Chapter 12 Kerik #2
Kerik lets his gaze wander around the hall, as much as he can in the restrictive collar.
Some of the faerie courtiers are watching him, others have moved into groups to chatter, paying him no regard at all.
How long will it be until the bell? Time here, Kerik has decided, moves like time in a dream.
It seems simpler to think of it that way and less disconcerting.
He wonders how long this test will truly last.
The most arduous part of it will be boredom.
Kerik focuses on his breathing, listening to it.
In and out. Cool air coming in, warmer air flowing out.
He thinks of the Master at Arms at the Rose Palace who taught him this, saying they were breathing exercises from Archilia to calm the mind.
He lets his thoughts drift. Searching for a sweet memory to entertain himself.
He thinks of golden days in the practice yards at the Rose Palace.
Learning his sword fight techniques, sparring with Endrew.
Hearing word from their brothers’ battles in far away lands to the east. Damon the One Man Army.
Atticul the General Paramount. He and Endrew had reenacted great battles they’d heard about, taking turns to play the part of the heathens their brothers had bested.
They had been well matched. Half brothers in truth and blood brothers in their own declaration.
They’d always planned to join the Imperial Army like Damon and Atticul and fight side by side.
Does Endrew miss him? Did he join the Imperial Army without him? It is strange to think that for all of them, everyone he knows, life has simply gone on.
Growing up at the Rose Court was good preparation for surviving this place. He has gone from one den of snakes to another.
He looks back to Perl. Perl is still watching him with a serious expression.
Perl’s face is quite fascinating. His high refined cheekbones, his sharp nose, his elegant jaw.
He is strangely attractive, in his own way. So serious, it's almost enticing. He tries not to show emotion, but when he does let that control slip and becomes angry, or even better, flustered, he is quite delightful. Kerik thinks he ought to find more ways to make Perl become flustered.
Perl really does not seem interested in the Azurian succession.
Could it truly be the case that whatever caused him to snatch Kerik, only kept him from the Duchy of Fanost by happenstance?
And Perl does not seem to be trying to gain favour by selling him as a thrall to another faerie.
He seems to be going to pains to keep him, even protect him.
Perhaps Perl truly believes the outrageous tales he has told Kerik.
And one part of that tale is true. Kerik does seem to have some kind of magical ability.
But that strange story about a demon that must be battled seems like pure fancy.
Even if the tale were true, the faeries destroyed the Bellator before, why could Perl not simply ask them to do it again? Why indulge in all this scheming?
What then is the truth? The thoughts circle Kerik’s mind.
He wonders again if the real reason Perl took him and kept him in that tower for five years could truly be lust. But if the true explanation were lust, why has Perl made no attempt to bed him.
He has had many opportunities to do so, even been in situations where he went to obvious pains not to.
He even expresses distaste at the idea. Is he truly chaste as he claimed?
Why would a fae be chaste when every other fae he has met has been happily indulging his lusts?
So, if it was not lust, why did Perl really take him? He does not remember being taken, only waking in the kitchen of the Starlight Tower. He trawls his mind for the last thing he remembers before that.
The night Selim was nearly killed. He remembers that.
The bells ringing as a raid by Mortingale Outlaws was discovered.
It had been thrilling. Men racing through the halls.
He had been bundled with Endrew and Atticul into a chamber at the top of the Tower of the Heir for safety.
Ferra had been there too, cradling her babe, newly born.
That babe must be walking and talking now, but he cannot remember seeing him again.
So he was taken sometime between the raid and Ferra’s babe’s naming before Zai? What can he remember after that raid?
The outlaws had been thwarted by his brother Damon Darekul.
Fighting them single handed in the halls.
He had killed a dozen men and captured three more who had been executed in the Punishment Square.
Kerik had seen some of it. The Rose Court had their vengeance.
And there was more. One of the outlaws had escaped the palace.
And that outlaw, it was rumoured, was another of his half brothers, Lukas.
Kerik remembers nothing of Lukas. He had run away when Kerik was only a year old.
He does not really feel he knew Damon either.
An untouchable figure. A great hero. Damon only visited infrequently from his battles, more a story to Kerik than a real person, although many have told him he looks like his oldest brother.
His other half-brother, Prince Atticul, heir second, the hope of Azuria, had always viewed Kerik with contempt thanks to his mother’s scheming to make him part of the royal line. The only one of his brothers he had been close to was Endrew.
His mother had always said that when Kerik was made Duke of Fanost that would negate his bastardy. And it would then be a simple matter to claim he also ought to have a place in the Royal Line. He was older than Endrew by a handful of moons and so would be placed between him and Atticul.
Kerik had often wondered why Endrew had not misliked him for this, as Atticul clearly had. But he had never shown any sign of it.
Perhaps he simply understood Kerik’s claim was just.
But despite what it had said in Lady Ilyne’s betrothal arrangement promising her bloodline would retain the title, the Rose Court had rejected her claims that Kerik should be made the new Duke of Fanost. The official reason was that the terms of the arrangement were moot because the betrothal had never happened.
But unofficially, the Rose Court had made it known that they would not consider bestowing such an honour on a rumoured luxorite.
What was the good of giving Kerik the title if his deviancies meant he would never sire a son to continue the line?
Kerik’s mother had been angry about this, of course.
All her plans crushed by Kerik’s taste in bed sports.
She had fought with Kerik, furiously demanding he be more discreet.
And Kerik had been just as furious claiming he would do as he wished.
After all, Lady Ilyne was the one who had committed the sin that had made him a bastard.
After the attack on Selim, Ilyne had claimed to be very concerned that Kerik too could become a target of the Mortingales.
Although Kerik had thought that he was far more likely to be killed by those who opposed his mother’s scheming.
But she had used her fears as an excuse to appoint him a bodyman.
A great muscular Fanosti. Kerik knew well the true purpose of this bodyman’s role was to ensure Kerik did not take men to his bed.
Kerik was furious. He was nineteen summers and had recently heard a rumour that if one spoke to the right person, male concubines were available in the Rose Palace itself.
Kerik was still working on finding out who that right person was, but he intended to do so.
He liked the idea of it. A perfectly trained male concubine, used to serving princes and dukes.
A man who could slide to his knees with the beautiful skills female concubines displayed at Pleasure Nights.
A man who could give suck or spread his legs with elegance and submission.
Until he found out how to make that happen, he’d also discovered a pillow house in Attar that had a secret attic room that offered men for bed pleasures.
But even that diversion was impossible when he was followed constantly by his huge Fanosti bodyman.
One night he had managed to slip away from the Fanosti and attempted to visit this pillow house, but the bodyman had been too clever for him. He had caught Kerik before he even reached Gleamview and marched him back to the Rose Palace and the safety of the Tower of the Heir.
So Kerik had taken the only route open to him.
He had seduced the bodyman. It was not a complicated matter.
A negotiation about what Kerik wanted to ensure he never tried such a thing again had become heated, half a tussle.
The bodyman was older and stronger than Kerik, but somehow Kerik had persuaded him to get on his knees and suck to ensure Kerik did not wander.
The man was sloppy. His skills had lain elsewhere. But Kerik had got what he needed and over the passing moons, the man got better.
Kerik opens his eyes. He had not been sleeping on the platform, but gone.
Lost in thoughts. He feels the ball in his mouth.
It feels bigger, more of an invasion. He prods it again with his tongue.
When it doesn't move he feels a cold wave of panic.
His mouth is wet around it, spittle leaks onto his chin.
The parlour is darker than it had been, emptier too.
Many of the faeries must have retired or simply grown bored of watching Kerik do nothing at all and gone in search of other pleasures.
The dais is empty. A figure stands before him.
Seridil.
Kerik looks up. Seridil looms over Kerik on his low stool. But when Kerik meets his eyes, Seridil drops into a low crouch, bringing their faces level.