The days blend into each other as she acclimates to her new home. Well, really, it’s her only home. She does not recall her time living with her mother in the Sylln Forest, and no one calls the streets home. Micarsh continues to give her the tour, showing off not just the rooms but the strange objects they have. She never knew one needed an entirely different set of plates depending on the time of day and season. Not to mention the specieal set of plates that can never be used as they were a gift from some important noble or another.

The more she sees of the castle, the more she wonders if Lady Elyri could count herself as one of the nobility. Does being an arcanist of some renown and power elevate people to the same station as those with ancient bloodlines?

If she had only been able to harness her own abilities as a conduit, would she have been able to work her way into the good graces of the kingdom’s wealthy?

But that illusion of upward mobility is shattered when Micarsh shows her an elaborate portrait of a striking Ulime woman with the same sparkling eyes as Lady Elyri.

“The Dowager Countess. Lady Dusksong’s mother.” Micarsh clasps his hands behind his back and looks up at the noblewoman in awe. “She is the one who originally hired me. But when her spouse died, she moved in with Lady Dusksong’s younger sister, the new countess.”

“So, Lady Dusksong has a noble title, too?” She tilts her head to the side, trying to find other features shared between mother and daughter.

“No, she relinquished her right to it when she, well.” He trails off, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s for her to tell you. But her mother did make sure all of their children at least had land. Lady Dusksong asked for their mountain castle. ‘Better to experiment,’ she had said.”

She sighs. Her owner only had the recognition she did because her had noble blood. Without it, there was no clawing oneself out of poverty. It was strangely comforting to know it was not her personal fault that she had struggled so much; but no comfort at all to know that such a system not only existed but lied about its existence.

“She is very beautiful,” is all she can say to Micarsh about the woman with whom he is still clearly enamored.

“Is she still very busy?” Raely asks as Micarsh drops her back off at her rooms. The sun is setting, and she knows there is a delicious meal waiting for her in her rooms, but some part of her had been hoping to see her new owner. Some part of her that was on fire with a strange need she had never experienced before, a need that started between her legs and flared outward.

“Yes, my lady. I apologize, but it is really a matter of importance that requires all of her attention.” Micarsh bows to her. “I shall fetch you tomorrow after you have had breakfast, and we can explore the stables and gardens.”

This surprises her. An opportunity to go outdoors? To leave the castle? And how could they possible have such things so high in the frozen crags? “Oh. I would like that. Is Lady Dusksong aware of your plan?”

He smiles. “Some things she doesn’t need to know. I shall leave you to your supper.” He leaves without even a backwards glance. He disappears down the stairs, but before she can even miss her companion, Leilah and Rosamund, the two chamber maids assigned to her, greet her; Leilah with Raely’s nightgown and robe ready and Rosamund carrying a tray with a cup of tea.

She accepts both before sitting down for her dinner, relishing in the satin of the gown and the plushness of the fur lining the robe; far better than anything she had ever worn and here she is wearing it just to sleep in.

She had been so grateful that it was the Consortium that had found her; she did not want to end up in a jewel house or as some pet for someone with exotic sexual desires; but she had assumed her new owner would dress her in practical clothing, but her owner was providing her with garments as fine as the wealthy.

A chill runs down her spine as she thinks about Lady Dusksong teaching her things beside magic—things done in darkened bedrooms. Aside from the seemingly insatiable urge that has overtaken her the past few nights, she has never had time or energy to think about sexual things. She knows very little about the entire matter; she’s always been too focused on survival and while she knew more than a few people who engaged in sexual acts to earn money, she had always been too afraid to do so.

But something about the thought… She imagines she is instead Lady Dusksong’s sexual plaything; earning her room and board with her body, being nothing but a means of Lady Dusksong to have her sexual desires fulfilled. The thought is far too alluring, and the song in her mind only seems to encourage the thoughts.

She finishes her meal too quickly, a habit she learned on the streets, and dismisses her maids for the night, running to her bed and throwing herself across it, imagining it is Lady Dusksong’s strong hands flinging her through the air and then forcing her down into the plush bedding, pining her hands above her head.

The thoughts seem to come from somewhere else, for she has certainly never seen such acts nor even heard of them, yet as her hand paws at her fine nightwear, rubbing herself through the silk and satin, the thoughts kept coming. She moans into the sheets, the pleasuring intensifying as she increases the pressure.

She can feel herself getting closer to the explosive release, creeping closer to the edge and wanting nothing more to crest it and go over it until she is shaking. She’s never experienced anything like this, and she suddenly wonders if it would have been so bad if she had found her way to a jewel house.

No, the song sings to her. She is property of Lady Elyri. Raely’s body belongs to the arcanist alone. She does not belong at a jewel house.

And then it comes, slow at first but building until she thinks she will shatter, and she can do nothing but accept the song in her mind as it forces her to imagine Lady Dusksong standing over her, grinning.

She pants as she comes down from the high, wiping the sweat from her brow and wondering if whoever does her laundry can smell the sweat on the fabrics, if they can smell the other scent mixed with it, if they can tell what she has been doing every night since she arrived.

She needs to cool down, she needs air, she needs water, she needs her owner to barge in and hold her down and… She needs air. She slips into her bathroom, tempted to draw herself a cold bath but instead she slinks to the balcony, flinging open the doors and stepping out into the thin mountain air.

The chill breaks whatever haze she has been in. “What am I doing?” She asks the night sky, reaching up for the stars—surely, if there was ever a time for her to successfully use her talent to harness starlight, it is now. “This isn’t me.” Her hand reaches for the collar. The arcanist had said it gave her access to Raely’s thoughts. “So, she must know… if she wanted to, she might know what I am doing. If she knows, what must she think of me? Is this why she has been avoiding me?”

The thought of her owner avoiding her is crushing, a weight on her shoulders, a chain around her neck being pulled downward until she bows in shame; a supplicant begging their betters for mercy.

“No,” she says again. “I’ve been poor my whole life, but I have always refused to accept that I have ‘betters’ that must be appeased. What’s happening to me? What is this place doing to me?”

And then the most sinister thought crosses her mind. One she is too afraid to fully articulate, lest it be heard. What if the collar cannot just read my thoughts, but control them?

But she can’t hide from the collar, or the song it fills her mind with, even as she pushes aside the thought that she is being controlled, the hole between her legs clenches, yearning, demanding, ordering her to touch it again. She cannot resist it.

It feels good to be controlled, the song sings to her. You like it.

Far more forceful than it has been, more insistent, more all-encompassing.

Her forefinger finds a small knot just above the hole and rubs it roughly, bringing her to that explosion far more quickly than her previous efforts. She cannot hold back the scream as pleasure rips its way through her, tearing apart her mind and remaking it to harmonize along with the song.

She drifts to sleep, the song playing steadily in her mind. When she wakes up later, cold and in a haze, she looks up at the night sky and three large birds soar overhead searching for prey.

She rubs her eyes and watches them, her mind too groggy to fully comprehend that the winged creatures above her are not birds at all. But they had spotted their prey. She shivers and drags herself back to bed, knowing the song will pull her back to sleep and fill her mind with delicious thoughts.