Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

  “Aye, and the gel and pins and hot iron and whatever else I may need.”

  “Do you know what you want to do with her hair yet?”

  “No,” Go'mar snipped. “I will take care o' it when the time comes. Stop picking.”

  “I am no' picking. I am planning ahead for efficiency. We have never done such a fast makeover before.”

  “You just worry about finding a gown and getting the makeup and nails done in time.”

  “Fine. But I may need to take a little time for experimenting with her face. She has such a different look about her. Her age is part o' it, but there is something else too.”

  “There will no' be time for experimenting, Mar, unless you plan to do her finishing touches walking onto the stage.”

  “Well, it just might come to that, Go'mee. I will no' sacrifice my art to hurry things along. The auction will just have to wait until I am completely satisfied with her appearance.”

  A quick peek back and Lyra caught the end of Go'mar's eye roll.

  “The auction does no' wait, sis. When it is her turn, she will walk up those steps even if you are only half done and then the word will get around that it was you who was no' up to the challenge. And it will be on your head when no one wants to bid on her.”

  Lyra knew Go'mar was just engaging in some brotherly badgering, but his words echoed sickeningly through her gut. They turned a corner and she heard someone get slugged, presumably in the arm.

  “Ow!”

  It was Go'mar.

  “Hmph! Just you wait. My makeup job is going to be ten times better than whatever frizzle-picked effort you tease up.”

  “Is that so? Would you like to put some money on that?”

  They arrived at the doors to the spa room and Lyra stopped, the siblings as well, though their mouths didn't.

  “I just might!”

  “I have ten reds right here in my pocket that says her hair will be the talk o' the night.”

  “Um, we're here,” Lyra said.

  “Well, I have twenty—and it will be her face that will get the bidding above twelve thousand—”

  “Excuse me!” Lyra interrupted, making them fall silent. “Uh, remember me? The one whose life is at stake?” Lyra had meant to rattle the question off as a joke, but a little hysteria tainted her delivery.

  Go'mar remembered his professionalism faster than his sister. “'Na Lyra,” he opened the door for her with a reassuring smile, “you have nothing to worry about. You are in the best hands Caldreen City has to offer. Come with me.”

  A gentle hand at Lyra's back directed her onward and Mar'go followed after, scowling at her brother.

  The room was noticeably empty. Everyone else was working on final touches elsewhere. Mar'go took her to one of the in-ground baths and told her to undress and get in. Lyra obeyed, removing her shoes and stockings. Then she quickly went to work on the buttons of her frock to get it off and herself in the water while Go'mar's back was turned fetching towels.

  Father, she prayed silently, I still don't know—

  Patience. Wait. A warm swelling filled her breast.

  What? Wait?

  Was that her answer? That's what she's supposed to do?

  She dropped her dress to the floor.

  “Stop!”

  It was Mar'go.

  “Stand right there and let us see what we have to work with.”

  “What?” Lyra asked startled.

  She was in nothing but her two-piece underwear set from home—her last original clothing she had been allowed to retain. The snug, light weave covered her from shoulder to mid-thigh.

  “Stand up nice and tall. Good. Now turn around. No, do it slowly.”

  Lyra tried to follow the instructions as Go'mar returned, joining his sister.

  He whistled low and slow. “You do no' see muscle tone like that every day. What did your last lord have you doing for him—bench pressing the bed?”

  Mar'go gave her brother an elbow jab in the ribs.

  Lyra blushed a bright red as he eyed her curiously from top to bottom. She suddenly felt like some freak show of hardened sinew and callousness. “I—I did a lot of farm work—herding, planting, harvesting tree fruits …” The list continued in her mind—target practice, wrestling fun with her kids, chopping wood, sparring practice, hauling water. The build kind of came with the lifestyle. Her pulse began to race. “Oh no, this is bad, isn't it?” The vision of a motionless, glassy-eyed room full of men preferring soft and tender youthfulness flashed before Lyra's eyes.

  “No!” they both said together.

  “And you do no' look as muscle bound as my moron brother so carelessly joked,” Mar'go said, giving him a nasty look. “Just … different.”

  “We do no' see much in the way o' 'athletic' around here,” Go'mar clarified.

  The twins began another sibling chat, all the while continuing to stare at Lyra as if she were an interesting hunk of sculpture.

  “Hmm, well that changes things, do you no' think so, brother?”

  “It could be an interesting theme.”

  “I do like her proportions, and good skin for being as old as she is. In fact, I think she could go for much younger than what Maehan told us.”

  “Aye, that is so, but she definitely needs a good eyebrow pluck.”

  “Aye, and her hands are a roughened wreck.”

  “I think you could make something quite nice out o' those homespun features once you glam her up a bit with some color.”

  Through the conversation of which she was the subject—but definitely not a part—Lyra stood in tremendous embarrassment, keenly aware of her every physical flaw and all the reasons why she was not good auction material. How in the world was she going to garner a respectable price like Maehan desired?

  “Well, it looks like I shall need to find something very particular for you,” Mar'go concluded. She spun and left the room, mumbling to herself, “No frills, powerful, strong colors. But Tweezers and Toner, something has got to be done with those heels! Like cracked leather …”

  At being left alone with Go'mar—who continued to just stand there curiously studying her, Lyra's self-consciousness swiftly upgraded to a new and previously unexplored level. She wanted to plunge herself into a deep, dark closet under three feet of heavy blankets.

  “You do no' seem like a normal khari'na,” he finally said.

  His penetrating tattooed eye was too much and Lyra decided the floor was a much safer view. She greatly feared he was expecting her to finish undressing right in front of him.

  “Would I be wrong to conclude that your khari'na induction was rather 'unexpected' and quite recent?”

  Oh. “No sir, you would not.”

  “Ah, then that explains a great deal.”

  Go'mar went quietly to her with a towel. “'Na Lyra,” he said very gently, “now I understand the concern I heard in Maehan's voice when she wired us. You need no' have any fear o' me. This is my profession and I have seen hundreds o' women. I am only here to help you.”

  Lyra could only manage to address his plain eye. “Thank you, sir. I am grateful.”

  “If it makes you feel better, you can remain in those underclothes for most o' your bathing. They will be thrown out after this anyway. Now please, get in the water. We canno' waste any time.”

  Lyra nodded and slipped into her bath. It troubled her greatly, knowing that the very last of her raiment from home would soon be tossed, but she forced the thought aside. She had weightier matters hanging over her.

  She was handed a slightly abrasive, sudsy body cleanser to start with and Go'mar poured some kind of floral scented granules into the water. Then he rolled up his sleeves and settled himself on the floor behind her to begin her shampoo. They worked in silence for a few minutes until, in the middle of his lathering, Lyra heard a “tsk, tsk, tsk.”

  “I am loving this texture and fullness, Honeybud, but these split ends! I could sweep my Grandmother's porch with them! When was the last time you
had a trim?”

  “Um, a year? Maybe longer?”

  “Henna's bosom! Are there no barbers where you are from?”

  “Well, I was the barber for my family, but by the time I got everyone else done, I was usually more than ready to just leave myself for another day.” Sometimes that “other day” didn't come for a long, long time.

  His woeful groan touched the melodramatic. “It is enough to keep me up at night! Worrying over beautiful heads like yours walking around with nary a pair o' sharp scissors to tend to them.”

  Lyra let out a little giggle. It was good of him to try to lighten the mood. Her tension had her wound up tighter than Sister Weavem's poor pet doshter when her children set fire to its tail.

  “Use this next,” he commanded, giving her a porous, lightweight stone that fit in her palm. Lyra stared at it, perplexed. “For buffing and exfoliation,” he explained. “It will smooth that roughness on your heels.”

  “Oh.”

  Lyra started in on her cracked feet, pausing periodically to dip her head for rinsing. Go'mar washed, conditioned, and then worked something he called a “glosser” into her waves.

  During the last rinse, Lyra remarked, “Is all this really necessary?”

  “The ritual preparation is a long-standing tradition. The gentlemen have come to expect their khari'na to be presented in a certain way.”

  “But this scented stuff and skin smoother? These things won't be noticed on an elevated stage.”

  “You are forgetting about the pre-auction socializing.”

  “Socializing!” Lyra jerked up, sloshing water everywhere—including on her stylist.

  “What? You do no' know about that, either?” Go'mar exclaimed, graciously more concerned for his client's ignorance than his soaked lower half.

  “No—I …” Lyra felt stupid. What else did she not know? How many blunders would she make before the day was through? Enough for her head to end up on a chopping block!

  “Okay. Calm down. It is no' as difficult as it sounds.” Go'mar wrapped her head in a towel then got one for himself. “An hour before the bidding starts, the gentlemen have an opportunity to visit with you. All you need to do is stand there, look pretty, and answer any questions an interested lord may pose. Keep scrubbing,” he reminded, then left her to begin arranging his tools and accessories at a vanity.

  Lyra started taking her new anxiety out on her heels.

  “That is your biggest chance to make a good impression, though,” Go'mar said. “The social hour is the time for khari'na to try to place themselves into a higher bidding bracket—to get the lords really looking at them.”

  Lyra scrubbed harder.

  After a minute she asked, “Is twelve thousand rednotes a good price? Mar'go said something about it earlier.” She needed to get her mind on something other than face-to-face interrogation.

  “Aye. A decent one. Typically the range is between eighty-five hundred and sixteen thousand. Occasionally, a particularly desirable khari'na will go for as high as twenty. How are you coming with that stone?”

  Lyra pulled it away. “Nearly raw.” Ugh. Focus, Lyra.

  “Good. Now start shaving.”

  The stone was traded for a strange little instrument made of a lightweight material like tin, only heavier duty. One end was obviously the handle. The other was inset with a few tiny razor blades, one behind the other—definitely not the switchblade razors the men of her colony used. Go'mar sensed her hesitation.

  “Look, you glide it along your skin like this.” He showed her the basic motion on the inside of his forearm.

  Lyra tried one slow swipe up her calf and was amazed at how easily it cut through the hairs. Wow!

  “Mar'go and I invented it a few years ago. We needed something faster and easier for women to remove body hair. Here, use this first. It will soften the hairs to reduce irritation.” He passed her a small bottle of cream.

  “It feels like it's just rolling over my skin and the hair is magically gone,” Lyra marveled.

  Go'mar's smile was broad as he strode back to his work space. “Our first clients said the same thing. Since then, we dubbed it the 'Rollerblade.' We have made a small fortune from this little side business alone.”

  Lyra made a few more swipes of the Rollerblade up her leg, admiring the smoothness it left in its wake. The women of her settlement rarely tried to shave any parts of their body. It was just not practical enough to take the time for it.

  “Please move along a little faster, Honeybud. You have a lot o' shaving to do.”

  “How much hair am I supposed to remove?”

  “Everything below the neck,” Go'mar said, fiddling with his mechanical hair dryer.

  “All of it?”

  “All o' it,” he confirmed, and his tattooed eye bore into hers, telling her he was not joking.

  It was time to give up her undergarments.

  A short time later, Lyra was wrapping herself in a towel to proceed to the next phase. She peered down at her natural spring pool, watching it simultaneously drain out one side and cycle in fresh water from the other. Good thing. It would have been as murky as a summer hurricane by now.

  Go'mar unceremoniously dumped her sopping underwear into a garbage can and Lyra tried to take consolation that at least she still had her necklet. He invited her to sit in a chair. Then Go'mar keenly began an eradication of her split ends while Lyra rubbed in more special lotions and smoothed her nails with a file. All was quiet for some minutes until Mar'go burst into the room, breathless and flustered.

  “Maidens and Moor Mist! I have never shopped so fast in my entire life!” She swept over to a settee and dumped onto it the colorful array of clothing and accessories overloading her arms. “How are we coming along in here?”

  She examined Lyra's progress with the nail file and quickly appropriated it to finish the job herself. There was actually something to work with after two weeks of sedentary living with the caravan. As Mar'go worked, she chattered along excitedly.

  “I brought several different gowns and possible outfit combinations—good gods, look at the time! I may have to do your makeup on the way to the Coliseum. Go'mee, how much time will you need to finish the hair? These cuticles have seen better days, girl. At least you managed to make something decent o' your heels, I see. I was thinking we should go with a very strong, almost masculine theme. It will help her stand out from all the girlish foofiness that will be flouncing across the stage. Do you remember, brother, that one khar last year in the hot pink crinoline?” Mar'go paused a moment to laugh then went right on, seemingly without a breath. “I about gagged! She was so encased in folds and gathers that she looked like a neon glow worm with arms. …”

  Go'mar remained astutely silent through the deluge. He knew his twin well.

  When the file's work was done, Mar'go skipped to the heap of clothing, plunging in both arms up to the elbows. She soon triumphantly emerged with … very little. “This is your pretty new underwear, 'Na Lyra! Hurry and put it on so you can start trying everything else.”

  Two pieces of black, lacy strappiness with not nearly enough actual fabric attached was tossed at her. She caught it, cringing. Go'mar finished his trimming and pulled her hair up in a quick twist to be out of the way through the fittings, and getting up, Lyra felt more scrubbed, polished, and smooth than she had ever been in her entire life—even more than her wedding day. She felt weird, sterile, like a sparkling glass goblet, soon to be smudged by a thirsty pair of lips.

  In apprehension she approached the alien mound of fashion that suddenly seemed a lump of predatory sludge waiting to ooze onto her, cling to her, smother her. At least a nearby broad pillar allowed some privacy in donning the lingerie—not that Lyra still didn't feel absolutely naked before the twins when Mar'go called her out.

  Then the fuchsia hair was flashing back and forth between the mound and Lyra, Mar'go yanking things over her head and pulling things up around her body right where she stood. Mar'go insisted on helpin
g and Lyra didn't get to see the back side of the pillar again. Meanwhile, Go'mar made himself comfortable in a velvet armchair to watch.

  The first four ensembles were tried and rejected in under five minutes.

  Mar'go had chosen very deep colors for Lyra with top and bottom pieces that exposed her midriff or barely hung past her backside. One had braided shoulder straps interwoven with black leather and included a headdress of deep red-striped feathers spread in a fan. Lyra caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall.

  Good night! Just give me a whip and call me jungle warrior maiden, why don't you?

  The next couple revolved around the same idea, but it became obvious very quickly that this particular “power” theme was not really working. That led them to a dark, purple strapless gown that hung all the way to the floor. It was … better. The skirt was made up of strips three inches wide that exposed the whole of her legs every time she took a step. Mar'go had her try on some knee high, shiny yellow boots with it. They further invited the eye to stare at her thighs.

  “No. That is no' right, either!” Mar'go whined as she studied the effect and took another harried glance at the ever-advancing time. “I want to show off her athleticism, but seeing these ensembles on her, they are all wrong. She comes off looking like an old woman trying to appear young and reckless!” Exasperated, she threw herself onto a sofa and waved an arm in Lyra's general direction. “Put on the next one!” Mar'go shut her eyes and began a massage of her temples. Go'mar said nothing. He rested his chin lightly on raised fingertips, looking studious, like he was working out an equation.

  The “next one” was an actual black and white spotted, animal skin bikini top with matching wrap-around skirt. It included a long, black scarf that was supposed to encircle Lyra's neck, twine about her chest and waist, and hang off her hip at the side. It looked like a giant, constricting snake.

  This is hopeless! Lyra gazed, appalled, at her reflection in the mirror. What kind of sick lord was she going to attract in this?

  The last one held more potential: a puffy white silk number with cutouts at the shoulders and torso above the full length skirt. But Mar'go only shook her head miserably. “I can see a certain innocence about her that made me want to try that gown. It still shows off her body some.” She mushed her face into a pile of decorative pillows. “But now she looks like a giant baby. Eek!” Her muffled scream still managed to echo through the room.