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“Absolutely not. And if you spent even a moment considering it you would understand that. I have kept you for five years without touching you.”

Kerik leans forward as far as his magical binding will allow. He drops his voice low. “Really? And how could I know that you have not? I don’t remember anything about the last five years. For all I know you have already used me. Perhaps you use me nightly and then remove my memory of it.”

Perl’s pale cheeks seem to flush slightly. He stammers a little as he says, “That is not the case.”

“And do you regret such restraint?” Kerik has a mocking note in his voice. It’s interesting that this creature seems flustered just from the suggestion of debauchery. In the tales Kerik has heard, faeries were always quite wanton. And he is not adverse to using his body if it means avoiding torture and exile at the hands of the Rose Court. Perhaps they’d even execute him in the Punishment Square. He says, “It’s not too late, however. You have me at your mercy. How do you most wish to take me? On my knees? Over this table?”

A pained look crosses Perl’s face. “I told you that is not why you are here. Your purpose is nothing so tawdry, I assure you.”

Kerik makes a scoffing noise. “So that’s why you are sending me to Ceruleum? You must go to Vylenor and if I went with you there you’d have to use me?”

“I am not taking you to Vylenor for many reasons. Including that if I took you there, you would have to pose as my thrall, yes,” Perl says. His voice sounding even more frayed.

“And I,” Kerik points at himself, “would be allowed to be your thrall at the Ice Court. We are both men. That would be a sin of the body.”

“The Ice Court is not the Rose Court. In very many ways including this one. It is a great taboo for any fae to breed with a mortal. Mortal thralls must never be of another sex.”

“So you are all sly? I have heard some people say this.” Kerik says. Vylenor is only getting more and more fascinating. Not only are the faeries and their lands real, but they have some kind of interesting sexual practices there. Didn’t some whore he met in a pillow house once tell him that the faeries live as if every night is a Pleasure Night? He would like to see that. Along with the fabled magic Vylenor must hold.

“Not at all. The fae would not see any meaning in being sly. That would not be a problem for us.”

“I see. And as your thrall I would have to warm your cock on command?” Kerik says it with a smirk.

“Not necessarily," Perl says curt and firm with a tight expression, “But we would have to pose as such. Because, in the eyes of the Ice Court, that is the only reason I would bring a mortal to Vylenor. You would have to wear my collar and obey me.” Perl pauses. He seems to be thinking. Kerik is sure he is coming around to the proposal. “But it would mean I could protect you. And she would never be able to break the wards of Vylenor. In many ways it is the safest place. But no… No. It is not possible.”

“Because you think I could not manage that? You will not take me where I will be safe because you think such a task beyond me? To pose as your thrall?”

“I simply do not know.” Perl looks at Kerik. He steps away from the salt circle and pours himself a cup of the bark tea, draining it in one long sip as if trying to give himself strength. “Perhaps it is a better option. Although I dearly wish there was another. But if we do this we would have to make it as convincing as possible. I am of the fae. I cannot tell a direct untruth. We would have to make you look the part and behave the part, so they do not question me.”

“Very well,” Kerik says quite sweetly. Pleased to see his powers of persuasion have not dimmed.

“And I would have to do something about your hair.”

Kerik lifts a hand and touches his hair. He realises he has far more of it than he expected. “Oh,” he says in surprise and then both his hands are on the sides of his head. He has so much hair. It feels greasy. Even — he shudders — matted into foul clumps in places. He touches his chin. His beard has grown too. “You let my hair grow.”

Perl looks at Kerik. “I wouldn’t say I allowed it.”

“Can you fix it? It cannot have been in this state when you found me. Kindly fetch a blade so this can be rectified.”

“You want it how it was when I met you?” Perl cocks his head onto one side. “I believe you had it short on the sides in the Fanosti style.” He raises an eyebrow as if Kerik’s vanity is amusing.

Kerik looks at him, annoyed. He has been doing all he can to seduce this creature into taking him to a magical land, without realising his usual good looks are so marred. And he is not going anywhere with his hair in this state. “Do you have a silvered glass?”

Perl waves a hand in the air and produces one as if he is picking a piece of fruit. One minute his pale hand is empty and the next he holds the handle of an elegant piece of silvered glass, encased in a decorated onyx frame.

He hands the glass to Kerik. Kerik takes it, attempting to mask his shock at what Perl has just done in front of him. His fingers close around the glass’s handle. He is quite surprised to find it solid and real.

He looks into the glass. He is relieved to find that apart from his hair he looks mostly unchanged. A little more gaunt than usual, but he is quite definitely still himself. He had been struck for a moment that this creature might have done something far worse to him than let his hair grow long. However, his face is as he remembers it. His dark eyes sparkle with Darek silver. But his hair is long to his shoulders and the sides that he normally keeps shorn, have grown out into a loose shaggy style that looks almost girlish.

What does not look girlish is the long dark beard that has sprouted from his chin. He touches it. The hair is coarse. He looks like a vulgar peasant who lives in a cave. “And remove this too. I wish to look presentable for your faerie court.”

“As you wish,” Perl says. He waves his hand idly in the air.

What happens next is like something from a tale. Even more shocking than the glass appearing from the air. Kerik watches his reflection slack-jawed. His beard vanishes from his face, leaving his chin completely smooth. The hair on the sides of his head melts away, until the planes of his skull are as bare as if he had just had a servant attend to them with a blade. The rest of his hair is shortened too, grazing his ears now instead of lying over his shoulders.

He yelps in surprise and finds himself glancing at the floor, expecting to see his hair lying there, but the floor is clean. The hair from his head and his face is just gone.

Kerik looks back to the glass, moving his head from side to side. Admiring his reflection.