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They kneel for him, of course. Mord'Sith don't fidget or twitch, but the nervous tension is palpable. Lord Rahl has walked into the First Temple, the centre and heart of the Sisterhood of the Agiel here at the People's Palace, where no Rahl in living memory has set foot.
Of course Panis Rahl never came to the Temple. Why would he? There were always Mord'Sith guards around whom he might order to do whatever he chose. But Panis Rahl is dead. The Lord Rahl is dead, and there is a new Lord Rahl. In theory, one Lord Rahl is much the same as the next, but this one has already done the unexpected.
Darken Rahl walks past the kneeling Mord'Sith, confidence in his stride, a satisfied smirk on his face. He's barely more than a boy still, but he is Lord Rahl. They are his, now, and he knows it.
Before Meret, he stops. "Mistress Meret. Your agiel."
She doesn't flinch. She slides it smoothly from its holster and extends it to him.
It's deathly silent in the temple; the only sound the high-pitched whine of the agiel. There is no perceptible reaction as he grasps it. Mord'Sith don't gasp or gape. But this is as close as they get, Meret thinks as she watches him twirl it, smooth as any Mord'Sith might, and showing no sign of the pain it is causing him.
She knows what's to come. But she's proud of him, almost as proud as she'd be if he were a woman.
~*~
Panis Rahl made use of his Mord'Sith as was his right, but never showed them favour. Never learned their names, or took an interest. His son is his opposite in this, too. Darken Rahl walks through the temple as if he feels at home there; he visits the dungeons and watches the Sisters at their work, thoughtfully tapping his agiel against his chin as he observes. He takes a personal hand in the breaking of a new trainee, demonstrating his skill. All of this on his first day.
Meret fancies only she can see the suppressed remnants of boyish fascination in his gaze.
Meret remembers too well the eleven-year-old boy he'd been, given over to her by his father for punishment. It's the Lord Rahl's right - any Lord Rahl's right - to command her agiel, even against his own heir, and she hadn't hesitated. Meret had known how to hurt a child, how to break a spirit, even then. That she'd taken little pleasure in it - what does it matter? She'd had the future Lord Rahl in her power. She'd seen him helpless and weeping.
It doesn't matter that she'd gladly helped him turn his father's punishment into a source of strength.
He'd learned well. She'd enjoyed the challenge of teaching the future Lord Rahl, even knowing what it must mean. Now, the time for lessons is over. The student has become the master, and Meret will do her duty to the last. The Lord Rahl has commanded, and she will obey.
Now she is spread out beneath him, her hands held above her head by his command. This is no longer a game; no longer a lesson. This is her final service to him. For a moment, Meret regrets that she won't see the ruler he will be. Already the Sisterhood of the Agiel is changing around her. Suddenly, guard duty is much in demand. All the Mord'Sith at the Palace want a closer look at their new master. And Lord Rahl seems pleased by their attention.
She smiles at the thought.
Meret won't see what more he will become. But she has left her mark on him: what he is, he is at least in part because of her. And he is worthy.
He is worth dying for.
Darken Rahl's mouth closes around her nipple. She flushes all over, and is grateful the dark of her skin hides much of it. So little, and so much: he knows exactly what effect he has on her. She has taught him well, and if the student surpasses the teacher, she only has reason to be proud.
It had been a challenge, finding ways to teach him without breaking him. She could hurt him, yes. But destroy him so he might be built anew from the shards of himself? No, decidedly no. So she'd had to find other ways.
She's trained many girls since, disciplined many slaves. It all seemed dull to her in comparison.
Lord Rahl's agiel, suddenly, is pressed across her throat. She finds no breath. Her body convulses, arches up, desperate for air even as she fights to suppress the futile instinct. And still she leaves her hands where he commanded them to be.
The simplest ways are the best, sometimes, and a part of her brain compliments him. He is nothing if not effective. His body - still youthful, but filling out pleasantly - is pressing down against hers, and she gives in, lets the instinct take over. Lets him have her body's panic, offers it up to him, a sacrifice and a sacrament.
This is where it ends. It only makes sense, cutting the last tie to the helpless little boy he'd been by cutting down the only person who knows just how the Lord Rahl acquired his skills.
The agiel withdraws just as Meret's vision begins to go dark. She draws a desperate, hungry, confused breath, and then his mouth is on hers, and she no longer knows if she's battling for air or something else. He doesn't let her up; his hands are firm on her shoulders until he's certain she won't move.
Then the agiel resumes its journey across her body, and she gasps in surprise. Darken Rahl's mouth follows the agiel's trail, tracing kisses and licks and bites on her skin. What is he doing? Meret's thoughts feel sluggish, too slow.
Eventually he sits back and regards her, eyelids half-lowered in amusement. "Spread yourself for me," he orders.
Oh. Oh. He is giving her this, a last gift before it must end. Something inside Meret's chest feels impossibly tight. She blinks away her confusion, lifts her legs and bends them, plants her feet on the bed as wide apart as they will go.
"Wider." There's a new smirk around his mouth, a self-assurance that must come with being Lord Rahl. "You may use your hands," he allows, magnanimously.
"Yes, Lord Rahl." Meret's answering smirk is a reflex; her brain is still catching up. She hooks her hands into her knees, spreading her thighs further, exposing herself to him. She can't see it, but she feels her inner lips part, wetness dripping from them. "Like what you see?" she purrs.
"Hmmm." His eyes are on her, intense, and a moment later it comes. His agiel traces black tendrils of pain up her thighs toward her centre, circles her. She can't help the little involuntary surge towards him, and he laughs, delighted. "Yes," he says, "oh yes." A brief brush of the agiel right across her clit has her nearly lifting off the bed, and then - oh, and then his lips are on her instead, and the sensitivity the agiel left behind heightens every sensation as he pleasures her.
His agiel rests painfully, teasingly against her opening. She craves more, wants it - wants him inside her, but she has no say here, not any more. Her last service to him.
"More?" he asks.
"Yes," Meret hisses, harshly, and then braces herself.
But he doesn't seem displeased. "Yes," he agrees, and gives her what she craves. The agiel is hard and heavy inside her, its sting vibrating through her entire body. He thrusts it in deeper, an arrow of hot, painful pleasure shooting into her belly.
Darken Rahl stares down at her, his eyes burning, lips parted in pleasure.
Meret convulses around the agiel inside her. "Lord Rahl," she gasps, and she comes.
Then his agiel, still sticky from her juices, is trailing down her chest, around her breasts. It comes to rest over her heart. A single twist is all it takes now. Meret knows that this is the moment she dies. She keeps her eyes open and takes him in. Her last sight. As it should be.
Darken Rahl smirks at her. He knows what she's thinking, takes her acceptance as his due. His lips part slightly, and Meret's body tenses in expectation.
He leans forward. "Mistress Meret," he breathes into her ear. "You've taught me well."
And he throws the agiel over the edge of the bed and pulls her up into a hungry kiss.