She looked for the humor in his face, but Kerim had resumed walking; the pain and concentration necessary to make his legs work again forced everything else out of his expression.
The dress Sham wore was dark wine silk with silver and gold embroidery—the Reeve’s own colors. Though otherwise modest, it clung with unfashionable tenacity to her well-muscled form.
When she entered the Reeve’s chambers, Kerim frowned at the dress in a puzzled fashion. Dickon, who was behind her, laughed—it sounded rusty, but it was a laugh. Sham smiled and turned her back to the Reeve. With her hair up, the delicately embroidered leopard that covered the back of the dress was clearly visible. It was a dress that might have been suitable for a wife, but worn by a mistress it was a blatant flaunting of her power—as long as Kerim would stop chortling before they entered the court.
“Several of my counselors have been suggesting I have let you gain too much influence over my judgments. I can’t wait to see their faces when they see your dress.”
Sham let her eyes go vacant and smiled, letting her Southwood accent grow thick. “You like this dress? I like big cats, they’re so fierce and splendid, don’t you agree?”
“I would never think to argue with you, my dear,” snickered the Reeve, pushing his chair through the door Dickon opened.
The dress drew gratifying frowns of disapproval from the more conservative Eastern Lords, thoughtful looks from several women, and speculative smiles from the Southwood delegation—including Halvok. Sham spent her evening straightening imaginary wrinkles from Kerim’s tunic and stroking various parts of his anatomy, much to Kerim’s amusement.
Late in the evening Lady Tirra approached with Sky in tow. Kerim’s mother greeted Sham without her usual venom. To Sham’s delight, that caused more of a stir among the gossips than the dress had; even Sky looked somewhat puzzled.
After greeting his mother, Kerim turned to Sky. “You are looking beautiful today.”
She smiled graciously, and stepped nearer to the Reeve, dropping to her knees before him. It was an archaic gesture that had been used by Southwood nobles petitioning the king—Lady Sky imbued it with stately grace. The court grew quieter as the nearest people saw her position.
Sham saw a flush rise to Kerim’s already dark skin as he said, “Do get up, Lady Sky. There is no need for that.”
Obediently, she rose to her feet and looked into the Reeve’s face with serious intent. When she spoke, the room was so quiet her words were clearly audible to most of the straining ears. “I wish to thank you, Lord Kerim, for the help you gave me two nights past. I owe you more than I can say.”
Kerim shifted uncomfortably. “You made Fahill very happy in his last days, Lady Sky—and my brother as well. You owe me nothing.”
Sky smiled and shook her head, her body fairly vibrating with the strength of her intensity. “I owe you everything.”
Sham hoped the surge of jealousy that tightened her fingers on the back of the Reeve’s chair didn’t show. Not because such a response was not appropriate for the Reeve’s mistress, but because it was something she preferred to keep private. She knew, looking at Sky, that the Southwood lady loved Kerim. She also knew that Sky was a much fitter mate for the Reeve than a thief from Purgatory could ever be.
For the next several days, Sham excused herself from court, telling Kerim that she was trying to discover how to destroy the demon. She even managed to avoid the High Priest’s funeral.
No longer plagued by ill health, though he still used his chair in public, Kerim haunted the court, hoping to drum up support among the Eastern nobles for a series of proposed laws. He told her it was doomed for failure, but it might scare the Easterners into softening their positions on several other hard-fought political battles.
Lady Sky had been glued to his side, at the funeral and at court —both the Whisper and Halvok had seen to it that Sham was aware of it. Halvok had taken it upon himself to scold her for her lack of effort.
She’d continued the pretense of being Kerim’s mistress in front of Halvok, for that was the main reason he’d decided to help them. He liked Kerim. At the same time, he hated the Easterners with a fervor that the Shark would be hard-pressed to equal, for all that the wizard hid the hatred very well. Sham’s position gave him a way of reconciling both feelings.
“Why do you disapprove?” Sham had asked. “She’s just what you need—and she’s qualified to be his wife. I’m just a thief who can work a little magic—and if that were well known he’d catch fish bait for putting me in the position of mistress.”
Halvok had shaken his head and said. “Lady Sky is a gracious and beautiful lady—which is precisely the problem. She would no more dirty her hands with politics than any other Southwood lady I know. You, on the other hand, would go toe to toe with Altis if you wanted something—and you know what life in Southwood is like for her natives. Kerim cares this much—” he snapped his fingers, “—for what the court says about his private life, and I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
Sham had laughed at him—but her humor left a sour tinge in her mouth. “He’s become a good actor. Kerim knows what I am better than you do—I am a thief, Lord Halvok, and have been for half my life. I have very little in common with the daughter of the Captain of the Guards I was before the invasion, and even she would never have aspired as high as the ruler of Southwood. I think you might have underestimated Lady Sky—and you could make her life at court much more bearable than it is.”
All he had done was raise his eyebrows and say, “Daughter of the Captain of the Guards—I thought he was noble born,” in such a speculative fashion that she shooed him out of her room in exasperation.
Sham pored over Maur’s book, trying to find anything of use against the demon. Lord Halvok had been correct, the only spell it contained for permanently getting rid of a demon required a human sacrifice. Without that, she couldn’t conceive of a way to produce the power necessary for such a spell.
Talbot, true to his word, was interrogating all the servants in the Castle, ostensibly to find a necklace conveniently missing from Lady Tirra’s jewel box. He left Elsic with Sham most of the time.
Whenever Dickon had a spare moment from the Reeve’s service he would join them, and Sham began teaching him the basics of magic. She’d spent the better part of the morning trying to show Dickon how to form a magelight. It was a simple spell; Sham could feel the power simmering beneath the man’s frowning face, but he couldn’t use it.
“You think about it too much,” said Sham, exasperated.
“Sorry,” he muttered, wiping his forehead.
“Lady Shamera,” said Elsic, feathering several cords lightly on the strings of the old harp.
“Hmm?”
“Why were demons taken from where they belonged? What was their purpose?”
She sat back in her chair. “It was an attempt to gain more power, I think. There are stories of demons telling their wizard masters the secrets of various spells and runes—though a man who would take the word of a slave on how to modify a spell deserves the death that he doubtless received. More importantly, the demon could act as a reservoir of power—like the flute you found in the trunk, but safer for the mage. The wizard would send it out to kill and...” she hesitated, because he looked so young and innocent, sitting on the end of her bed with the harp nestled in his lap, “... do other things that would generate power for the mage to use.”
“What other ways?” asked Dickon.
“Sex,” answered the young innocent on the bed with a smirk.
“I’m going back to work,” Sham muttered, snatching the book from the seat beside her and opening it with a snap that didn’t do the ancient binding any good. Elsic launched, pointedly, Sham thought, into a child’s ditty, while Dickon began to try again to form light from magic.