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“Shush, thrall,” Kerik leans in and kisses Perl behind the ear. “Just a little distraction. Keep talking.”

Through gasps, Perl obeys, “I put the spellwork into the ring and it pulls its power from the bearer. An old trick. I can, I can teach you.”

“Hmm,” Kerik coos. He keeps one hand on Perl’s cock as, with the other, he circles the iron cuff on Perl’s wrist. He can feel a faint prickle from it. He has noticed as he works at his magic, he is a little more sensitive to iron, as if his fae blood is rising to the surface. “It hurts you, doesn’t it? This cuff?”

Faintly, mostly lost to pleasure, Perl returns, “I am used to it.”

“Lyr told me I can remove it.”

“I believe you can. But your magical reserves are still not strong and who knows what we will need. You should not waste your power on me.”

“You should not have kept that from me. Lyr also told me that you have not asked me to because you feel you should wear it as some kind of penance. For all that you have done in the cause of defeating Ur-Durik.”

Kerik strokes Perl more firmly. Perl’s head drops back, as he starts to shake, close to spend. “Please,” he says. Not thinking of the cuff on his wrist.

Kerik laughs, “As you wish, faerie.” The cuff falls away in Kerik’s hand as he lowers his head to take Perl’s cock into his mouth.

That had been the previous night. This morning, at breakfast, Damon had announced that they were ready to leave for Attar. The weather is no better, but they cannot wait longer if they must arrive before Atticul’s Ascension. As Damon had said this, Kerik had been shovelling porridge into his mouth, starving for it after another night tormenting his beautiful faerie with pleasure, and said, “I will be interested to see Endrew again. How has he been in the years since I have been gone from Attar.”

And the whole table had gone deathly quiet.

Now Kerik sits alone, outside in the snow, perched on a fallen tree beside the ice covered pond.

He stares at its frozen surface and makes a little spark of heat dance in his palm. Perl would tell him he was wasting magic.

“Kerik Darekul.”

Kerik turns to the voice. As if bidden by Kerik’s thoughts, Perl stands outside the door of the Bride House, pale as the snow. He looks eerie. So fae. So beautiful. How could Kerik ever have not seen it? How could he ever care for another. All men seem so dull and simple next to his exquisite faerie. A fine prize for a man such as Kerik, he thinks, as he often does. Perl is his.

Perl had not been at the breakfast table. He does not care to eat, even after a night of vigorous love making. He had chosen to bathe instead. He had not heard what was said. Or seen Kerik’s reaction.

Kerik makes his heat magic dance in the air as Perl approaches. Perhaps he could use magic to change the weather. He looks up at the clouds like a leaden roof across the sky, sensing the way that they, like everything in the world, are made of tiny pieces.

“You should not waste that,” Perl says, predictably.

“Waste what?” Kerik says, in no mood for talk. In no mood for anything. “The great power you gave me?”

“I am impressed you have any power here at all. Surely you do not find enough in the air here to waste it on heat magic when there is a fire indoors? Where are you drawing that from?”

“Myself, I think. I just broke my fast and I’m still so hungry.”

Perl laughs, “The Magician indeed.”

Kerik nods back sullenly.

“And why are you out here?”

“Endrew is dead,” Kerik says quietly, bluntly.

“You did not know?”

Kerik looks up at Perl. “And I suppose you did.”

“I did.”

“He was my friend. My only true friend in the Rose Palace. But I was gone five years. I missed so many things. I know that, of course. But I missed my life. Five years of my life. And I missed his death. Endrew is dead.” He looks into Perl’s icy eyes. “Lyr killed him.”

“I am sorry,” Perl says. “I am sorry I took you away from your life.”