“You know the knife?” she asked, startled. “Who does it belong to?”
“My half-brother,” he answered with a tired sigh. “I don’t think that your attacker was a demon.”
Sham felt her eyebrow rise at his acceptance of his brother’s guilt. “It wasn’t Lord Ven,” she snapped before she thought.
Kerim turned to her. “Oh?”
“Look—” she said finally, rubbing her hands briskly on her cheeks in an effort to wake up, “—whatever it was that came into my room did it without opening the door. The hinges on the door creak and I would have heard it if someone opened them.”
“There is a ‘secret’ passage into that room, similar to the passage in this one.”
Sham shook her head. “I was next to the fireplace when it came in. All of the doors were closed.”
“You think that something used magic to enter your room.”
She hadn’t realized just how easy it was to make such a small word sound like something obscene. “Yes, I do. There is no way that the thing that attacked me was your brother.”
The Reeve closed his eyes briefly. “It’s too late at night for this.”
Shamera yawned and started to stretch before she remembered the skimpy silk shift that she was wearing and cursed her pale skin as it heated, though she hadn’t seen any sign that Kerim had noticed her state of undress. “I’m going to sleep. Do you need any help getting back to bed?”
“I can manage,” he replied. “I think that we ought to keep tonight’s attack quiet. I don’t want to spread panic any faster than it is already propagating.”
Shamera nodded and started back to her room, giving the disabled door a wry glance as she passed it. As much as she hated to admit it, she was glad to give up her privacy in return for the security of Kerim’s presence. Crippled or not, the man was a warrior.
“Good night, Shamera,” said the Reeve behind her.
“What’s left of it,” she replied, trudging on to her bed.
Shamera woke the next morning to the sound of a gentle tapping on the door.
“A moment,” she called as she threw the covers back and sat up.
If she’d been in any doubt of the events of the night, the soreness of her various wounds would have eliminated it. A moment of thought had her cloaking her wounds with illusion. Dickon’s niece might very well be trustworthy, but if Kerim wanted to keep the attack quiet, the fewer people who knew about her bruises the better. She glanced in the little mirror to make certain that she’d gotten all of the blood washed off last night. Only when she was satisfied that she looked no worse than usual did she bid the maid to enter.
When Jenli came in, she was not alone. Three husky footmen carried a trunk and two baskets into the room, keeping their eyes carefully averted as they set their burdens near the door and left. The last one was blushing furiously.
It wasn’t her state of undress that had done that, for the boys had not so much as glanced at the bed. Sham frowned thoughtfully and glanced at the fireplace implements scattered around the rugs that, like the floor, were covered with bits of porcelain and splinters of wood. A tapestry had been rehung over the opening to the Reeve’s chambers. While it provided privacy, it didn’t hide the fact that there was no door there anymore.
This little investigation was really going to have an interesting effect on the Reeve’s reputation, thought Sham with amusement.
“Delivery from your dressmaker, lady,” said Jenli, indicating the luggage. A smile fought to make itself seen, as the maid took in the damage done to the room with wide eyes.
“Good,” said Sham assessing the new arrivals thoughtfully. “I told Kerim I didn’t have a wardrobe suitable for court and he generously provided the means to acquire one.” She didn’t want Jenli questioning why her wardrobe consisted only of new items.
She chose a dark green velvet dress heavily encrusted with glass gems and pearls. It was an old dress from several decades past that she had glimpsed hanging in the dressmaker’s storage area waiting to be stripped of the reusable finery.
The velvet had been worn threadbare where the sleeves and side of the dress had rubbed together; she’d directed the fabric removed and the edges finished in gold braid. The dress left her sides bare from underarm to halfway down her hip, relying only on the weight of the fabric to keep from revealing more than was acceptable. The skirt was artfully sliced in a similar manner.
She ducked cautiously under the tapestry and into Kerim’s chamber, more worried about how much the dress revealed as she bent down than she was about who would be there. She made it through without displaying anything untoward and smiled at Dickon, who waited alone in the room with a covered warming plate containing her breakfast.
“Good morning, Lady Shamera,” said the servant, with no sign that he had sewn her shoulder for her the night before. “The Reeve instructed me to tell you he will be meeting with various claimants on his time today, and regrets he will be unable to entertain you. He thought you might be interested in visiting with the courtiers, and he will join you for your evening meal.”
“Good morning, Dickon. Thank you.”
After Dickon left, Sham ate, then ventured into the wandering halls alone. Her sense of direction served her in good stead, and she had no difficulty finding the public room on her own. These Eastern nobles were an idle lot if all they did from dawn to dusk was practice at court intrigue. With a mental shrug, Sham fixed a bright smile on her face and ventured into the room.
Lord Ven, Kerim’s brother, was the first to approach her, bowing low and kissing her fingers. “Ah Lady, you put the stars to shame.”
Shamera fixed a puzzled expression on her face and shook her head, “I didn’t mean to. I like stars.”
He paused briefly before straightening. “I meant only than your beauty is brighter than the stars.”
“Oh,” she said, then smiled in comprehension, “You like my dress. Isn’t it beautiful? And it only cost ten gold pieces. Kerim didn’t mind. He likes my dresses.”
Lord Ven was looking slightly distressed. Sham supposed it was the public mention of the cost of her dress.
“Did you eat something that disagrees with you?” asked Sham, thoroughly enjoying herself. “I find that wintergreen oil makes me feel better if I eat something that makes me sick.”
Lord Ven was saved from further babble by the advent of a young man whose blond coloring proclaimed him a Southwood native. He was, Sham estimated, a good decade younger than she.
“Ah, fair lady, do me the honor of walking with me. My Lord Halvok asked me to entertain you, since he has been forced to rob you of the Reeve’s company this day.”
Sham treated him to a bright smile. “Of course. Did I meet you yesterday?”
The young man shook his head. “No. I am Siven, Lord Halvok’s fosterling, Lord Chanford’s youngest son.”
Sham let the boy led her away, noticing that Lord Ven left the room unobtrusively behind her. She set her arm through Siven’s, chatting with him about inconsequential things.
He left her speaking with Lady Sky on the nature of fashion, but when the pregnant lady excused herself to retire to her rooms, a second fosterling attached himself to Sham. Lord Halvok and his cronies had apparently decided to keep her out of trouble when she wasn’t under the eye of the Reeve. Only good could come of having a Southwood lady as the Reeve’s mistress.
There was a note waiting for Sham in her rooms when she returned to them before supper. It was sealed with wax to prevent any of the servants who happened to be able to read from peeking. She smiled with satisfaction as she read the information the Whisper gave her on the nobles of the Court. Tonight she would visit three or four dwellings and see what she could discover.
7
Sham smothered a yawn, and glanced around at the group of men who surrounded her. Several of Lord Halvok’s fledglings mingled with the older crowd. Kerim was right—the evening gatherings were more crowded than the daily press.