Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(202)

She couldn't even conceive what it might be like for such an act to be undertaken coldly, without the fires of love and desire to heat it. To be simply... used.

"I'm sorry," Amara said quietly.

"Nothing you did," Rook replied. She closed her eyes for a moment, then her facial features began to change. The alteration was neither swift nor dramatic, but when she looked up again, Amara would never have recognized her as the same person. She got out of the tub, dried, and began to dress in her dark clothing. "We're as safe here as anywhere in the city, Countess. The owner knows who I work for, and he's proven himself adept at being blind and deaf when necessary, but the sooner we can leave the better."

Amara nodded and finished bathing quickly, rising to dry off and take up her scarlet "clothing."

"Easier to step into it than draw it down," Rook provided. "I'd better help you with the sandals."

She did so, and when Amara had slipped the armbands around her biceps she looked down at herself and felt more than mildly ridiculous.

"All right," Rook said. "Let me see you walk."

"Excuse me?" Amara said.

"Walk," the spy said. "You've got to move correctly if I'm to pass you off as a new pleasure slave."

"Ah," Amara said. She paced to one side of the room and back.

Rook shook her head. "Again. Try to relax this time."

Amara did, growing more self-conscious by the step.

"Countess," Rook said, her tone frank, "you've got to move your hips. Your back. You've got to look like a slave so conditioned to her uses that she anticipates and enjoys them. You look like you're walking to market." Rook shook her head. "Watch me."

And with that, the spy paused, her stance shifting subtly. Then she slunk forward, eyes half-closed, mouth curled into a tiny, lazy smile. Her hips swayed languidly with each step, her shoulders drawn back, and her back arched slightly, her whole manner daring-or inviting-any man looking on to keep looking.

Rook turned on a heel, and said to Amara, "Like that."

The change in the woman was startling. One moment she'd looked like a courtesan in her private chambers with a young lord after half a bottle of aphrodin-laced wine. The next, she was a plainly attractive, businesslike young woman with serious eyes. "It's all about what you expect. Expect to draw every man's eye as you pass him, and you will."

Amara shook her head. "Even in"-she gestured vaguely-"this, I'm not the kind of woman men like to look at."

Rook rolled her eyes. "Men like to look at the kind who breathes and wears little. You'll qualify." She tilted her head to one side. "Pretend they're Bernard."

Amara blinked. "What?"

"Walk for them as you would for him, " Rook said calmly. "On a night you have no intentions of allowing him to go anywhere else."

Amara found herself blushing again. But she steeled herself, closed her eyes, and tried to imagine it. Without opening her eyes, she walked across the room, picturing Bernard's chambers at the Calderon garrison.

"Better," Rook approved. "Again."

She practiced several more times before Rook was satisfied.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Amara asked her quietly. "Your way in?"

"It isn't even a question," Rook replied. "I'll get you in there. I'll find where your prisoners are. The difficult part will be leaving afterward. With Kalarus, it always is."