They stayed away from Shamera, who was protected by Kerim’s presence or Halvok’s fledglings, but Sky was fair game as long as Lady Tirra wasn’t in the room. That the Eastern men didn’t share their ladies’ abhorrence for Lady Sky made things worse.
Shaking her head silently at herself, Sham began making her way through the throng to Lady Sky. The Shark swore her weakness for defenseless waifs was going to be the death of her.
Sky looked up, startled, as Shamera sat next to her—or perhaps it was her purple and yellow dress; it was certainly startling enough. Halvok’s appointed guardian took one of Sky’s hands and kissed it lightly before moving smoothly into the background, ensuring that the pair of Eastern ladies would have to find other prey.
“So tell me,” Shamera said, settling her skirts around her, “how a Southwoods lady managed to snare an Eastern warrior.”
Sky looked at her cautiously, but she must have taken heart from Sham’s artless stare. “I met him at Fahill’s pilgrimage gate.”
Sham widened her eyes, “How romantic! Ervan bought me from my father. I assure you it wasn’t romantic at all. I made him work hard to make it up to me—that’s how he died.” Ervan, an elderly, bitter man had died in his bed by all reports. Kerim had assured her that he was the only one at court who’d ever met him.
Sky couldn’t help a sputter of laughter. “I’m not certain my situation was any more romantic.” She rested her hands gently on her swollen belly. When she looked back at Sham her eyes were haunted. “My father had held onto our manor by swearing fealty to an Easterner, but when the plague claimed him our overlord claimed the manor for his second son. My brother gathered us together and left for the court here at Landsend, where he’d heard the Reeve was receiving homeless nobles. Bandits overtook us just outside of Fahill. I was washing in the stream when I heard them. I was not armed, so I had to wait until they left before leaving my hiding place. The raiders killed everyone but me.”
Shamera leaned forward and took Sky’s hand. “I am sorry.”
Sky shook her head, forcing the old pain away. “No. It was a long time ago, and some good came of it. I continued toward Landsend, for lack of any better choice and came upon Fahill close to nightfall. Fahill himself answered my knock.” She smiled then, lost in the moment. “Fahill was bigger than life. He was as red-headed as any trader child and larger than Kerim. When I had him, it seemed that nothing could go wrong.”
Sham remembered the security the Reeve had given her the night she’d been attacked by the demon and nodded. “At least you have his child.”
Encouraged by Sham’s sympathy, Sky continued. “I lost our first child two months before Fahill died. This one is an unexpected miracle.”
She looked up and quit talking as Lady Tirra came upon them.
“Lady Sky,” exclaimed Tirra, ignoring Shamera. “I’ve been looking for you; stand up, child.”
Kerim’s mother pulled Sky to her feet and into an open space on the floor. Clapping her hands loudly she caught the attention of the minstrel who stopped playing. She raised a graceful hand and gradually the attention of everyone present was drawn to her small figure.
“Lords and Ladies, I beg your indulgence for a moment.” Her voice, low and rich as it was, carried clearly to the farthest corners of the room. At her side, Sky looked like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s snare. “You have all been aware of the problems we’ve had settling Fahill’s estate. The dilemma has been a conflict between Southwood law and Cybellian custom. By Southwood law the lands should go to Lady Sky; by custom they should go to Lord Johar of Fahill. Most of his objection was that the lands, which were in Eastern hands, would be given to a Southwood’s lady. We responded by proposing a marriage between my son, Lord Ven, and Lady Sky. He has most graciously accepted.”
Sham wondered if Lady Tirra was deliberately antagonizing the Southwood lords or if she was blind to the damage she was doing to the Reeve’s attempts to bind Easterner and Southwoodsmen together.
“The estates of Lord Fahill,” continued Lady Tirra triumphantly, “—long held in contention, have been settled. The estates of Fahill, Oran, and Tiber will be given into the hands of the late Lord Fahill’s brother and convey such title to him—from this day forth Lord Johar will be Lord Fahill. The estates of Kerhill and Tourn, as well as the title of Lord Kerhill will be settled on my son, Lord Ven, upon his marriage to Lady Sky. I ask you all for your congratulations.”
Lady Sky was frozen where she stood; all trace of color had left her face. She obviously had been told none of this. To have such an announcement made in front of the court—for the first time Sham was thankful for her life in Purgatory. At least there were some choices she could make for herself.
Lady Tirra continued as the room quieted. “I am sorry that Lord Ven was not here to help receive the well-wishes of the Court. He had urgent business and left early this morning: I shall inform him of the good news as soon as he returns.”
Sky stayed for a few minutes before leaving the room, leaning tiredly on Lady Tirra. As soon as the pair of them left, the court exploded into wild speculation and venomous whispers. Shamera drifted from group to group with her escort trailing politely behind.
“Lady Shamera, a word with you,” said Lord Ven’s smooth tones from behind her.
Sham glanced around. The room was still quite full, and she was able to catch the eyes of several men with whom she’d become sociable. Only after they began to approach her did she turn to Lord Ven. He’d tried to corner her several times, mostly, she thought, to see if he could find a way to spoil Kerim’s enjoyment of her. Poor Lady Sky. Sham wondered if he’d been told of his betrothal—surely there was some fun to be had here.
She looked back at the handsome noble and frowned, tapping her chin in a puzzled fashion before she exclaimed, “Kerim’s brother!” She paused again, before saying, “Lord . . . Van? I thought you were gone.”
There were a few smothered laughs from the group forming around them. Kerim’s brother was not well liked among any but the most radical groups of the court. It was not lost on these men that the pushier Lord Ven became, the less impression he seemed to make on her.
His handsome face reddened slightly, but he said easily enough, “Lord Ven, Kerim’s legitimate half-brother. I just returned.”
Shamera nodded wisely; his sly reminder of Kerim’s bastard origins had removed her few remaining scruples about humiliating the Reeve’s brother. “Now, I remember. What can I do for you? Does Kerim want me? He said he was going to rest this evening and I should amuse myself, but if he wants me now I’ll be happy to leave.”
There was another round of smothered amusement.
“No, Lady,” answered Lord Ven, managing, with an effort, to keep his voice soft. “I haven’t spoken with Kerim since I left this morning. I just wanted to speak with you in private.”
“Oh,” Sham said, in obvious disappointment. “I suppose that as long as you are certain that Kerim doesn’t need me, I can talk to you. What did you want?”
Before he got a chance to speak again there was a tentative touch on her shoulder. Sham turned to see Kerim’s valet standing behind her.
“Dickon!” she exclaimed, then she said to the gathering in general, “Dickon is Kerim’s servant.”
Dickon cleared his throat, but otherwise maintained his usual equanimity as he nodded to the cheerful greetings.
Sham regained his attention by tapping Dickon’s arm. “Is Kerim awake yet?”
Dickon, looking uncomfortable with all the attention, said, “Yes, Lady. Lady Tirra—”
“His mother,” interrupted Sham, as if she were announcing a new discovery to a group of the uninitiated.
“Yes, Lady,” said Dickon patiently. “His mother has discovered a new healer who has a reputation of working miracles. He is with him now.”
Sham considered that briefly. It was obvious that Dickon had come to her to save the Reeve from a charlatan. Naturally the servant thought she would care—
she was, after all, his mistress. Although she’d dropped her false mannerisms in front of Dickon since the night of the demon attack, he didn’t know everything—or perhaps he did. The strength of the anger she felt frightened her.
When Sham spoke, she carefully displayed nothing more than the possessiveness of a mistress whose position was threatened. “Hismother’s healer? How long has this man been with Kerim?”
Dickon shuffled his feet and said, “Since dinner.”
Sham smiled blindingly. “Gentlemen, I pray that you will excuse me. Lord Van . . . er, Ven, we shall have to have our talk at another time. Dickon—”
“—Lord Kerim’s servant,” supplied Halvok’s fosterling, Siven, with amusement.
Shamera nodded and continued with dramatic flare, “—has come to get me. Lord Kerim has need of me, and I must go.”
With a quick curtsey, she followed Dickon out the door. As soon as they were alone in the maze of hallways, she dropped her facade and broke into a less than decorous trot.
“How bad is he?” she asked grimly.
“Bad enough. I didn’t know what was happening until I brought in some of his lordship’s clothing from the mending rooms. It seems that one of her ladyship’s cronies discovered thismiracle worker who has the reputation of making the lame walk. Lady Tirra has found several such; most of them are harmless, but this one . . .”
“I’m a miracle worker too,” said Sham direly. “Watch me make the healer disappear. Is her Ladyship there?”
“Kerim’s mother?” asked Dickon in an innocent tone.
Sham snickered, despite the urgency that kept her pace only nominally under an outright sprint. “Liked that one did you? Yes, the Reeve’s mother.”
He shook his head. “And be in the same room with a partially clad man? Never.”
“How did someone like Lady Tirra conceive an illegitimate son?” questioned Shamera with a touch of wonder.
Dickon shook his head. “Things happen in life that are so strange not even the most daring bard would relate them for fear of being ridiculed.”
Sham glanced at the servant’s face.
“Dickon!” she exclaimed in surprise, “youcan smile!”
IN TRUELADYShamera fashion, she threw Kerim’s door open so hard it almost hit the wall. She rushed to the wooden table where Kerim lay face down. He was oblivious to her entrance, as his face was buried in his arms—but the dirty little man standing beside him certainly was not.
His mouth dropped open unattractively, revealing several blackened teeth. He began a protest of her entrance, but he widened it into a smile as he took in the sensual being that was the Reeve’s mistress.
“Kerim!” she exclaimed, touching of the Reeve’s bare shoulders gently. “Dickon said that you couldn’t be bothered, but Iknew that you wouldn’t mind if I told you that Lady Sky had the mostinteresting little hat. . .” Kerim turned his face toward her and Sham was enraged at his stoic expression, though she was careful not to show it.
She looked at the “healer” and frowned. “You need to leave now. Ihave to talk to Kerim, and I don’t like strangers listening to my private conversations.”
The man drew himself up in outrage that outweighed his lust. “Do you know who you are talking to?”
“No,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t care, just as long as you leave now.”
“Her Ladyship . . .” began the man.
“Dickon,” called Sham, knowing that he was waiting anxiously in the hall to assess the damage done.
The door opened and the bland-faced servant entered, showing no sign of his recent dash through the Castle.
“Take him away,” Sham ordered airily. “You may come back and dispose of his belongings later.”
“Yes, Lady,” agreed the servant with remarkable composure as he seized the protesting man in a grip that spoke of the soldier he had been. “I shall return directly.”
When he left, Sham hurried over to shut the door behind him.
“Dirty, filthy, little leper,” she muttered in an evil voice, though she was intimidated enough by her surroundings not to use stronger language.
Turning back to the hard wooden table where the Reeve was still lying, she saw that he had turned his face into his arms. Careful not to touch him, she inspected his back carefully for damage. “Why did you let him do this?”
Kerim started to shrug then grunted. “It can’t do any harm, and it makes Mother happy.”
Sham muttered something suitable about the stupidity of males, Cybellian males in particular, under her breath. Beneath the beautiful brown skin, his muscles, heavy from years of battle, were twitching and knotted. Dark mottled bruises told her that Tirra’s healer had used the small wooden clubs that were set carefully on a nearby table, but there were no blisters from the iron rod that was being heated over a large candle.
Taking one of the set of clubs in her hands, she traced the misfortune rune she’d used to avenge Maur. She wished she were powerful enough to add an extra year to her curse, and had to argue with herself before she added the mark that limited the amount of damage that the spell could cause.
“What are you doing?” asked the Reeve, his voice only slightly hoarser than normal.
Shamera looked up to see that he had turned his head to watch her. She also noticed he was being very careful not to move anything else. She was tempted to alter the limits of the spell again.
“It’s just a little spell,” she said in her best mistress style. “About that hat—”
He smiled, tiredly, but it was a smile. “About that spell.”
“I thought that you had your doubts about magic.”
“I do, but I have made it a policy never to dismiss any possibility completely—one of the reasons you are here now. About that spell,” he repeated firmly, his smile becoming a little less strained.
“Just something to occupy that little worm . . .” Sham paused as an intriguing possibility occurred to her. “I wonder if the Shark knows about him. I’ll have to ask.”
Kerim started to laugh, and then stopped abruptly and gritted his teeth.
Dickon entered the room quietly. Judging by the air of satisfaction that he wore as well as a slight redness on the knuckles of his right hand, Shamera assumed that he’d gotten a little of his own version of vengeance.
He cleared his throat quietly so that Kerim would know that he was there before he said, “The healer has chosen to wait in the kitchens until we retrieve his items. If you wish to rest a while on the table before we try to move you, Lord, the man didn’t seem to be in a great hurry.”
“No,” Kerim said, levering himself up with his hands until he was sitting.
Dickon brought a light robe. It wasn’t warm enough to wear outside, but in a room with a fire burning merrily and tapestries to keep out the draft, it was more than adequate. The Reeve’s face appeared more grey than brown against the dark blue satin of his robe and the lines around his mouth were more pronounced than usual.
Shamera worked hard at being solitary; she’d learned at an early age that people died, and if you let yourself care for them it only hurt worse. She’d become adept at hiding herself behind the roles that she played, whether she was mistress or streetwise thief. There were only two people Sham considered friends, and one of them had been killed by a demon. In less than a week, the Reeve of Southwood had joined that select group, and Sham was very much afraid he had become something more.
“If everything’s taken care of here, I think that I’ll run around and do a little snooping while people are still gossiping at court,” she said, suddenly anxious to leave the room.
The Reeve settled into his chair and nodded, as if conversation were beyond him. Sham worked the lever that opened the “secret” panel and stepped through. She started to close the aperture behind her when she noticed Dickon packing the healer’s belongings.
“Dickon,” she said. “Be careful how long you hold those wooden clubs—and make doubly
sure that the healer gets them back.”
Dickon eyed the clubs, flexing his right hand slightly, as if he were envisioning returning the clubs in a less than gentle fashion. “You may be certain I will.”
THOUGH THE PASSAGEwas kept dimly lit by candles during the day, most of them had burned out. Sham called a magelight to follow her as she was highly unlikely to meet anyone here. The steady blue-white light glistened cheerfully off the polished floor as she walked. There was a brief passage that ran back along the Reeve’s room and ended in a stone wall. She didn’t bother to travel that way but took a step to where the main passage branched to the right. Straight ahead was a narrow tunnel that ran the length of her rooms; she decided to go there first.
Since the only people living in this area were she, Dickon, and the Reeve, she’d only been this way once, though she’d learned the passages elsewhere in the Castle thoroughly.
Next to the hinged panel that opened into her bedroom was a set of brackets that held a board against the wall. In all the passages Sham had found such brackets marking spy holes into most of the rooms of the Castle. The boards were originally placed in front of the hole so light from the tunnel wouldn’t alert the person being spied upon. As the passageways were no longer secret, most of the peep holes in personal rooms had been permanently sealed.
Experimentally, Sham shifted the board, and it slid easily into her hand. Frowning, because she should have thought of it before, she set the wood back into the brackets and used a fastening rune to hold the board against the hole. If she stayed longer than a few weeks she would have to remember to renew the spell. Satisfied, she returned to the wider passage and continued her explorations.
The spy hole opening into the room next to the Reeve’s chambers revealed a meeting room of some sort when Sham sent her magelight through the opening to illuminate it. There were a number of uncomfortable-looking chairs surrounding a large, dark oak table. A space was left empty, the more visible for the uniformity of the spacing between the other chairs—a space just wide enough for the wheeled chair that the Reeve used. Finding nothing of interest, Sham turned away and crossed the passage to look into the room next to hers.