by Jean Winter
The hand lifted off. “Ah! Then who am I to debate such a wise choice? I bow to your intelligence, my friend. The spitfire it is!”
Kade chuckled. How dull would his life be without Salkin Mejhisk?
One more glance toward the shadowy khar lineup at the far end of the room and he allowed Sal to conduct him to their seats at a table occupied by two other gentlemen. They politely stood, gesturing a courteous, customary welcome, and Kade and Sal soon made themselves comfortable. Once seated in the darkness, however, the voice of reason started in on Kade. Maybe Sal was right. Maybe he was just caught up in adrenaline and emotion right now and something else pretty and reasonably witty would catch his eye. Something safer.
He rubbed at his temples. Okay. Just relax and use your head. Do no' get sucked in again. There were plenty of women here that would do. After all, she could not be that special.
Bah!
It was disgraceful, a grown man outright lying to himself.
# # #
Softly illumined tables in staggered rows across the floor made ghostly silhouettes of their occupants, but Lyra perceived the multitude of eyes on her as she fell in line with the other khari'na. Her heart palpitated fitfully in her chest. Finally, the perimeter lights were lowered as well and she gratefully faded into the darkness with everyone else.
That man—that lord. Was this the Father's idea of a joke, throwing him before her again? Was the man planning to bid on her? An unexpected rush pulsed through Lyra.
No! … No. She guiltily shook off the fleeting sensation. No. They were all nothing but lust-loving wolves. The most amiable emotion she might ever be able to drum up for any of them was a stiff tolerance. The vision of Lord Malig'ahnt as her winning bidder coalesced before Lyra's eyes, making an oppressive cold settle into her bones and a lump formed in her throat.
You're screwed, girl.
“Lyra, here is your glove. I assume this linen came from Mar'go? And I picked up this lilicanth off the ground, as well. Did a gentleman give it to you?” Maehan said as she unloaded everything into her arms.
“I think so. I didn't see who gave it, though. It just showed up at my feet.” Lyra fought for an even tone. At least the dim lighting hid her reddened eyes from the Keeper.
“Ah, a secret admirer is a good thing. Hold on to it.”
Lyra nodded. Could it have come from that man?
Over the intercom system, bidders and other audience members were welcomed.
Maehan said, “You are number forty-one. Just watch the other girls and you will see how it works. Did you meet anyone that you think you would prefer?”
Prefer? I would prefer none of them. I'd prefer to be a million miles away from here! “Um, maybe one or two. I spoke to a couple not too vigorous looking ones … who might leave me alone more.” Her voice began to tremble.
Thankfully, Maehan didn't notice. “Good. In your case, wheelchair bound and older would be so much the better. If you can see one o' them from the stage, make eye contact. It will encourage him. Now, I need to make sure everyone else is ready. Good luck, Little Tiger.” The old woman cupped Lyra's face in her hands. “May your god deliver you to a good man.”
Clapping and cheers erupted from the audience as the announcer finished his introductory speech, and bright lighting flooded harsh and white onto the stage. Khari'na number one was invited to come forward.
Oh Father, there must be a better alternative! What if she went to … Reluctant gears began to turn. Would that really be so bad?
Hundt was suddenly at her side. “How are you doing?”
Avoiding his eye, Lyra said somberly, “I'm wondering if I might rather battle my way through Caldreen'n society … than sleep through it.”
“Lyra, you do no' mean that.”
She looked up at him. “Maybe I do. The fighting khar troop can't be that bad. It's all just for show anyway. Isn't it?”
A fire lit up Hundt's face and, with a growl, he took her roughly by the arm and pulled her to a more private location behind the stage. The huge man stared gravely down at her. “It is no' just a show. Khari'na sometimes die during the challenges. And do no' think for a second that your virtue will be respected there as it has been in the caravan. There is little supervision o' the handlers hired to train the fighting khari'na. You do no' want to go there. Is that clear?”
He had been squeezing her arm almost to the point of pain, but finally let go. It was the most agitated she had seen the big man so far. Lyra couldn't hold back the tears any longer and she nodded weakly in compliance, trying not to sniffle too loudly.
He sighed.
“Please stop,” he grumbled softly. “This will do you no good.”
Hundt pulled from his breast pocket a carefully pressed, white handkerchief and began to dab gingerly at the wetness around her eyes. In the background, congratulatory clapping started as a winning bidder for the first khari'na was declared.
“Mrs. Woodrose,” he said, “I am sorry you find yourself in this position. It is no' fair—what happened to you and your friends.” At Lyra's surprise, Hundt shrugged. “Mae told me.”
Lyra grabbed at his arm with a sudden fervor. “Then, Mr. Hundt, please … please help me. Let me take my tracker and run. I can run fast and I can run hard. If you and Maehan just don't say anything, maybe I can get beyond range before they start looking for me.”
With reluctance, he pulled away. “It will no' work. You would no' be able to evade the dogs for long. The government knows how to find runaways. And,” he took a deep breath, “Mae and I would be held responsible for your escape regardless. It would mean a life o' imprisonment for me and for Mae—death. I am sorry. I canno' let you go.”
A gnawing emptiness tore at Lyra. She mumbled, “I am going to die in the fighting troop anyway, you know. I'm sure they are very interested in me after what I did to that lord. And no one else with any respectability will want me after that stunt.”
From Hundt's chest, a strange, deep grumble billowed that took Lyra a second to recognize as … laughter. It startled her so that, for a moment, she forgot about her dread.
“'Na Lyra,” he chuckled, “I do no' think you appreciate the impression you made on those unsuspecting patrons out there, sitting in their stiff white collars and polished, patent leather shoes.”
“Yes, I'm afraid I do, Mr. Hundt. They saw willful insubordination from a rough-hewn farm girl!”
Hundt brushed a tendril of hair away from her eyes. “They saw an intelligent, strong, beautiful siren o' a woman, and the poor saps hardly know what to do with themselves over it.”
Hot color rose to Lyra's cheeks at the unexpected compliment, and she stepped back in embarrassment. “I don't believe you. I think the men here are looking for compliance and softness—”
“And I think you do no' know men as well as I do.” Hundt folded ripply arms across a brawny chest in challenge.
A whisper of a grin passed across her features. “I don't think those lords out there are much like you, Mr. Hundt.”
“And you do no' realize how much we are the same.” Hundt plucked the lilicanth from off Lyra's pile of things and, with the knife from his waistband, smartly cut the stem a couple inches from the bud. Then he tucked the bloom into Lyra's hair over one ear. “You need no' worry about having a shortage o' good bidders. Trust me.”
“… Okay.” Lyra felt somewhat comforted. And unsettled. He was standing so close.
“Hmm,” he chuckled again. “Try harder than that.”
“Okay.” This time she smiled. For real.
“Much better.” Hundt dabbed a little more at her face, then offered his arm for Lyra to take.
Their walk back to the line, however, was interrupted by a short burst of steam blowing out from a large water heater just behind the stage. Hundt detoured them over to the flustered mechanic kneeling on the ground beside it. “Are you still having trouble there, Mr. Yaliguhd?”
“Aye, Mr. Hundt. This confounded boiler has been giving me
fits since yesterday.”
The bulky unit was set up to service the beverage and appetizer tables placed behind the stage.
“Could you use some help?” Hundt offered.
“I thank you, but no. I think I know what the trouble is now. The hard part is getting to it behind all the other pipes and whatnots.” The wiry mechanic guided a wrench far into the depths of the machine. Scraping and light squeaking were heard as a nut was laboriously tightened. Another small puff of steam escaped. The boiler shuddered. Yaliguhd swore under his breath and tried again.
“Good luck, then,” Hundt said.
“Aye.” Yaliguhd waved an arm.
Hundt returned Lyra back to her place in line and she accidentally wobbled on the last couple steps. “What I will be worrying about,” she joked nervously, “is falling flat on my backside again in these shoes.”
He just gave a small smile and took her linen, saying he would return it to the twins. Lyra replaced her glove. She thanked him sincerely for his help.
He nodded. “I will come back and check on you again as it gets nearer your turn. Do no' worry about the bidders, all right?”
“All right.” She felt more confident this time.
Hundt nodded once more and made ready to leave, but as he brushed by her, she heard the whisper in her ear, “You would have my bid.”
Spinning in surprise, Lyra saw Hundt's commanding outline fading into the dimness between candlelit tables. An uproar of applause signaled the completion of another sale. Wait. Did she just hear the final price at sixteen five? A particularly fresh and becoming girl emerged from the high wattage flood of stage illumination accompanied by a well-dressed young man with slicked hair. He escorted her down the steps and onto the floor where she was handed off to Maehan. The young man took the next khari'na in line and stood ready at the steps for the announcer to beckon them forward.
The sold khar was congratulated by the Keeper for fetching such a good price. She flushed with pleasure. To the gushing and “oohing” of her comrades over her success, she made her way down the line to head to the waiting room. Lyra readied herself to offer congratulations, as well, but the girl's deep blue eyes flashed at her as she neared, and Lyra's words got wedged in her throat.
“Try no' to make any more stupid mistakes, Miss High and Mighty,” she charged in a bristling whisper. “You are going to get us all into trouble,”
With that, Lyra was left standing distraught and confused as the young woman went her way. Similar warning looks from others quickly confirmed that the blue-eyed one wasn't alone in her feelings. Lyra wanted to hide in a hole. Trouble? What did she mean by that?
The bidding began for khari'na number three. All attention went back to the stage. Almost all.
“'Na Lyra?” a high, soft voice said hesitantly. The khari'na just ahead in line—number forty—was watching her from behind large, trusting eyes. She looked very young.
“Yes?”
“Hi,” she grinned. “I am Bit.”
“Bit?”
“My real name is Behrlitelle, but my parents always just called me Bit.”
Lyra smiled at her. “Hello, Bit. It's nice to meet you.”
Bit's gown was a pretty, blush pink and white chiffon arrangement—quite modest considering— that flattered her long, silky brown hair set with white-petaled blossoms encircling her crown. It effected innocence. Blushing youth. Bit still bore some roundness in her cheeks left over from childhood, too, and Lyra couldn't help but think that Bit must barely be of age.
“You should no' let what Zentlee said bother you,” Bit told her. “She is mostly just jealous. Everyone is wondering where you got your gown, and they are jealous over all the attention you have been getting. But no' me. I like you.”
“Well, thank you, Bit. I can already tell I like you, too.” Lyra grinned at the sweet candor. Then she quietly said, “But do you know what 'Na Zentlee meant by saying I was making trouble for everyone?”
Bit glanced quickly about for eavesdroppers. “Some o' the girls have been whispering. They think your actions may make some o' the lords think they need to show who is boss right away tonight, you know, when they take us home.” Worry crossed her pixie-like, freckled face.
“Oh!” Lyra hadn't thought of that. Darn her defensive reflexes! “Bit, I certainly hope that is not the case. If there are any repercussions, I wish them all on myself. Okay? And I am so sorry if anyone else has to suffer at all because of what I did. … Do you believe me?”
The girl's flowers bounced with her nod and Bit linked an arm through Lyra's. It reminded Lyra greatly of her daughters and how they acted with their friends. The quick trust. The instant friendship. In tandem, they began to watch the goings on, the latest khari'na on display executing the usual presentation routine—glide and pose, glide and pose—while the caller on the floor out front of stage left worked to extract more bids.
Bit turned to her after a minute. “'Na Lyra?”
“Yes?”
“Did you mean what you said the other day in the coach when you were cutting hair?”
“Uh …” Other day? Hair?
“You know. On the way here, about your first time. You said it was on your joining night and it was 'exquisite.' Was that true?”
“Well, yes, Bit. It was true.”
“Good.”
The girl sounded relieved. A little too relieved.
“Bit! Have you never …?”
“No,” Bit replied, shamefaced. “I was afraid to say anything when everyone else was talking about it.”
“Mom” mode instantly took over. “Wait, how old are you? Really. The truth now.”
“Well …” Bit cowered slightly. Then she suddenly blurted, “I turned sixteen a few weeks ago.”
“Bit!” Lyra exclaimed through her teeth. “I thought the age limit was eighteen. No exceptions.”
“I am tall for my age and it was easy for my mother to just tell them I was old enough. Please do no' say anything, 'Na Lyra. Please!”
Both women were struggling to keep their voices down. “Bit, I—I don't know if I can promise you that.” Heavens! She was not much older than Rorn! “You should not be here.”
“Please, 'Na Lyra.” Tears began to fill Bit's wide eyes. “We have no money and my father … he, well, he was starting to pay attention to me … in ways I did no' like. And Mother told me it would be better for me to just be with a lord.”
Lyra was in shock. Her father! “Bit, I—” She wrapped protective arms around the teen in a tight hug. —I don't know what to say.
All of a sudden, Lyra's own fears seemed minuscule. What was she so worried about? She was a mature woman with fifteen years of lovemaking practice. That it was all with the same man did not negate the fact that she was still much more experienced than this young thing—this child. Lyra held Bit, bequeathing to her all the tenderness of a mother's love that she possessed.
When Bit looked up at her again it was with complete trust. “I am going to be sold to a very nice man, right? And he will love me and take good care o' me.”
Lyra didn't want to lie. “… I wish it with all my heart, Sweetness.” Then she quickly put on a smile. “But I can promise you this: if your lord ever treats you unkindly, you let me know, and I will personally kick his fanny all the way to the Barrier Region. Deal?”
Giggling, Bit held up a hand, touching the tips of her thumb and middle finger together to make a circle. “Girlfriend guarantee?”
“Girlfriend guarantee,” Lyra pledged, creating the same shape within the circle of Bit's to make a link. Huh. The old girlhood vow was still alive and well.
They “shook” on it and another sold khari'na came off the stage. The two women returned to watching the auction progress.
“'Na Lyra?” Bit said after a minute.
“Yes?”
“What does 'exquisite' mean?”
Lyra laughed.
Thereafter, Bit stuck like glue to Lyra. For the girl's sake, Lyra whip
ped up some enthusiasm for gown-and-makeup critiquing as they spoke in confidential whispers. Lyra only became disconcerted when she noticed that, in the darkness, a khar's implant could be seen glowing softly through the skin if the hair was pushed out of the way. She carefully kept her front toward the arena floor after that.
As expected, the khari'na with unique or particularly useful traits or talents went for more money. G'lint, the exotic, pale white cave dweller from the north, was quite popular. One of the red-headed girls from the well-to-do family collection commanded a lofty nineteen thousand and three quarters. Not only was she extremely beautiful, but she was the more skilled of her refined cousins.
The emcee always started with age, height, natural hair color, and place of birth. Then he would go on to list any special skills of interest, his tone growing increasingly bored as the event wore on. The men raised sticks with numbered paper squares attached to indicate their intentions. Under the glare of the stage lights only the first couple rows of tables were visible.
As she and Bit neared the stage, Lyra thought she deciphered the fighting troop table from the men's unusually rough choice of clothing compared to the rest of the tucked and shined lords. Hmmm. So it wasn't strictly just the upper class allowed in. Another nearby table featured a couple women in company. They exuded a definite hardened appearance under the layers of heavy makeup and revealing gowns. One of the bordellos? Fortunately, these two tables had remained rather inactive today.
Lord Malig'ahnt sat very near the front along one side of the catwalk, and the hair on Lyra's arms tried to prickle under the confines of her long gloves when she saw him. His rather disinterested and condescending air mirrored that of the very old gentleman's next to him. Malig'ahnt occasionally twiddled with his number two bidding stick, but had not as yet used it.
The patrons in general reflected a mellow enthusiasm, as eagerness would be considered sub par. After all, the matter of spending such large quantities of money was a serious business. Many were only there anyway to sit back and observe who bought what and, more importantly, for how much. When a sale happened to close particularly high, it seemed they were actually applauding each other on what a fine, wealthy assemblage of masculinity they were to part with so much money over a simple luxury. Lyra silently scorned them with her eyes.