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“Always in time.” Kerik shakes his head. He leans back and lies down on the bed, stretching out, folding his hands behind his head as he looks up at the canopy, marvelling at the secrets he now possesses.

16

KERIK

Kerik wakes in Perl’s bed. It is so much more comfortable than the small pallet on the floor. It had been Perl’s turn to take the bed. But Perl had insisted Kerik sleep in comfort as he is going to face another test of devotion.

It’s ridiculous. The bed is easily enough for them both with Perl’s slight birdlike body. They needn’t couple, or anything like that. Perl could remain as chaste as he wishes to be. They’d just get a better night’s rest.

Kerik rolls over and looks down at Perl on the thrall bed. He is awake, blinking up at Kerik. Kerik does not think Perl sleeps well. Or perhaps he does not sleep well in this place.

He is planning to voice his opinions, once more about the sleeping arrangements,

but before he can begin a bell rings, its sweet chimes dancing through the air.

“Is that for us?” Kerik says. “The next test?”

Perl sits up. “It is the audience bell. It may not be for your test, but I think it very likely. Bathe and dress, quickly.”

Kerik climbs from the bed. “Anything you would have me wear, Master?” he says with a sweet bow.

“Just get on with it,” Perl says, turning away to his dressing chamber.

Vylenor always feels cool to Kerik, but that could be because he is always half-naked, although the faeries do not seem to be any more warmly dressed than he.

But when they step into the Pink Parlour, the air feels colder than ever. And the reason for this is very clear. Right in the centre of the room, where the platform Kerik had sat upon for the last test had been, is what appears to be a huge piece of ice, sparkling in the strange ethereal light of Vylenor like a fine jewel.

When he sees it, Perl halts. “Ah.”

Behind him Kerik says, “What? What is it?”

Perl nods at the ice. “Endurance.”

“What do I have to endure?”

“Cold,” Perl nods at the ice again. “That.”

“Cold. Just cold?" Kerik really was expecting something far worse. “I’ve been cold the entire time I’ve been here.”

But Perl does not reply. He begins marching quickly towards the dais. Kerik increases his pace to keep up. The Queen looks at them. “Ah, Perlash, you are here, finally.”

Perl shakes his head at her. “Your Majesty, please. It is only the second test. If this is about what I did to Ermai?”

The Queen tips her head to one side. Her mouth forms a neat moue as she says, “Who?”

Perl gestures to the block of ice. “Please. Not endurance. It’s too much.”

Diamanda leans forward on the dais, “It is a cruel test for a mortal thrall, mother.”

The Queen laughs. “Oh, I know it's intense, but your thrall is so virile and devoted. It will be so erotic to see it suffering this. And I’m sure it will be delighted to do this for you. Now, my dear Perlash, you have kept us waiting long enough. You will instruct your thrall that it is to strip itself and enter the ice cell. It is to resist all offers of warmth until you are satisfied.”

Kerik listens to this with interest. He has no idea why Perl is so concerned. It seems simple enough. What is so difficult about simply being cold?

When Perl turns to Kerik, he has his chest puffed out, as if he is doing his best to play the part of Kerik’s Master, although Kerik can see a distinct light of dread in his eyes. “Strip, thrall,” he commands. “Display your body before you offer it to me.”

Kerik follows Perl’s lead, bowing with a murmur of, “Yes, Master,” before removing his hip cloth. Baring himself completely to the hall. He has not been fully naked in front of the faeries like this before, although he has been close enough that this should not be as mortifying as it feels. But he does not let himself think on it for too long. He takes a breath, before dropping to his knees at Perl’s feet, entirely naked. He kisses each of Perl’s boots before sitting back on his heels and saying. “Yes, Master. I hope you enjoy watching me freeze for your pleasure, Master. As you command.”

He sees Perl swallow, before he says coolly, “Your wrists, thrall.”