wildly from that, but in his head he heard his grandfather’s advice: Get it all out, boy, and through his sobs, Lirel laughed. Get it all out, his sweet grandfather had always said when Lirel wept. Cleans out the soul. Best to get it out. Lirel laughed again, and found himself willing to face it.

The highwaymen, and the horror flooding through him when he realized what they wanted, how they were going to treat a traveler who had no money for them to take. Slipping his last coin into Silver’s hand because she had nothing. Seeing astonished delight on the young highwayman’s face when he realized that Lirel had nothing to give them but his own body. And the wave of nausea when he realized that his gamble that men wouldn’t rape another man had come to naught.

The rough stumble through the trees, his captors shoving him, dragging him up when he tripped. And, Here, then, when they came to a clearing. The older highwayman pressing Lirel to his knees and then whispering in his ear, When you come of age to fuck, did you touch the cock or the scaeth?

The cock, Lirel admitted, heart sinking when he saw the highwayman smile: non-Rihadeshi men who desired other men announced this when they came of age by touching the cock carved into the altar of the God of love. Actually, Lirel had kissed it, indicating that he was submissive to other men, but the highwayman didn’t need to know that.

When my boy come of age, he’d have touched the same, the man said. You’re his first. Be good to him. His eyes turned hard. Or I will gut you.

And so Lirel had closed his eyes and taken the young highwayman’s cock into his mouth, half hearing the young man’s astonished Ohhhhh! Trying not to remember the last time he’d done this: Shadowleaf, their final night together, again and again, Lirel loving him with his mouth, as if that would stop Shadowleaf from going off with the other soldiers, stop him from dying in the most terrible battle of the war. Stop Lirel’s world from shredding around him.

And after the young highwayman—Samaril, he’d shyly told Lirel—had had his pleasure, the older one took a turn and then hauled Lirel to his feet and dragged him to yet another clearing where apparently the highwaymen camped, where Samaril fucked Lirel’s mouth again, more expertly this time. And talked about plans—mostly, of thwarting the Rihadeshi and bringing back the old Eofan Empire and pledging to a man Samaril could love and protect—and shyly told Lirel that he was handsome. And then asked breathlessly about fucking and the ways that men fucked and the ways that Lirel liked to fuck; and asked with pathetic eagerness if Lirel would allow himself to be fucked …

And Lirel had given in, and—

Thank you, Tiris, Lirel thought now. Bless you; the gods bless you a thousand times. Because what would have happened after Samaril had had his fill of Lirel was unthinkable.

What have you done to us? he thought. The Rihadeshi, plunging them from the warmth of an empire where citizens loved as they were meant to, into the icy river that was the Rihadeshi Empire, where men were to love women, and women were expected to marry men, on pain of death. A way of life destroyed. Samaril bereft of any way to express his desire except through force. Lirel had seen Vintu’s altars in Rihadeshi temples, and they were square and clean and free of carvings of anything but flowers.

And the cold-eyed master of the house interrogating Lirel not about his academic qualifications, but about the kidnapping. Looking Lirel over in a stomach-turning way.

Why did you answer that advertisement? he asked himself for the thousandth time. But he knew why: desperation. Copy work infrequent, and he was too old and too well-educated for most of the jobs available to someone not Rihadeshi. The advertisement had seemed sent by the gods: good salary to tutor one male child in a large establishment. Naal’s representative in Endelhan hiding his desperation under a layer of Rihadeshi coolness, interrogating Lirel about his parentage before glancing over his academic record. Smothering his own relief when Lirel accepted the offer. Carefully counting out an advance that allowed Lirel to claim his best suit and Shadowleaf’s greatcoat from the pawn shop and to finance his journey to the nobleman’s estate at the edge of the Empire. Desperate nobleman, willing to accept an Eofa as a tutor; desperate Lirel, willing to go to the end of the civilized world to keep from starving.

Sir. Tiris’s gentle voice was deferential. He stood in the doorway, carrying a little covered pot balanced on a pile of clothes.

Lirel splashed away all trace