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“And we should go.”

Perl turns away from Kerik, takes a spill and lights it from the fire, then crouches down and uses it to set the salt circle on the floor alight. The flames burn white and blue, leaping up to Perl’s knees. He hears Kerik gasp behind him, which is satisfying.

It’s even more satisfying when Perl waves his hands at the flaming circle and the flames leap higher, growing until they are the height of a man, hissing and popping. A strong scent of sulphur fills the room, as a sparkling silver door appears inside the ring of fire, and Kerik mutters, “Zai’s teeth.”

Perl turns around to see Kerik staring wide-eyed. It’s not an unusual expression to see on the face of a mortal who has never witnessed real magic before, but it’s rather satisfying to see it on the face of this cocky spoilt prince.

“Are all fae as powerful as you?” Kerik finally says when he regains his voice.

Perl feels a little smug at that. But he tries to explain simply. The sooner Kerik starts understanding magic, the better. “I am currently quite depleted in power, but in Vylenor there will be more and my magic will be stronger as a result. Although many fae have magic far greater than mine.”

Kerik nods, pleased with this as if Perl is a servant explaining exactly how he will do his Master’s bidding. “And this is how we will get to Vylenor,” Kerik points at the salt door. “That’s some kind of magic route?”

“Yes. There is no other way to Vylenor. It is well warded.” Perl turns to the salt door on the floor of the chamber and takes a breath. “Mortals can find it strange to travel through the salt door. It could be quite unpleasant for you, but I believe your fae blood will protect you from the worst of it.”

He still feels a strange sensation, a pleasant tingle in his body from Kerik, his prisoner, but talking to him as if he had all the power and control in the world, as if power and control come naturally to him. So strangely charming. It had been so easy for Perl to change his plans and agree to take Kerik to Vylenor. Why had he done that?

Just for the sake of returning to that vile place with a handsome thrall, instead of alone and ashamed?

4

KERIK

Kerik stares at the strange door inside the flaming ring. He swallows any trepidation he feels. His mother always ensured he trained as a warrior. He has learned how to be brave. She would be proud of his noble bearing in the face of this strange situation.

Perl gestures to the sparkling door. “These doors only work for mortals if they are taken through by a fae.”

Kerik looks at the door. He is not surprised that this method of travel is only for the faeriekind. He is unsure how he, a mortal man, is meant to even reach it, inside a ring of flame. “You are not concerned I will be set alight by your magical fire.”

“Not greatly,” says Perl. As he speaks he grabs Kerik by the forearm and with a surprising strength, pulls him through the fire and then through the door.

Kerik yelps in shock but he is not burned. The fire feels like nothing at all.

The door is a different matter. It does not feel like nothing.

As they step through it air seems to rush all around them, like the strongest winds Kerik has ever felt. They are outdoors, quite distinctly. The freezing night air is all around them. The bare skin on Kerik’s upper body is instantly frozen cold. His nipples pinch tight. There is snow in the air, flurries of it that hit Kerik's skin like needles. He yells out at the sensation and blinks against the rushing wind and then it is day. It is day and the sky is lit by a weak winter sun. Kerik looks down. He is sure they are outdoors still but his bare feet rest on a marble floor, a marble floor that is cool and white but also seems to glitter with a thousand different colours as if it is made from snow packed tight and polished smooth.

Before them is a huge set of doors that also glitter as if they are made of ice and snow.

The sun may be weak, half hidden in high white cloud, but everything seems so bright. Kerik screws up his eyes. When he looks away from the ice door, they seem to be standing on a snowy mountainside. But somehow, they are also standing in a small antechamber. In the distance, Kerik can see the sea. The wild and choppy Starlight sea that separates Ismagaar from the isle of Ulla. He can see the white falling tips of the waves. But he is sure they are inside a room. As if that room has invisible walls. He can see the snowflakes just beyond where they stand, but the snow no longer hits his skin.

Perl says, “You see? You travelled through the door with ease.”

Kerik lifts an eyebrow. “Then the most difficult part is over.”

Kerik had hoped to break the tension with a little joke, but Perl just stares at him. He looks nervous. “Far from it,” he says.

“At least you are home.”

“At least.”

Kerik looks at the door of ice. Perl is making no move to step towards it. “How long since you have been here?”

“A hundred years," Perl says, still looking at nothing but the door. “I have been putting this off. For too long.”

“A hundred years! How old are you?” Kerik had assumed, from Perl’s appearance, that they were of similar age. But that cannot be true.

“The fae live much longer than mortals. Many of us live for centuries.”