They sent no word ahead, but when they rode into the courtyard of Jardir’s palace, Inevera and the Damaji’ting were there waiting for them. Inevera lay on a pillowed palanquin held up by muscular chin slaves clad only in bidos and vests. She was dressed as scandalously as ever, and even the greenlanders gasped and colored at the sight of her as her slaves set the palanquin down and she rose to her feet. Her hips swayed hypnotically as she came to Jardir with her hands outstretched.

“Who is that?” Leesha asked.

“My First Wife, Damajah Inevera,” Jardir said. “The others are my lesser wives.”

Leesha looked at him sharply, and as Abban had warned, her face became a storm cloud.

“You’re already married?!” she demanded.

Jardir looked at her curiously. Surely she had understood that much, even if she was prone to jealousy. “Of course. I am Shar’Dama Ka.”

Leesha opened her mouth to retort, but Inevera reached them, and she swallowed whatever she had been about to say.

“Husband,” Inevera said, embracing him and kissing him deeply. “How I have missed your warmth in our bed.”

Jardir was taken aback for a moment, but he saw how Inevera’s eyes kept flicking to Leesha, and felt as filthy as if he had been marked by a dog.

“Allow me to present my honored guest,” he said. “Mistress Leesha, daughter of Erny, First Herb Gatherer of the Hollow tribe.” Inevera’s eyes narrowed at the title, and she glared at Jardir, then Leesha.

For her part, Leesha acquitted herself well, not backing down an inch as she met Inevera’s gaze with a calm serenity and dipped into the skirtspreading bow the women of the green lands favored. “An honor to meet you, Damajah.”

Inevera’s smile and return bow were equally unreadable, and Jardir knew then that Abban was right. Inevera would not accept this woman as a Jiwah Sen, and would certainly not take it well when Jardir married her anyway and gave her dominion over the women of the North.

“I would speak with you in private, husband,” Inevera said, and Jardir nodded. Now that the moment to face her had come, he had no desire to delay. He thanked Everam that the sun was still high and she could not use her hora magic in its light.

“Abban, see to it that the Palace of Mirrors is made ready for Mistress Leesha and her entourage during their stay,” he said in Krasian. The palace was unfit for one such as Leesha, but it was the best Everam’s Bounty had to offer, three stories, richly appointed with carpets, tapestries, and silvered mirrors.

“I believe Damaji Ichach is using the Palace of Mirrors at the moment,” Abban said.

“Then Damaji Ichach will need to make new arrangements,” Jardir said.

Abban bowed. “I understand.”

“Please excuse me,” Jardir said, bowing to Leesha. “I must consult with my wife. Abban will see to your accommodations. When you are settled, I will come to call on you.”

Leesha nodded, a cool gesture that warned of fire beneath. Jardir felt his pulse quicken at the sight, and it gave him strength as he and Inevera strode into his palace.

“What is the purpose of bringing that woman here?” Inevera demanded when they were alone in her pillow chamber beside the throne room.

“The bones have not told you?” Jardir smirked.

“Of course they have,” Inevera snapped, “but I hold out hope that this once, they are wrong, and you are not such a fool.”

“Marriages cemented my power in Krasia,” Jardir said. “Is it so foolish to think that they would serve the same in the Northland?”

“These are chin, husband,” Inevera said. “Fine for the dal’Sharum to breed, but there is not a woman among them worthy to carry your seed.”

“I disagree,” Jardir said. “This Leesha is as worthy as any woman I have ever met.”

Inevera scowled. “Well it does not matter. The bones have spoken against her, and I will not approve the match.”

“You are correct, it matters not,” Jardir said. “I will still marry her.”

“You cannot,” Inevera said. “I am Jiwah Ka, and I decide who else you may marry.”

But Jardir shook his head. “You are my Krasian Jiwah Ka. Leesha shall be my greenland Jiwah Ka, and have dominion over all my wives in the North.”

Inevera’s eyes bulged, and he thought for a moment they would pop right out of her face. She shrieked and came at him, long painted nails leading the way. Jardir’s back, often clawed by those nails under much different circumstances, could attest to their sharpness.

He was quick to pivot out of the way. Remembering the last time she had struck him, he blocked and dodged with minimal contact as Inevera pressed her attack. Her long legs, clad only in thin, diaphanous silk, kicked high and fast as her fingers stabbed at him, seeking the weak points where a man’s muscles and nerves joined. If she managed to connect, his limbs would cease to obey him.

It was the first real display of dama’ting sharusahk Jardir had ever seen, and he studied the precise, deadly moves with fascination, knowing Inevera could likely kill a Damaji before he knew she had even struck.

But Jardir was Shar’Dama Ka. He was the greatest living sharusahk master, and his body was stronger and faster than it had ever been thanks to the magic of the Spear of Kaji. Now that he respected her ability as a warrior and kept his guard, even Inevera was no match for him. Eventually he caught her wrist and flipped her onto the pile of pillows.

“Attack me again,” he said, “and dama’ting or no, I will kill you.”

“The heathen harlot has bewitched your mind,” Inevera spat.

Jardir laughed. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she has begun to set it free.”

Damaji Ichach sneered at them as he left the Palace of Mirrors with his wives and children.

“If eyes could core you, his would,” Rojer said.

“You’d think he hadn’t stolen that manse from some Rizonan royal,” Leesha replied.

“Who knows with these people?” Rojer asked. “He might have taken it as an honor if we had done him the courtesy of killing him and his family first.”

“That isn’t funny, Rojer,” Leesha said.

“I don’t know that I was joking,” Rojer said.

Abban came out of the manse soon after, bowing deeply. “Your palace awaits, mistress. My wives will be preparing the lower floors for your entourage, but your private chambers, the entire top floor, are ready to receive you.”

Leesha looked up at the giant manse. There were dozens of windows on the top floor alone. That whole floor was for her personal use? It was easily ten times the size of the entire cottage she shared with Wonda.

“She gets the whole floor?” Rojer asked, gawking along with her.

“Of course your chambers shall be richly appointed as well, son of Jessum,” Abban said, bowing, “but tradition dictates a virgin bride be kept alone on the top floor with her chaperones below, to ensure that she don her wedding veil with her honor intact.”

“I have not agreed to Ahmann’s proposal,” Leesha pointed out.

Abban bowed. “That is so, but neither have you refused, and so you remain my master’s intended until you make your decision. The rules of tradition are unbending here, I am afraid.”

He leaned in close, shielding his lips by pretending to stroke his beard. “And I strongly advise, mistress, that unless your answer is yes, you make no final decision while in Everam’s Bounty.” Leesha nodded, having already come to the same conclusion.

They entered the manse, seeing black-clad women everywhere as they polished and straightened. The main entry hall was lined on either side with mirrors, reflecting the walls into infinity. The carpet running along the center of the polished stone floor was rich and thick, with bright dyes in the weave, and the banister of the wide stairwell leading up was painted in gold and ivory. Portraits, presumably of the previous owners, lined the wall, watching them ruefully as they ascended the steps. Leesha wondered what had become of them when the Krasians came.