When the silence stretched and Idhron was still standing there, looking at him expectantly, Eridan scowled, realizing what the man was waiting for.
“You’re not officially my Master yet,” he grumbled, pouting.
The look Idhron gave him was uncompromising. “I will not demand it every time we part, but you must get used to doing it while we are in public. I do not tolerate disrespect, and it would be taken as a sign of disrespect by others if you do not behave like a good apprentice should.”
Sighing, Eridan took the few steps that separated them, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head. “Master. May you have safe travels.”
He didn’t lift his eyes, waiting for Idhron’s reaction. The High Hronthar’s etiquette was—unnecessarily, in Eridan’s opinion—complicated. Some Masters were more lenient, but Masters from old, traditional lineages like Idhron usually followed the old customs. There were a number of ways the Master could respond to a traditional farewell, depending on the Master-apprentice relationship and how much the Master valued their apprentice.
He cringed a little on the inside, expecting that Idhron might make him kiss the hem of his black robe, or worse, his boots—customs that were considered outdated and unnecessarily demeaning by modern High Hronthar’s standards, but still largely acceptable, especially if the Master and the apprentice didn’t have the best relationship.
But to his relief, Idhron offered him his ring.
Eridan brushed his lips against the black gemstone and looked up.
Blue eyes were watching him with an unreadable, fixed expression.
Something clenched in Eridan’s stomach.
“Thank you, Eridan,” his Master said.
As Idhron retrieved his hand, the tips of his fingers brushed against Eridan’s chin, and Eridan shivered as his telepathic presence surged forward, trying to draw his Master in, the bond between them pulsing with need.
Idhron’s lips thinned slightly. “You will work on your shields while I am gone,” he said before striding out of the house.
Eridan didn’t know how long he stayed there, on his knees, looking blankly at the spot where his Master had just been.
Shields. Right.
Chapter Four: Tests
Master Idhron’s servant was a young man called Javier. He was just five years older than Eridan and was a pleasant, no-nonsense kind of person.
“How long have you been serving him?” Eridan asked curiously as he and Javier ordered new clothes online.
“Just a few months,” Javier said, brushing his hair back.
He was a good-looking guy, Eridan thought. They looked a little alike, actually. Javier’s hair was darker, and his face was a little rounder, but their features and builds were similar enough for them to be mistaken for relatives.
“What is it like?” Eridan said, curious despite himself. Everyone always said how terrible it was not to be claimed by a Master and become a member of the servicing department of the Order, but Eridan had never actually spoken to a servant. There were no servants in the Outer District. All he knew about servants was that they could specialize in a vast variety of fields, some more important than others.
Javier shrugged. “It’s all right. Master Idhron is a decent enough employer. He’s demanding, but I’ve had worse.”
“What do you mean?”
Javier made a face. “My previous employer wanted me to perform services I don’t specialize in, services I didn’t want to perform, and I had to file a complaint.”
Eridan cringed. “You mean they wanted you to service them sexually?”
Javier laughed. “That wasn’t the issue—I am a pleasure servant first, after all. The problem was, she wanted me to perform acts I didn’t agree with in my contract with her.”
Eridan opened his mouth and closed it.
“You’re a pleasure servant?” he whispered at last, wide-eyed. If Javier was a pleasure servant, that meant… “You have sex with Master Idhron?!”
Javier laughed at his expression. “Gods, you’re such a kid. Of course I do. That’s my job.”
Eridan could only stare at him.
He didn’t know why he felt so floored. Every initiate knew that Masters of the Order weren’t actually monks, as the rest of the planet thought of them. After all, pleasure servants existed in Hronthar for a reason. But Eridan still couldn’t wrap his mind around Master Idhron doing something as undignified and emotional as having sex. It just seemed… wrong.
“Why would you even want to be a pleasure servant?” Eridan said, and then flushed. “No offense.”
Javier shrugged. “None taken. But why wouldn’t I want to be one? It’s a good job, and mostly pleasant.” He rolled his silver-gray eyes. “Unless you’re stupid enough to fall in love with your employer. Then it obviously sucks when they cast you aside for a shiny new toy, which always happens eventually.”
Eridan listened to him talk about sex and love with a very surreal feeling. He wasn’t as innocent as Javier thought—everyone in the Initiates’ Hall had at least some idea about sex—but he still couldn’t imagine offering his body for a living. Even if the apprentice thing didn’t work out and he was transferred to the servicing department of the Order, Eridan would have never chosen being a pleasure servant as his profession. He could work in the security department, as a memory-wiping specialist—he was decent enough at erasing memories. Or maybe in the administrative department. There were always Masters in need of stewards to manage their off-world estates.