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Mandrake House	By : Esteliel Category: G through L > Kushiel's Trilogy Views: 2277 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel s Trilogy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Mandrake House
- 1
Title: Mandrake House
Fandom: Jacqueline Carey - Kushiel's Legacy series
Written for: belmanoir in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge. http://www.yuletidetreasure.org
Author: Esteliel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Imriel/Mavros
Summary: Mavros takes Imriel to Mandrake House.

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"Do you want me to play Valerian to your Mandrake, cousin?"

I hesitated, caught dead by the improbable question. Mavros gave me one of his teasing smiles, eyes gleaming merrily, and the words escaped me without thought.

"Would you, Mavros?"

"Ahhh," my cousin breathed, sidling closer to raise one hand to my cheek, the back of his fingers brushing my skin with the barest hint of touch – caress of the summer wind, my reading of the Trois Milles Joies had taught me.

"You are just beautiful enough that I might be tempted," Mavros murmured and tilted his head to the side, maddeningly teasing and beautiful, as all of my Shahrizai kin were.

“Mavros...” I said a little helplessly, aware of the bustle around us, and also too aware of the closeness of his body, his eyes dark like the night sky. Almost like her dark Cruithne eyes – but his, though a dark blue, were not unreadable, but open to me, always. Mavros, my cousin, whom even now Joscelin had to force himself to be polite to... There was all the worst of my family's line in him, and all the best; and despite his proclivity to tease those around him, he had time and again proven himself to be a true friend.

He could see that for once, I was not unaffected by him, and his smile deepened, heedless of who could be watching us.

“I told you... I can find pleasure in just about anything,” he breathed, eyes dark with desire, and unbidden a vision arose, my cousin in all of his proud, cruel Shahrizai beauty kneeling naked before me, his back striped with welts, his eyes brimming with defiant tears, challenging me even from that position...

I swallowed, and he smiled as if he had seen what I imagined – and for all I knew, he probably did, for the blood of Kushiel ran through both our veins.

Any caress, any torture I could think of, he would certainly already have visited upon numerous adepts or lovers... The thought was reassuring and disturbing at once.

"Do you think I could not?" I asked recklessly. Truly, after Daršanga, I did not know if I could, but faced with my impossible cousin, there were no thoughts of the zenana in my mind.

"Well then, we are agreed!" he declared and grabbed my wrist to pull me away from the circle of our court friends. Colette Trente giggled, and her brother gave us a knowing smirk as Mavros told them that he would take me away to the Night Court.

He did not let go of my wrist until we reached the palace doors, where Hugues was waiting for me. One of the ostlers brought the Bastard who was stamping and snorting, his eyes rolling as if he could sense my mood. I held the reins tightly once I sat in the saddle, yet when Mavros lightly vaulted onto his own horse's back and then leaned towards Hugues to tell him our destination, for one moment I was almost tempted to give the Bastard his head and let him run.

"To Mandrake House," Mavros said, giving me a wicked smile while poor Hugues seemed to blush and pale at the same time. And to tell the truth, I was certain that I could not look much different, for those were words I never thought to hear someone like Mavros utter. It was the one House in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers I had thought to never visit.

Mandrake.

I must have looked pale after all, for Mavros nudged his horse closer to mine, even though the Bastard gave an ill-tempered snort.

"I told you... we all experience at least once what Kushiel's instruments feel like. You need not fear for me, I promise you that it takes more than a Night Court adept to break me."

He shook his head at my doubtful look. "Anyway, there is the signale," he said more soberly. "I wonder... what shall it be? Oh yes... sunshine!" he exclaimed, laughing at my dismayed groan.

Sunshine... The signale of the adept of Valerian House. I remembered that incident all too well – and so, apparently, did Mavros. And why would he not, when certainly I had to be the only patron who had ever felt the need for a signale there?

"Don't you dare to use my signale this time!" Mavros threatened me, laughing at the memory and at the flush that reddened my cheeks, then slackened his reins, his horse immediately leaping forward to escape the Bastard's teeth. I could feel Hugue's eyes boring into my back, his unvoiced Are you certain?, and I let the Bastard feel my heels, the powerful body stretching beneath me to thunder after Mavros' gelding.

It was not the reckless race that had once nearly made me run over a minor lordling, yet still we reached Mont Nuit far too quickly for my taste. I still was not quite certain what I'd let myself in for, yet already it had progressed too far for me to call it off. And it was not as if I really had reason to – certainly it was Mavros who had to fear this visit, not I.

We rode through the door toward the great structure of Mandrake House. Yet again, like with my first visit to Kushiel's temple, I was surprised. There was no black marble, no air of menace – if anything, the sprawling building exuded an air of generosity, and there was a certain sense of indulgence in the opulent gardens, filled with wide varieties of flowers from the most common poppy to huge, exotic blossoms some part of me seemed to recognize as Jebean. It seemed to go against everything en vogue with the court's nobles – indeed, it made me wonder whether there even was a garden architect responsible for the astonishing design, or whether it was simply gardeners' and adepts' willfulness – and yet, there was a wild beauty to the flamboyant gardens.

"Come on, Imri!" Mavros called out, laughing and breathless, as if he truly were impatient to feel the cruel caresses meted out to patrons here. When we stopped in the courtyard, there was a pair of ostlers waiting to take our horses, and once they had been taken care of – the Bastard doing his name honor by snapping at the poor stable lad's fingers – the doors to Mandrake House opened, and a man stepped out to greet us.

"Welcome, my Lord Shahrizai – what a rare honor! Tell me, did you get lost on Mont Nuit?" There was a playful smile on his lips, not quite unlike that of my cousin, and yet again my expectations had proven to be untrue. There was none of the strictness of Kushiel's priests in him, none of the cruel mercy I myself had known there.

"Your highness, Prince Imriel – be welcome at Mandrake House. I am the Dowayne's second, Michèle nó Mandrake."

He bowed, his honey-brown hair falling forward, and only now I realized that he wore it in the fashion of my Shahrizai kin, braided into a multitude of fine braids that framed his face.

"How may Mandrake House serve you, my Lords? Have you come to arrange for a showing? We did not hear from Valerian House, but I am certain we could arrange something quickly if you-"

"Oh, we did come for a showing, but we will not need any adepts beyond what your House has to offer. " Mavros gave the House's Second an impertinent grin. "You see, my cousin here doubts my ability to play Valerian, so I will show him that I have indeed the strength to endure what I usually dole out."

"Is that so?" Michèle mused, a gleam in his eyes as he hungrily eyed my cousin. He raised a hand to Mavros' cheek, then let his thumb sweep over his full lower lip, smirking when Mavros' returned his look as if in challenge.

"You should not doubt him, Prince," Michèle said, his smile smug. "You see, I have already heard this one cry out at the touch of my whip."

He chuckled at the sound of disbelief that escaped me, finally letting go of Mavros to lead us inside. He leaned towards me while poor Hugues was lead away to a part of the House where patrons' retainers would find food and drink while they waited, and I firmly ignored the expression of dismay on his face.

"Most scions of House Shahrizai come to us at one time," Michèle murmured intimately. "Your cousin has told you that usually, someone of Kushiel's line will learn how the instruments of our pleasure feel on his own skin as well? Once upon a time, I had the honor to teach our young Lord here. Even if the Shahrizai hold their family above all else, I think you will agree that there are some things best taught by someone not family."

I felt certain that despite my best efforts to seem undisturbed by these revelations, my cheeks had to be flushed with embarrassment – or was it excitement at what I heard? Mavros only laughed good-naturedly, as if a visit to Mandrake House was an every-day occurrence for a scion of Kushiel, and when we entered a large, warm room with scattered settees and plush chairs, he strode straight into the middle of the room.

Only when he turned around, that challenging smile still on his face as he eyed those sprawled on settees did I realize that Michèle had brought us to where the gathered adepts were waiting. It was unlike any choosing at a House of the Night Court I had witnessed before – not that I had very much experience with it. The adept of Balm House had been chosen for me, yet where at Alyssum House, the adepts had stood in a line, timidly waiting for the patron to choose one of them, here the adepts hungrily eyed the victim who had stumbled into their middle, much like a pride of lions watching prey. A few of them did not even look up from where they were absorbed in reading a book, or talking with friends, as if a mere patron was beneath their notice.

Mavros looked them all up and down, one after the other, as if he did not even realize that it was he who was on display here. Finally he seemed to have found what he had been looking for and confidently strode towards a male adept sitting in a chair near the fire with a glass of red wine in one hand. "You," Mavros said decisively, and I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry when I realized that this one definitely shared our blood. The stamp of Kushiel was unmistakable – blue-black hair that gleamed in the light, falling in ripples down past his shoulders, his eyes a blue as dark as the sky at midnight, and his lips full and generous. Like Mavros. Like my mother.

Like myself.

For one moment I wanted to protest, but then he smiled at Mavros, twirling the glass between his fingers, and all I could do was to watch helplessly as Mavros stopped in front of him.

"Oh, thatwill be interesting!" the House's Second murmured beside me.

"So... Lordling," the adept said with laughter in his voice. "Have you come to see if there is something you can learn here? I would teach you, if that is what you want..."

"Do you think you can?" Mavros challenged with a grin.

"Oh, you will be surprised to see what I can do..." The adept gave him a secret smile, then turned towards us when Michèle nudged me to step closer.

"Fenouil nó Mandrake," he introduced the adept to us. "It seems you are in for quite a challenge today, Fenouil... Lord Shahrizai as well as a veritable Prince of the Blood. You might make your marque today, if Naamah is willing."

"Prince Imriel," the adept said and bowed, eying me with frank curiosity. There was only one Prince of the Blood who bore the stamp of Kushiel's line, yet he had certainly never expected to see me here.

"Never fear, you need not leave me a myriad of diamonds," he then explained, his voice warm although I paled at what he was referring to – the night when Phèdre made her marque. The night my mother lead her around on a leash, naked but for diamond-studded gauze.

"It is almost finished. One last visit to the marquist for the finial. A Shahrizai Lordling would make for a most remarkable last assignation..." he mused, then took up his glass again to drink the last of the wine.

There was a contract Michèle procured that was signed by both – much like the contracts at Valerian House, only here it was the adept who had to honor the patron's signale, and whose signature promised the exclusion of flechettes and other implements that would leave scars. Mavros grinned and signed with a flourish, and slowly I came to the realization that my mad, beautiful cousin was indeed completely capable of giving himself into the cruel hands of a Mandrake adept solely to see me blush.

I did not blush when Fenouil lead us into the small dungeon. It was much like the Shahrizai quarters at Valerian House, though smaller, and while the floggers, crops and whips displayed at one wall still made me feel uncomfortable, it did not conjure memories of the zenana. The air was faintly sweet, the scent of flowers wafting inside through a small window high up at the wall, even though there was a black curtain in front of it, keeping the room dark for atmosphere.

"Feels like home, doesn't it, Imri?" Mavros quipped, and I smiled despite myself.

"Let's see if you will feel just as much at home in my chains," Fenouil threatened. "Undress, Lordling!"

I sank down into a chair, watching breathlessly as Mavros obeyed. He was beautiful, my cousin, and naked, not quite as similar to me anymore. I was still lean from small rations and hard drilling in Lucca, and there were a few small scars, too – not to speak of those left by the Mahrkagir's whips, and Jagun's brand.

No, my cousin had never been in a fight, and his skin was smooth and unblemished, lithely muscled from riding, hunting and light sparring. Still, there was nothing boyish about him. We both had grown into men during the time I spent in Caerdicca Unitas – where I and Eamonn had wiled away the days discussing the nature of goodness at the university of Tiberium, Mavros would have undergone lessons in governing his father's estates, and felt the game of courtship gain pressure.

"Oh, very nice!" Fenouil said, breaking through my musings. "It will be such fun to break you. I truly love a challenge! And there is nothing quite as sweet as having an overly prideful Lordling whimper for mercy at my feet..."

Mavros laughed at that, but then gasped when Fenouil grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back by it. "Oh, you will whimper and writhe, and your cousin will watch and enjoy every moment of it."

I was breathless at what I saw, feeling helpless when desire arose unbidden at seeing Mavros treated so. Certainly it could not be right to feel such a thing, to want this which should be so wrong? Mavros was made just as little to suffer such cruel treatment as I was... and yet it had been his decision to come here.

I wavered in indecision for a moment, and before I had decided to embarrass myself by asking Mavros yet again if this really was what he wanted, Fenouil had dragged him to a whipping post where he chained his wrists and legs to leave him standing spread out, vulnerable to every kind of torture the adept could think up.

And there were a lot of ways for an adept of Mandrake House, especially one who shared a part of that ichor which made my heart beat hard and fast at the way Mavros gasped when the flogger hit his skin...

It was not the bronze-tipped braided leather Kushiel's priests wielded to bestow his mercy on supplicants, yet it was not the velvet cords used for games of arousement either.

It was leather, heavy yet not cruel, and where it fell onto Mavros' skin, it left red welts that made my fingers tremble with the need to trace them and feel him flinch.

How Fenouil bore it I couldn't say... Had I been the one wielding the flogger, I wager I would not have been able to make it last for more than a few strokes before the need to possess him became unbearable. Yet patience is one of the first things taught to the children of the Night Court, and so Fenouil laid stroke after stroke onto the pale canvas of Mavros' back while I was already battling the need to take myself in hand. After a while, Fenouil switched to a cane until we could hear Mavros whimper in truth, and then, he took up a crop for a few more strokes that made my cousin flinch in his chains, and made me press my hand against my aching phallus while I breathlessly, shamefully watched.

Finally Fenouil paused, and Mavros, incorrigible as always, turned his head as best he could and grinned at the both of us, even though his breathing had grown labored.

"That was nothing to boast of so far – I daresay that Valerian's adepts have been served better by my own hand!"

"Is that so?" There was a secret smile on Fenouil's lips as he put the flogger down and stepped forward, resting his chin on Mavros' shoulder while his arm encircled his waist. "Why, Lordling!" he exclaimed when his questing fingers found Mavros hard and eager. "You truly do enjoy this, don't you? Or is it maybe that you like showing off for our sweet prince?"

Mavros groaned when Fenouil stroked him once, but then he let go of him again to instead for the first time motion for me to get up and join them. My heart thundered in my chest as I obeyed, unable to resist the vision before me. And how would I have been able to resist something like this? I did not possess such strength, not when what was being done to my cousin's body was the fabric of all my dreams, and all my nightmares.

Fenouil did not say anything, but wordlessly took up the flogger he had laid aside and pressed it into my hands. I knew what it meant... I knew what he wanted me to do.

Was it what Mavros wanted as well?

I did not know... All I knew was the rush of blood through my veins, and the terrible desire that surged up in me like a great wave, my body answering to my cousin's suffering like the tide to the moon.

I couldn't remember raising my arm or swinging the flogger, but when the leather impacted with Mavros' skin and tore a gasp from him, I moaned and shuddered as well, a keen pleasure coursing through my veins. I wanted...

I wanted to do such terrible things!

My fingers opened and the flogger fell onto the floor. “No...” I helplessly shook my head, taking a step back in horror at what I had done. “No... I won't do this! He does not want this, not truly! I – it's blasphemy!”

Mavros groaned with what I thought was pain, and I shook my head again, horrified at the way my body still reacted to the sight of the red welts on his skin.

“Blasphemy? Imri, you fool!” Mavros turned his head with another pained groan to glare at me.

It was not what I had expected to hear, and so I stilled, even though I must have been trembling like a high-strung horse, ready to bolt from the room at the merest provocation.

“Don't you know why I do this?” he continued more softly, giving me a smile despite the tears of pain that still glistened on his lashes – despite the ways in which I had wanted to hurt him. “For love of you, Imri... Naamah help me, I do it for love.”

“Mavros...” I breathed, raising trembling fingers to his cheeks, and he laughed at me. His eyes gleamed as he chided me, just as if he were not hanging naked in his bonds, his skin marked by flogger and cane and crop.

“I am no anguissette to enjoy this pain, no adept of Valerian House... but like I told you before, I can find pleasure in just about anything.” His voice had sobered, but then the usual humor returned. “Of course I should have known that you would find a way to start brooding even when it is me who gets tied up and tortured. Elua, Imri... even your Cassiline would approve when it's me who gets whipped!”

“Or ask to lend a hand,” I muttered dryly, and he laughed, then straightened and rubbed his wrists when Fenouil finally loosened his bonds.

“I did not see you whimper at my feet, Lordling,” the adept murmured, brushing gently over Mavros' welt-covered back, smiling at the hiss this produced. “Still, I think you got what you came for... Naamah will be pleased. And Kushiel... Ah, Kushiel, I think, will be pleased as well."

Then he turned towards me, smiling wrily at the expression on my face. "Still, my Lord Shahrizai has much left to teach you. But for now, I shall leave you alone; you will find a bedchamber through that door over there, and a salve for his back. You can atone for your wickedness by easing Lord Shahrizai's pain, I think – or make him suffer some more, if that is more to your liking.”

He laughed softly and cupped my face, kissing me farewell, and then I was alone with Mavros, truly looking into his face for the first time since we had come into this room.

“Did you enjoy it at least?” Mavros asked, eying me with a little smile as if he knew exactly what I had been thinking. “I kept imagining how it must arouse you to see me suffer so...”

“It did,” I answered hoarsely, not knowing what to say or do now that we were alone. “I am sorry, Mavros, I ruined it-”

“Hush!” my cousin silenced me. “You ruined nothing. I did not bring you here because I expected you to suddenly take to the whip and the flogger. I brought you here to see that this is done in worship of Naamah, and for a very many reasons. Your Cruithne bride, she might never want this, but you are family, Imri... I just cannot let you go without at least having you realize what this is.”

“This, too, is sacred,” I murmured, raising one hand to touch a weal as I remembered the adept of Balm House.

Mavros smiled and then leaned forward, kissing me in a way I'd never been kissed before. There was gentleness in it, too, true affection... but mostly there was hunger, need, and when he drew away I moaned, all of my previous doubts already forgotten.

“Come, Imri... You can put that salve on me, and then I'll see if I can find a way to make you pay for what you did.” Mavros' grin was suggestive and left no doubt about what he intended, and I grabbed his hand to pull him with me towards the bedroom, achingly hard at the thought of burying my fingers in his hair, of feeling his mouth – of tasting him. He grinned at my enthusiasm and in the end, we tumbled onto the bed, both of us tearing at my clothes. He ended up on top of me and I felt him groan as I raked my fingers down his back. There was no guilt in me then, no doubt, and when I kissed him once more, I felt at peace. Overcome by frightening, cruel desires, yes – but at peace nevertheless.

The memory of the Mahrkagir, of the Tartar Lord Jagun was gone, and what was left was Naamah's passion, Kushiel's desires, and the honey-sweet truth of Blessed Elua's love. It filled us both that night, made our love-making cruel and sweet, and I made my peace with Kushiel, as I had made it with Naamah in Balm House once. More than that, I had made my peace with House Shahrizai as well, and when I kissed Mavros one last time before we left, I knew at last who I was, and who I would become. Not Melisande's son, not the frightened slave nor the reluctant prince – I was a scion of Kushiel and Blessed Elua both, and I would not forget again what birthright stemmed from the ichor that still flowed through our veins.

Love as thou wilt.
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Mandrake House