Chapter 3
PERL
Perl turns away from Kerik, shirtless, with his hair and beard newly shorn and a collar around his neck. There is much to consider.
Perl is already sure he is about to make another terrible mistake.
No, not a mistake, just picking one of a handful of terrible options.
He cannot be sure if taking Kerik to Vylenor is the best of them.
But there is no defined path here. No prophetic writings to tell him what he must do.
All he can do is have faith in the way he is being nudged.
And hope that whatever is aligning things for him is the will of The Aeons.
It is strange to imagine that taking a mortal as valuable as Kerik to Vylenor could ever be the safest path, but he cannot see a better way. Despite the fact that Faerie is dangerous for mortals. And Vylenor is dangerous for both of them.
And, there will be distinct advantages to arriving in Vylenor with a handsome mortal thrall at his feet.
If he only had time to think on this more.
But there is none. Perl needs to ignite the salt door before she returns.
He turns to Kerik. “Please, before we do this, confirm that you understand what you must do, how you must behave. We must appear as if you are my thrall and devoted to me. You must be sure you want to do this”
Kerik stands and looks up at Perl. He is very close. Perl feels quite strange as Kerik says sweetly, “Yes, Master.”
Perl swallows. Kerik is really quite beautiful.
And it’s been a long time since he allowed himself to be close to another person, even in a pretence such as this.
And there may be a need to get closer still.
He knows well what kind of entertainments Vylenor may demand of him when they see him with a mortal thrall.
“Yes,” Perl says, horrified that his voice sounds breathy.
He swallows. “That will do very well. I hope you can keep it up.”
Kerik’s stance changes. His submissive pose seems to melt away as his shoulders pull back and his chin lifts. He grins playfully at Perl. “You think I’m not up to this test? You think I can’t do what any pillow slave in Attar can do?”
“It will be difficult to sustain such an act when it is not your nature.”
Perl has seen much of the true nature of mortals.
Although the fae think all mortals are natural thralls, Perl knows that this — like many of the fae’s views on such things — is not the case.
Perl knows mortals like no other fae. It’s in his blood to know them.
And while some mortals might actually enjoy the treatment they receive at the fae court, there are many mortals with other tastes.
“Not my nature? Really?” Kerik says with another smirk and suddenly he drops to his knees before Perl, thumping onto the floor.
He looks convincing, even if he made the move clumsily and not with the grace of a thrall who had been trained in positions and obedience in the pit.
Perl looks down at the kneeling Kerik, waiting with his cocky eyebrow raised for a response. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” Perl says mildly. ”I thought you might be too proud to kneel so.”
Kerik’s smirk blossoms into a grin that lights his handsome face.
“Oh, I am proud. I have plenty to be proud of.” He pulls his shoulders back again, looking as unsubmissive as it is possible for a kneeling mortal to look, before saying, “Master, please kiss me.” He bites his lip playfully. Like this is all a game.
It’s a strange combination of sensations that runs through Perl at that.
He gains no particular pleasure from seeing a mortal kneel and beg.
But what he likes about the spectacle, aside from Kerik’s more blatant charms, is his cocky self assurance.
Is the way he seems to make begging for a kiss sound like a command.
Does he actually want Perl to kiss him?
Perl swallows hard. He looks down into Kerik’s big brown eyes, dancing with silver speckles. He will have to fix that. Weakly he says, “Yes, that's along the right lines. If you can just do it a little more like an obedient thrall and less like a prince who is playing a game.”
“”Huh,” Kerik huffs, getting to his feet. “And what about you?” Does Perl imagine it or does Kerik’s voice sound equally breathy. “Do you have it in you to Master me?”
Perl pauses at that. Does he?
“I am sure I will be able to play the part if you are willing to perform like this.”
“Then show me,” Kerik says. His tongue flips out over his top lip. “Show me how you will Master me.”
Perl swallows. “There is no time for such games now.”
“Don’t you think we ought to practise before we step through that door?
What is holding you back? Do you not find me pleasing?
” Kerik puts his hands on his hips and bats his eyelashes, a mockery of the way a maid would seduce a man.
“But no, you’ve already told me you find me pleasing.
But if you’re not sure how to master a man on his knees, I can help you with that.
Perhaps you should kneel so I can show you exactly how such a thing is done. ”
Perl forces himself into composure, standing up straighter. “You will do no such thing,” he says sharply. “This is just a simple performance. I do not require lessons in telling mortals how to behave.”
Kerik looks quite amused. “Very well.”
“And we should go.”
Perl turns away from Kerik, takes a spill and lights it from the fire, then crouches down and uses it to set the salt circle on the floor alight. The flames burn white and blue, leaping up to Perl’s knees. He hears Kerik gasp behind him, which is satisfying.
It’s even more satisfying when Perl waves his hands at the flaming circle and the flames leap higher, growing until they are the height of a man, hissing and popping.
A strong scent of sulphur fills the room, as a sparkling silver door appears inside the ring of fire, and Kerik mutters, “Zai’s teeth. ”
Perl turns around to see Kerik staring wide-eyed. It’s not an unusual expression to see on the face of a mortal who has never witnessed real magic before, but it’s rather satisfying to see it on the face of this cocky spoilt prince.
“Are all fae as powerful as you?” Kerik finally says when he regains his voice.
Perl feels a little smug at that. But he tries to explain simply. The sooner Kerik starts understanding magic, the better. “I am currently quite depleted in power, but in Vylenor there will be more and my magic will be stronger as a result. Although many fae have magic far greater than mine.”
Kerik nods, pleased with this as if Perl is a servant explaining exactly how he will do his Master’s bidding. “And this is how we will get to Vylenor,” Kerik points at the salt door. “That’s some kind of magic route?”
“Yes. There is no other way to Vylenor. It is well warded.” Perl turns to the salt door on the floor of the chamber and takes a breath.
“Mortals can find it strange to travel through the salt door. It could be quite unpleasant for you, but I believe your fae blood will protect you from the worst of it.”
He still feels a strange sensation, a pleasant tingle in his body from Kerik, his prisoner, but talking to him as if he had all the power and control in the world, as if power and control come naturally to him.
So strangely charming. It had been so easy for Perl to change his plans and agree to take Kerik to Vylenor. Why had he done that?
Just for the sake of returning to that vile place with a handsome thrall, instead of alone and ashamed?