Page 42

Kerik gives Perl a sullen look back and says nothing. He can keep silent. How hard can that be?

“It is usual to start with one of the simpler ones,” Perl says. "But you may find there is more to this than you think.”

The Pink Parlour is a far smaller room than the Ice Hall, but well named. It is decorated in delicate shades of rose and frosted with silver accents that catch the ice light. Incense burns with a thick sweet scent, familiar from Vane’s chambers, curling in the air.

A scattering of faerie courtiers line the walls. A few of them wear wings arching above their head, but many do not, perhaps in consideration of the smaller space.

At the far end is a dais, upon which sits a grand throne carved of pink marble. The Queen sits on it, elegant legs crossed and a sweet smile on her face. Her silver snake is curled around her neck like fine jewellery.

She opens her arms in welcome as Kerik and Perl enter, leaning forward with a rustling of her elaborate tiered gown. As always, the gown is low cut in the front, skimming over her breasts and exploding at the waist into tiers of lace that froth like a wild sea. “Come, my dear Perl,” she says in her musical voice. “Come now and take your place at my side. I am so delighted to see you back and acting like a true high fae.”

Beside Exeinil sits Vane with Seridil at his feet and on the Queen’s other side is Diamanda. But between the Queen and Vane is another chair. Empty.

So that must be for Perl. Perl is to be sitting on the dais. Part of the inner court. Kerik has still not fathomed Perl’s relationship to the royal line of Vylenor. Could he be someone the Queen intends to sire a child with? Diamanda is the Queen’s daughter, Vane is the Queen’s nephew, the son of her powerful sister. Perl must be something to her if he is being given a seat on the dais.

For a moment Perl simply stands in the centre of the parlour, staring at the chair beside the Queen.

Kerik nudges at Perl’s shoulder and whispers, “I think we need to go sit up there.”

“Majesty,” Perl says, his voice sounds odd, like metal banging on metal. “I have only been back a single night and I am only here to visit.”

“I agree,” Vane says airily.

“Enough from you, Prince Vanel,” The Queen snaps across the dais. “Please try and control your jealousy.” She turns her attention back to Perl. “Perlash-zeren-ai, it matters not how short a time you have been here, or how long you plan to stay, I always knew you would return. I have waited a hundred years and I will wait no longer. Come, take your seat as my delight. I will enjoy watching you command your thrall.”

Perl nods as if he has nothing more to say. He goes to take his place on the dais. Kerik follows obediently and kneels on the cushion at Perl’s feet.

When Perl is seated the Queen smiles at them both. “What an interesting hip cloth your thrall wears.”

Perl looks a little awkward. “He likes to match me.”

“Does it? How adorable.” The Queen claps her hands. “Begin,” she says.

Kerik blinks. Is he supposed to do something? Start being silent in this moment? But then he realises a small, square platform draped in pink silk is rising from the floor in the centre of the parlour, surrounded by a glittering golden mist.

The mist clears to reveal, on the platform, a small stool of white wood. A simple thing for such grand ceremony.

But there’s no need to ask what Kerik is meant to do now. So that will be the test. Sit on that stool and be silent. Simple.

Perl stands from the chair he has only just sat upon and says evenly, “Thank you, Grand Majesty. I will now demonstrate my command of this thrall and his devotion with a display of silence.”

When he is done he leads Kerik from the dais and up onto the platform where he commands him sit on the stool.

Kerik does his best to look obedient as he follows Perl’s commands. Perl walks behind Kerik, adjusting his position before pulling his arms around and connecting the cuffs.

“Prepare him,” Perl says as he steps down and two fae guards take his place before Kerik on the platform. They remove his collar and hand it to Perl, replacing it with one of the high metal ones that lift his chin.

Kerik grunts as it is locked into place.

Then, one guard parts Kerik’s lips with a gloved hand and the other produces a small silver ball studded with gems, which he places inside Kerik’s mouth.

When the guards draw back, curious, Kerik presses at the ball in his mouth with his tongue. Although nothing is holding the ball in place and he should be able to simply press it out again, it does not move. Something tingles on his tongue when he tries. It’s a little pleasant. The taste of magic in his mouth.

Kerik tries to speak around the ball. He means to say, “How elegant.” But his voice does not come. Not even a garbled noise. Instead the sound he makes is a sweet chirrup, like a strange unfamiliar bird song.

The courtiers lining the walls of the parlour laugh.

Kerik swallows as best he can around the studded ball. He feels a soft heavy feeling in his belly. He cannot speak. His words become birdsong.