Chapter 14 Kerik
KERIK
Back in Perl’s chamber Kerik sits down on Perl’s fine bed.
His back is sore, more painful now than during the flogging when his blood was high.
Spitting at Vane was, he thinks, perhaps a little impulsive.
But it had seemed like the only thing to possibly do in the moment.
And a little sharp pain was a bearable price for such a thing.
Perl is sitting beside Kerik on the bed. Kerik can smell the guilt coming off him.
“Did you enjoy that?” Kerik says, in the hope of cheering him.
Perl’s response is cold. “Even less than you did.”
Kerik sighs. He reaches out and touches Perl’s cool hand. “You did what you must,” he says. “We both did.”
When Perl looks at Kerik his face is pained. “How you can describe what I just did to you in such terms is impossible to comprehend.”
“Truly,” Kerik says, looking Perl in the eyes. He turns around and cups Perl’s cool face. “You did not break me. I am strong. I can take a light flogging like that. You should see what they do to people in the Punishment Square in Attar.”
Perl swallows. “I have seen.”
Kerik wonders who Perl has seen flogged. But there are floggings almost daily in Attar. If he has visited the Jewel of the Empire he has likely seen one.
He says nothing more.
Perl says, “Lie on your belly. Let me at least see what I can do for you.”
Kerik turns and spreads himself over Perl’s silken bed covering. The position makes him more aware of the state of his back. It is throbbing, paining him far more than he wants Perl to know about.
Perl’s cold fingertips touch his sore skin, featherlight. Kerik inhales. But Perl’s touch is not painful. Far from it. Perl’s fingers dance over Kerik’s skin and while the touches are cool, from each of them a soft warmth spreads across Kerik’s flesh. Pain is washed away by the feel of it.
Kerik revels in the sweet sensation for long moments, before looking around to see what Perl is doing. His face is a pale mask of concentration. His fingertips glow softly in the darkened room, transmitting a kind of energy into Kerik’s broken skin.
“You’re doing healing magic?” Kerik says.
“Yes,” Perl says. His voice coming out like a gasp.
“Does it hurt you?”
Perl pauses. Kerik can see something in his face, something beyond the mask of concentration that could be pain or exhaustion. “It is complicated,” Perl says eventually. “It does not feel good.”
“But you can heal with magic?” The thought is quite thrilling. The power one can wield with magic seems to have no end.
“In a way,” Perl says. He takes his hands from Kerik’s skin and shakes his wrists.
“It is difficult and takes a lot of my own energy. In some ways it would be just as effective and simpler to use an ointment. Although that is not really the way of things here. The fae methods for doing things, with magic, are sometimes not as effective as mortal ways. We do sometimes use calidrus birds to enact the spell. It avoids the discomfort.”
Kerik looks around. “Birds?”
“The white and silver birds you will have seen in the Ice Hall. Many fae keep them as pets. They are birds that have the same healing magic. I do not have one, however, and I could not ask for one directly after whipping you, or it would be obvious I was mitigating your suffering.”
“But if you have such a bird, or used the magic directly, can you heal any wounds that way?”
“No. Much like mortal healing, not everything can be fixed,” Perl says, rubbing his hands together.
Kerik rolls over. His back no longer feels sore, although he can tell that it is swollen. His arms still ache from the whipping post chains and the lacerations inside his mouth pain him, perhaps worst of all. He runs his tongue around the insides of his cheeks, inspecting the damage.
“Why did you do it?” Perl says, and at first Kerik thinks he is asking why Kerik demanded to take the whipping. But then Perl says, “Why ever did you spit at Vane and undo your work in the test?”
“He said something I did not like.”
Perl looks pensive. His jaw is tense. “Again? Kerik Darekul, if you cannot swallow your suffering when one of the fae mocks you then I doubt you will be able to pass these tests.”
Kerik shakes his head. “Vane wasn’t mocking me this time. He was mocking you.”
The expression of surprise on Perl’s face is quite enjoyable. Sweeter, even, than the feeling of Perl’s fingers on his back absorbing his pain.
“Me?” Perl says eventually, voice a little shaky, but a smile is blooming on his face. “Your cruel captor? You were trying to defend me?”
Kerik nods. “Actually yes. Although I am quite certain that what Vane said about you wasn't even untrue. Was it?”
Perl’s smile flashes wider, as if this has genuinely touched him. But only for a moment. His expression turns grave, as he says, “What did he say,” — Perl pauses to swallow — “about me?”
Kerik nods. Quite bluntly he says, “He told me you were caught kneeling for Seridil.”
“Oh,” Perl says. “I see.”
“It’s true isn’t it? Vane has been hinting about it since I arrived. And today, perhaps he grew tired of hinting, because he told me outright. But even if he had not done so, I can tell what you desire.”
Perl looks quite pained at that statement. “You can?”
Kerik reaches for Perl’s hand and pulls it into his lap. “Oh yes. The way you look at me, the things that make your breath catch. There are signs I have become quite adept at spotting.”
“It’s hardly a secret,” Perl says, voice hard.
“Every fae in Vylenor knows what happened. I was dragged before the fae court when we were discovered and lowered with iron before all. Seridil told them everything. He told them I forced him to do it. Although that was not the case. He is mortal and can lie, of course. They could have given him a tincture of levelling, but that often gets forgotten in favour of a grand spectacle. Like a high fae caught behaving as I had been. In truth, he suggested it. I would never have asked that of a thrall. But you should not have spat at Vane for saying the simple truth of what I am.”
“He was shaming you for it,” Kerik says.
Perl has been speaking, staring down at his lap. But when Kerik says that he looks up, eyes glassy and cheeks pink. “It is shameful.”
“No it isn’t,” Kerik strokes his thumb over the back of Perl's hand as he speaks. “You cannot help what you desire.”
“Truly,” Perl says, “if I could change my desires I would do so. But I am not able to. I have done all that I can think of to change this about myself.”
Kerik wants to laugh. “You know the rules in Azuria about being sly. But my desires were what they were. I never thought about the rules of the Rose Court. So why should you concern yourself with the demands of the Ice Court? You should do what you will. As I do.”
“That is what you give as your example of ignoring decorum and indulging desire? You? Look where your behaviour got you in Attar? Being refused the title Duke of Fanost because you were a rumoured luxorite.”
Kerik pouts. “So you do enjoy hurting me.”
Perl sighs. Not amused by this at all. “Please, never mind all of this, just behave so that I do not have to do that again. Whatever Vane says. Even about me.”
“I suppose I could try,” says Kerik. But he has an idea now. One that makes his heart beat a little harder. “But it’s difficult to be an obedient thrall. It’s not my nature. Maybe I don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how?” Perl says. His voice no longer solemn and sad, now he sounds indignant. “It is simple. I explained it before we even left Ismagaar. You walk behind me, you keep your eyes down, you don’t speak unless asked a question.” He exhales loudly. “You don’t spit in people's faces.”
Kerik slides closer on the bed. He lets his voice drop, using a tone he has used to seduce many a man in filthy taverns and fine state rooms. “It still sounds quite complex. I am just an ignorant mortal. Why don’t you show me?”
Perl gives a small, stuttering gasp. It could be frustration but it could be something else. “No. I do not do that. I swore. After Seridil. I swore. Never again.”
“What does it matter what you swore to the Ice Court?”
“I did not swear it to the Ice Court. I swore it to myself. I am chaste. My desires are an aberration. And a distraction. I will not touch another until I have completed the mission I was charged with. I must retrieve Iceheart.”
“Kneeling for me won’t stop you from completing your mission. The opposite. If you teach me exactly how to be obedient for you, surely that is part of your mission.” He lifts a hand and strokes it over the side of Perl’s face. “Please?”
“It is not so simple.”
“Of course it is,” Kerik bends his fingers, stroking along Perl’s chin with his knuckles.
Perl shivers. His voice hitches as he says, “No. Stop this. You are not serious.”
“I am,” Kerik whispers, leaning forward so his mouth dances, close to Perl’s, breathing his breath. He can taste Perl’s fear, laced with desire. As if, in him, the two are somewhat the same. “Teach me how to behave as a thrall. You’d be much better at it than me.”
“Oh, I would.”
“Then show me.” It would be so easy to kiss Perl now and Kerik doesn’t doubt that Perl would let him. But he does not.
“Show you how?” Perl whispers. He wants to be kissed, Kerik is certain. When he kissed Kerik to satisfy The Queen’s demanding, he had not been kissed for a hundred years. It makes Kerik's head spin with how much he must desire it.
“Show me how I ought to kneel before you,” Kerik says. “Get on your knees before me, thrall.”
Perl gasps softly, given over now to desire. Protests gone. He cannot resist this. Cannot deny his need forever.
He slides from the bed onto the floor at Kerik’s feet. He looks up at Kerik for a moment with such wild, blatant desire on his face it takes Kerik’s breath. He has never seen Perl like this. Perl with his icy control gone. The true Perl. The one he hides with formal language and cautious movement.