Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

  Presently, a threesome approached—a graying lord and his wife with a young man between them. They stopped before Lyra first, which caused her heart to skip. But no. The lord held stick fifty-two in thick fingers at his side. Not hers. The bid winner finally addressed Bit, introducing his son, a stocky young man with straight, black hair who stammered a quick hello. He blushed deeply before his new, perhaps first, woman.

  A minute later, Bit was following her new lord to the Keeper and her official clipboard. She turned to give Lyra a small, hopeful wave goodbye. Godly Father be with her.

  Lyra went back to mostly staring at the polished floor. She made quick scans of the milling bodies here and there for number ninety-seven but, inevitably, would find someone staring at her. After a few minutes of feeling embarrassed, however, Lyra finally decided that she should just hold her head high and offer a little curtsy in cordial acknowledgment. Much better. She had no reason to be ashamed of herself or her actions.

  Feeling much more free, Lyra began to observe the goings on in earnest. She soon discovered Mar'go and Go'mar flitting gaily about from one small gathering to another, like bees making their rounds in a flower-filled meadow, and becoming responsible for even more unwanted attention on Lyra. No doubt their bet was still on and they were gathering opinions.

  It was difficult to see what was happening at the joining arches at the room's opposite end. There were simply too many people in the way, but Lyra did inadvertently meet eyes with a certain lord, probably mid twenties, who bore a particularly refined look about him. He wore an official governmental sash of bright red, running from shoulder to opposite hip across the front of his stately, medium build, as he watched her intently, almost brazenly. After a moment he offered a short nod in greeting and calmly turned back to his companions—a selection of punctilious, inner-circle nobility who seemed eager to lap up his every word. It was hard enough to hold the man's gaze the first time with any degree of confidence, but when he glanced at her again, and again, in between dialogues or some line that made everyone laugh appreciatively, Lyra could scarcely take it. The unwonted notice of a politician—and evidently a popular one—was worse than all the other stares combined.

  Lyra finally had to make herself ignore him completely. She turned to observing the transactions at the cashier tables, and gentlemen counting out stacks of rednotes or presenting credit books to pay for their “prizes.” There was Shorn, hanging about behind the cashiers, personally overseeing his favorite part of his job. Back at the necklet tables, Lyra spotted Bit joyously holding up the one that was her absolute favorite to her new lord. Fortunately, the family seemed to approve the choice.

  Glancing back toward her fellow line-mates, Lyra suddenly realized that she was one of the last women still standing there. Nearly everyone else had been claimed. She shifted her weight uneasily. The obvious tardiness of the lord that bid thirty thousand rednotes for a khari'na—for her—made for some extreme awkwardness. Strained glances from Shorn and other auction officials proved that her concern was shared. Lyra grew more worried. What would happen to her if no one showed up?

  She looked to Hundt for support. He had been maintaining a watchful position at the entrance. Sure enough, she found him still there, but with brow furrowed as he surveilled a figure that had just entered the room. A lord holding a bid stick.

  Number ninety-seven.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lyra's eyes flew to the face that went with the stick. It was … no one she recognized. He was lean, very well-dressed, and looked to be about her same age. The slightly receding, soft curls of his head were stylishly highlighted and his posture bespoke breeding and sophistication. His “blacks,” the traditional term for men's formal suits, was actually a matching three-piece in deep purple with lavender lace accents. In his other hand, he held an intricately carved walking cane—in place only for fashion.

  Bright green eyes fell on Lyra and long legs broke into confident strides under a crooked, twinkling grin that gave the impression it was about to deliver a great punch line. Out of a sense of rebellion, Lyra wanted to label this character as annoying, but actually … the mannerisms, the look in the eye, the mouth in constant ready position to laugh, it kind of reminded her of … Jon. This was her new owner?

  He bowed low before her. “Please forgive my lingering in the arena. I was detained by the lure o' engaging conversation with a new friend.” Was that some lipstick he just wiped off his mouth? Lyra curtsied and the lord raised her hand to his lips. “And now, so that the fullness o' my heart may be complete, may I be endowed with the great pleasure o' hearing your name?” His eloquent speech was done with just enough tongue-in-cheek that she knew he didn't really take himself that seriously. Lyra breathed easier.

  “It is Lyra, my lord.

  “Ah! 'Na Lyra. The sound of it coming off lips such as yours is like heavenly music. I could relish in your melody all the long day.”

  She gave a short laugh for his poetic efforts—making herself play his game. “It gladdens me that my lord enjoys the sound of my voice.” Then she watched his expression carefully for his reaction to her next words. “But if my lord intends to have me speak at long intervals for his listening pleasure, I fear I cannot guarantee he will always like what comes out.”

  “Indeed! The lady speaks the truth!” The lord's smile widened and his eyes took on a brighter gleam. Lyra relaxed. “But in fact,” he added with a wink, “I do sincerely hope she will surprise me at times. I find that surprises lend to more 'interesting' and enjoyable relations later.”

  Lyra bent her head in mock modesty. “Then I suppose I must endeavor to surprise my lord often.”

  “Well said, my lovely Lyra!” he quickly complimented.

  Lyra felt a sudden flush of horror. Wow! Did I really just utter that terribly flirtatious innuendo? She couldn't help it. She had automatically jumped into the character she knew he wanted. She was just playing a part. How long she could keep it up remained to be seen, however—especially when it came to later tonight. She didn't know yet how she would handle—how she should handle—the carrying out of her primary khari'na duty. Lord of the Universe, help me!

  “You suddenly look a little peaked, my darling.” The lord grinned. “What say we stroll over there to some nice, comfortable seating for a while and you can dazzle me further with the sound o' your voice?”

  Hundt had planted himself protectively off Lyra's shoulder, waves of dislike rolling off his body, but the lord completely ignored him, offering his arm, which Lyra took with some confusion. “My lord does not wish to make his payment and finish the joining process now?”

  He dismissed the question with a vague wave of his hand. “Oh, there is ample time for that later, although your interest in following me into a more intimate setting is duly noted and appreciated.” He winked again and Lyra blushed. The lord finally seemed to notice Hundt staring him down, in terribly intimidating fashion.

  He simply smiled—not intimidated in the least. “Hold this for me, will you, big fellow?” he said, and plopped his bid stick onto Hundt's folded arms. Hundt's eye twitched most irritatingly.

  With a look, Lyra quickly warned her friend to let it go. She would be fine.

  She was placed on a sofa and the lord pulled a padded armchair closer, settling himself on it comfortably to gaze upon her. “Now, you must tell me all about yourself, beginning with this magnificent thing you are wearing. I must say, I have no' seen its equal.”

  “Excuse me,” Maehan said from nearby, clipboard in hand. “May I first, please, ask about you, my lord. Your name?” Like Hundt, she was eyeing this dandy with great mistrust.

  “Ma'am, I believe the name you are looking for is Lord Kadent J'Kor.” The flip of his fingers told the Keeper she should leave them alone again.

  “Aye, my lord,” the old woman reluctantly confirmed. Lyra mulled the name over in her head. J'Kor. Kadent.

  “Maehan,” Lyra said, turning to her friend. “It's all right. Really. I'm ok
ay.”

  She must have sounded convincing enough because Maehan solemnly bowed her head to the lord and quietly left. Lyra sat up straighter. She turned back to Lord J'Kor. Okay. Here goes nothing.

  “Well, if my lord wishes to know,” she grinned, “believe it or not, it is actually a hand-me-down. …”

  It turned out that the man was quite adept at carrying on a friendly conversation. Further, it was with little effort that Lyra maneuvered the subject matter over to things about him, instead, and he happily launched into talk of his lovely home and prized game lands. He was terribly fond of hunting, it seemed. His favorite hobby. And Lyra was quite entertained for a while with lively stories of particularly exciting and sometimes bungled adventures going after large, flightless fowl of the marshlands or stalking the elusive pronghorned shocktails he loved so much. He liked to talk with his immaculately manicured hands. A lot.

  Time slipped away for a while until Lyra suddenly came to in a wandering moment and saw that the ballroom had become rather sparsely populated. How long had they been sitting there? For what purpose was this man so content to just keep talking? Every once in a while he glanced toward the entrance doors, but otherwise appeared very much at his leisure.

  He told her about his childhood growing up near the seashore, and how he lived for the summers when his family would vacation in the Forkors, camping out in the woods. Lyra began to open up a little about her own love of the mountain range and her favorite parts of the alpine forests and majestic glaciers. As a girl, she loved following the tracks of the wildlife to try to discover their secret dens and hiding places.

  Once more he glanced over his shoulder and suddenly, the gentleman's countenance changed. “Ah, lovely Lyra,” he said with renewed energy, “it is my great pleasure to finally introduce you to a friend o' mine.”

  “I am quite positive, brother,” said a rich, baritone, “that I am the one feeling the greater pleasure.”

  Lyra's back seized into rigidity as a shock of recognition shot up her spine. That was his voice! Once again, she was met with the gaze of those beautiful gray eyes—the same from the bookstore, the same from the arena floor. And once again, she was totally at a loss to know how to feel about it. Father, have mercy! Are you serious?

  His true black, swash tunic ensemble was straightened and properly tucked now, and his honey-touched straight hair had been tamed with only a few unruly strands still trying to hang boyishly across a tanned forehead. For a moment, Lyra lost the power of speech.

  He had halted several feet away—as if she were some rare, flighty creature he didn't want to make nervous. He seemed a little nervous, himself, in fact. In two large hands he fidgeted with a yellow envelope that looked quite stuffed.

  “You took long enough,” Lyra's lord told the man, and he followed with pleasure the subtle surprised and confused expressions that were evidently playing across her face. He casually draped an arm across the back of his chair. “I was afraid I was going to have to start in on my escapades at charm school from the sixth grade.”

  “Then she is lucky I was able to get back here as quickly as I did,” the other lord said with a grin. “Now, will you please introduce us properly before you make a further mockery o' your sweet mother's upbringing?”

  Lyra's lord leaned forward and took her trembling, gloved hands in his. What was going on? Who was this man? What was he talking about? She really didn't need this right now.

  Studying her in earnest, her lord said, “I really like this one, Kade. You are a lucky man.” He politely kissed her fingers.

  Kade? As in Kadent? Lyra pulled out of the gentleman's grasp, eyeing both men fearfully. The new one read her surprise.

  “Sal,” he groaned, as if it were a great effort to sound patient, “please tell me you have no' been impersonating me … again.” He hurried forward.

  The not-Lord J'Kor chuckled. “Mate, you asked me to watch over her until you could get here. Now did you really think I could pass up a prime opportunity like that with what little time I knew we would have alone?”

  Through tight lips the other responded, “Well, actually, I did. I am certain she really does no' need this confusion right now.” Lyra started at the perfectly correct words.

  “Is there a problem here, 'Na Lyra?” Hundt suddenly appeared, stepping between her and the two lords. He had just returned from being called out a while ago by one of his men.

  The impostor Lord J'Kor craned his neck around the muscled midsection. “I see it is time for my hasty exit.” Hopping up sprightly, he bowed low before her. “My sincerest apologies, 'Na Lyra, if I have caused you any real distress. May I die a thousand deaths for you and never be forgiven.” With a flourish of his hand he spun to face his friend. “All yours, brother.”

  “Sal” strolled leisurely away, whistling as he went, but the awkwardness at the sofa did not lessen with his departure. “'Na Lyra?” Hundt asked again.

  Gathering up her courage, Lyra placed her hand lightly on the guard's arm. “Thank you, Mr. Hundt, for your concern, but … I think we are okay now.” Is that really the truth?

  A low growl rumbled up the back of Hundt's throat at Lyra's dismissal and he glared hard at the new gentleman, but within a few moments, he had returned to his position near the doors.

  Too afraid to look at the real J'Kor again, Lyra stared at a certain embroidered flower sewn onto the back of the recently vacated armchair. She didn't like these fluttering feelings. They made her feel out of control and terribly confused. In addition, the fact that she found this man immensely attractive actually made her trust him less. He was probably accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted out of women … and everyone else, too. And (she quickly reminded herself) he had just bought her for a slave. He was a godless, immoral, stinking rich Caldreen'n and she was mature enough to see through his facade of thoughtfulness. Right?

  Right. Her hand in her lap curled into a determined fist.

  The man continued to stand silent before her.

  Well? Was he going to say anything or not? Lyra's resolve to avoid eye contact began to waver embarrassingly fast.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” he finally said. “I found it necessary to make a visit to my bank to … take out some extra funds.” He turned the bulging envelope over in his hands, mumbling more to himself than her, “You came at a slightly higher cost than I was expecting. And—and please tell me my friend behaved himself with you,” he quickly added. “One would think that the years would mellow him—”

  “He was a perfect gentleman, my lord. I assure you,” Lyra said. “I rather enjoyed his company while I waited, as a matter of fact. It was very kind of you to send someone to be with me while you were detained.” She continued to concentrate on the flower.

  “Oh, well, good then.” There was another long moment of silence. “Sooo, Lyra, is it?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He came over and sat—right in front of the floral shape. Great! Now she had to find something else to watch. More uncomfortable silence passed.

  Then suddenly, “How did you—? I mean, when I saw you in the arena … well, I was no' even expecting to see you in the bookstore. No' really. I had planned to go in there, and then you happened to be in the same section I was. And then you were here and I could no' believe my eyes—” The man huffed, frustrated at his inability to express himself succinctly. “What I mean to say is … I have no' been stalking you,” he finished in a rush.

  Lyra turned wide, disbelieving eyes on him, her mouth almost hanging open. He was afraid she thought he was a stalker? She stifled the laugh building up in her throat. “My lord fears too harsh a judgment. He may certainly approach and speak to whomever he chooses.”

  “Aye, but I really was no' following you. I was already planning to stop in there that day for a reference set.” At Lyra's skeptical look, he held up a hand in honorable testimony. “I promise. After you left, I bought the whole set. You will see it when we get home.”

  The rem
inder of where she would be laying her head tonight sent something careening woozily through her system and Lyra found a scuff mark on the floor at her feet to study. Father, help me be strong. Help me be strong.

  Two fingers gently lifted her chin and a pair of concerned eyes searched her expression, clearly trying to understand why she was so nervous

  “You do no' need to be afraid o' me,” he whispered.

  He had no idea. “M-my lord already proved his sincerity and kindness in the arena,” Lyra conceded, trying to glue on a calm, brave face. Play your part. “You need not justify yourself to me any further. I am yours to command.” She managed a smile.

  This seemed to please him and Lord J'Kor's calloused fingers lingered at her jaw, tenderly—

  “'Na Lyra! You were magnificent on stage!” Mar'go danced to her and bent to give her a light hug. “You must tell me how you orchestrated that wonderfully mysterious fog. It really made a brilliant statement! Do you no' agree, Go'mee? My heart did little pitter leaps when you emerged into the lights.” Go'mar tipped his head in greeting as he came to his sister's side.

  A slightly discomposed J'Kor leaned back, politely giving them space.

  “Thank you,” Lyra said, surprised. She had supposed everyone just thought the steaminess annoying. “It was really just an accident, though—boiler incident from backstage.”

  “Oh.” Mar'go looked disappointed. “It is just that, most o' the other khari'na we spoke to seemed pretty positive that it was planned by you and Mr. Grump over there.” She poked a thumb toward Hundt. Lyra flushed. The gossip was spreading.

  “I promise you that is certainly not true. It was pure coincidence and Mr. Hundt and I have done no such scheming. He has just been a friend. That's all.”

  “Well, okay,” Mar'go shrugged, “if you say so.” She reclaimed her enthusiasm, however, when she turned to Lord J'Kor. “So, is this the bold number ninety-seven?”

  Hastily rising, J'Kor gave a polite bow and introduced himself. Lyra introduced the twins as her talented, emergency stylists.