Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

  Puzzlement wrinkled his brow. “You were no' prepared to go on stage today?”

  Oh dear!

  Lyra thought fast. “The … decision to be sold today was last minute.” Would he buy it? Lyra didn't wait to find out. She quickly changed the subject. “Mar'go, Go'mar,” she turned to them a little too enthusiastically, “how did your bet turn out? Have you heard a consensus?”

  Go'mar said, “It was pretty much an even split between the hair, the face, and the dress.” Mar'go looked a little sour until a thought seemed to strike her.

  “Could you settle it for us, my lord?” Her eyes glinted at J'Kor. “Would you please tell us which part o' her popped out to you most when you first saw her?”

  Not prepared for the blunt intensity that was Mar'go, J'Kor hesitated, and Lyra jumped in. “My lord, please do not feel obligated to answer that very direct question from my over-exuberant acquaintance. I fear she is a little too competitive with her brother.”

  She shot Mar'go a warning look who only made a funny, goading face back. Go'mar, for his part, remained silent. He also was too interested in hearing the opinion of the lord who bid thirty-thousand rednotes for Lyra to let his sense of propriety intervene.

  Lord J'Kor recovered quickly. He shook his head and grinned. “Well, I am afraid I will no' be much help to your contest tally. Honestly, I did no' take much notice o' those things.” Nodding respectfully at Lyra he said, “I was far too enraptured with the woman underneath.”

  Lyra gulped. That was terribly thoughtful! Then the dark voice of reason snuck in. No. That was just a sly line to appear charming, and you know it! You are no naive school girl to be taken in by a pleasing face and slick phrases and there is no way this Caldreen'n—that bought you—is going to ooze his way under your skin.

  The twins looked quite dissatisfied, but Lord J'Kor just smiled. “Now, if you will excuse us, the hour is getting late and 'Na Lyra and I have reservations for dinner.”

  Finally remembering their manners, the twins bowed graciously while Lyra stood to receive hugs from each of them. Thank yous, good lucks, and goodbyes were spoken and Lyra returned to the sofa to grab her shoes. Huh? Where did they go?

  “May I?”

  Seated across from her was J'Kor with her heels at the ready. Slowly, Lyra lifted a foot for him, and as he took it, she tried not to notice how gently he handled her calf and how his large, toughened hands were clean and respectably trimmed. Instead, she studied the top of his head that shone in the artificial lighting with natural, dark gold highlights and just a few gray strands scattered throughout. Seeing them made her smile. Jon's hair had been doing the same thing—

  Stop that. Keep it together, girl!

  J'Kor finished and stood. “Shall we?”

  Her feet protested returning to the strained position in the tottering heels, but she ignored them. “Yes, my lord.”

  At the cashier table, Lord J'Kor began the payment transaction for khari'na number forty-one while Lyra watched Shorn, still seated at the end of the table, still engrossed in counting the stacks of cards in front of him and sorting credit checks. It looked like a lot of money. Wait, the money!

  Lyra politely excused herself from J'Kor's side and went to stand tentatively across the table from the manager. “Um, Mr. Shorn?” She got a scowl for interrupting his work, but he went back to his task with a little grunt that said she could speak. “Mr. Shorn, I would like the family portion of my sale money to go to Keeper Maehan, if you would, please. She is the closest thing I have to kin here.”

  Without a look, Shorn grumbled, “You have no next o' kin. It says so in your fake information biography.” He still had crumbs of food lingering in his beard.

  “Then, I will ask Keeper to make that addendum immediately, sir.”

  “Too late. It is already going to the default party.” Shorn began securing wraps around the stacks in groups of a hundred.

  Default party? “And—and may I ask who gets the sale money by default?”

  Shorn's thick fingers paused, and a sly smile played about his moist lips underneath the greasy coating of facial hair.

  No! He was going to take that money for himself! His brief glance up at her was only to take pleasure in her shock and Lyra's blood began to boil. She spun and went straight to Hundt still at his post by the door. He had been watching her with Shorn.

  “Mr. Hundt,” she began in a low voice, “can you answer me a question, please?” He nodded slowly. “When there is no next of kin listed in a khari'na's file, does the designated family percentage of her sale automatically go to the caravan manager?”

  Hundt's eyes flitted between her and Shorn, absorbed once again in his counting. “By default, the family portion is dissolved,” he answered guardedly. “It should move along with the rest o' the sale profit to the government treasury.”

  “That's what I thought,” Lyra muttered, her anger growing. Her eyes left off burning a hole in Hundt's chest and rose to his face. “Thank you, Mr. Hundt, for being my friend. It has meant the world to me.” Her subsequent, fervent hug surprised him until she pulled away, turning to leave, and he caught her hand—the hand that had just pickpocketed his knife out of its waistband sheath.

  “'Na Lyra?” he growled.

  Aggravated, Lyra rolled her eyes. “Will you please not be 'ever vigilant' for like, two seconds?” She gripped the knife harder. “Grally,” she risked taking the recently granted liberty with his name, “he already swindled Mae once today, taking me away from her, and now he is doing it again with my sale money that I want her to have. Please. I just want to put the fear of God in him a little.”

  “Fear o' who?” He looked at her like she was totally losing it.

  Lyra nearly laughed at her friend's absolute ignorance of anything religious. “Look, I promise I won't really hurt him.” Maybe she was losing it.

  “Lyra, you are being irrational. Let me try to reason with him.”

  “Yeah. All that will do is get you fired and then you and Maehan will both be in financial straits.”

  Hundt bent his head closer. “You are playing with your life here.” He spoke concisely, though, as yet, he had not made her loose her hold on his blade, and a thought struck her.

  “Grally, how many other times have you suspected Mr. Shorn of skimming caravan money for himself?”

  The intensity wavered. Stone silence. It was answer enough.

  Lyra squared her shoulders. “I'm a big girl. I know the risk I'm taking. This is my life and my choice.”

  Hundt didn't like the wild look in her eyes, but Lyra stared him down until she felt his hand loosen up on hers. With a final, sullen grunt he turned away to observe some of the last auction attendees exiting the holding room.

  “Thank you, Grally,” Lyra whispered.

  He muttered out the side of his mouth, “If Shorn orders me to react, I must obey.”

  “Understood.”

  With the knife handle-side down in her palm, blade close against her forearm, Lyra took a cursory glance about the room. Only a few khari'na with their lords remained: a couple still making their final decisions at the jewelry tables and a pair at the joining arches. Maehan was laid back in a chair in the corner, eyes closed. She looked exhausted. J'Kor, who had been joined by his friend again, was still working out the details of her sale with the last remaining cashier. All were occupied. Perfect.

  Taking a nervous breath, Lyra walked measured, even steps back to Shorn who was filling a large metal box with the sorted and tabulated money. She came to a stop just behind his shoulder.

  “Keep your hands on the table and say nothing to bring attention to yourself,” Lyra ordered quietly. She let him feel the point of the blade against the rotund flesh at the side of his gut.

  Shorn started. “What do you want?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes locking on the faithful security guard Hundt who was astutely watching elsewhere.

  Heart pounding, Lyra whispered heatedly, “Well, the way I see it, you are
a lying, thieving slime mold and I'm willing to bet all the rednotes on this table that you have been planning to get me on that auction stage, one way or another, from the day Maehan brought me to the caravan. What I want is for my friend to be treated fairly and have my due thirty percent given to her as per my wishes.”

  Shorn snorted incredulously. “You must have a death wish, you stupid girl. You realize I can just order your execution as soon as you step away?” She noticed he didn't try to refute anything of which she had accused him.

  “You could. But you want to see me leave here with that man—alive and well.” She poked the blade a little farther into his skin. “Start counting.”

  Shorn sucked in a short, pained breath. The knife was getting dangerously close to actually cutting into him. Obediently, he began fingering through some cards, but he hissed back, “And how, pray tell, do you figure that?”

  Lyra bent even closer. “Do you think you are going to get to keep one cent of the khari'na sale of your lifetime if that man has to go home alone?”

  “Perhaps it would give me more pleasure to see you die for this outrage,” he spat, jowls shaking as he held tightly to the cash.

  “Listen here, chubby,” and Lyra gave the blade a little, teasing twist, “if you think those words are going to scare me, you are greatly mistaken. In the last two weeks, I have witnessed my husband brutally murdered; been hunted, implanted, and tortured; and was just sold as a sex slave. Now you look into my eyes and see if I don't think death might be a blessed release.”

  Shorn didn't look. He sat there, gripping the money, nearly trembling with fury until … grudgingly, he thrust the specified amount into Lyra's waiting hand. He believed her. Lyra quickly let the money get lost in the soft folds of her skirt and drew the blade away, again nestling it against her forearm. “By the way,” she whispered into his hot, red ear, “may I suggest you take a bath? Saving food for later in your beard is really not very attractive.”

  She turned to leave and the portly manager sneered softly, “It will no' be difficult to take it back from that old woman after you are gone.”

  Lyra paused, her back to him. “That's why I am turning this money directly over into the honest hands of her friend, Mr. Hundt. I feel pretty certain that he will have something to say about your shady financial transactions should you attempt to demand it of him.”

  Almost dizzy with apprehension, Lyra waited to see if he was done. She was glad he couldn't see the sweat beading on her forehead. Nothing more came, and Lyra gratefully left the man to his private seething. I'm okay! she exulted on her way back to Hundt. I'm okay. She really wasn't sure how that was going to turn out. She had been banking that he was the type who cared more about satisfying his greed than his pride.

  It suddenly occurred to Lyra, however, that she had just acted quite thoughtlessly. She wasn't even thinking about the box hidden in her pack when she made the decision to fight for her money. What if she had been killed? Oh … sorry Father.

  Only a few hours since she had pledged complete devotion and she was already slipping up! Guiltily, she offered thanks to the Creator for the success of her little mission—despite being less than responsible. Perhaps, at least, He would categorize it as a worthy cause. There were times in scriptural history when His people had been commanded to go to war to defend their lives and liberty. This was just her own little war to right an ethical wrong. There was no other way Shorn would have given her the money.

  Lyra also had to quickly repent of the nasty words she had said, especially that last stab. That was not really necessary. Sorry, she thought again. I will try to remain more calm next time. Then she choked back a snort. Next time? She certainly was not planning on doing anything like that ever again.

  In triumph, Lyra handed over the money and knife to Hundt who glared at her very disapprovingly. Then he called over her head, “Sorry, Mr. Shorn. I guess she snuck it off me when my back was turned.”

  The insincere apology was not lost on the manager and, incensed, the man gave each of them a scorching glower before going back to his organizing.

  Hundt looked down at Lyra. “I hope you appreciate the hit in my reputation I just took for you. My record was unblemished before now.”

  “Well, if anybody asks,” Lyra said, teasing, “I will say I had to sic a dozen, zethrin-mounted ruffians on you before I could steal the knife away.”

  “Hmm.” Hundt smiled. Then it left. “You had better get back to your lord now. He is waiting for you.”

  “I know. I will see you around then?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Probably no', my lady.” Then Hundt turned, reverting to his typical “on duty” stance. “Goodbye.”

  That was her cue to go. Bye, Grally.

  Returning to Lord J'Kor, Lyra was able to put on a smile. Despite … other things, she felt a lot better now—more capable to effect change, less helpless, and she met his gaze unflinchingly. God was still in control. He would continue to take care of her. Somehow.

  “My lords,” she curtsied before J'Kor and his friend.

  Behind his returning grin and nod, J'Kor looked a little ill at ease. Lyra hoped he wasn't upset about the liberty she had taken to have a private conversation with another man—two other men. She ought to be more careful now how she spoke to people, especially those of the opposite sex. There were likely a million and one rules in Caldreen'n high society about appropriate socializing as a khari'na, and she only got to hear about two of them in the time she was with Maehan during orientation. Darn!

  To make up for it, Lyra wrapped both hands round his arm and sidled up close, feeling the width and breadth of a musculature along his— Not important, Lyra! But the gesture worked. He was pleased.

  “I suppose I am obligated to formally introduce you to my longtime acquaintance here, Lord Mejhisk,” he told her with a wry smile, “whom, I fear you have already gotten to know too well.”

  Lord “Sal” Mejhisk took position off Lyra's open shoulder. “Though our time together was short, my lovely, I will always look back on this day and remember, 'At least we had the waiting room.'” A melodramatic hand swept to his heart.

  Lyra laughed, “So he is always like this.”

  “Unfortunately, aye.”

  J'Kor led her to the jewelry displays where Lyra waited patiently for any kind of prompting. She could care less about this part. The only necklet that would ever hold any meaning for her was wrapped twice round her ankle.

  “Have you already seen something that you like?” he inquired politely.

  Why did he sound so hesitant?

  “No, my lord. I mean, I haven't really looked yet. It would please me for my lord to choose something of his own liking.”

  “Well, I would wish you to be happy with the choice, as well,” he hedged.

  Mejhisk stepped in, nudging Lyra off J'Kor's arm. “Let us have 'Na Lyra take some time to see what strikes her fancy. Go on, Honeyspark. Pick yourself out something pretty.”

  Some short, silent battle of wills seemed to pass between the two gentlemen before J'Kor nodded for her to go ahead. Lyra dutifully began a scan of a nearby selection, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lords quickly get caught up in a tense, whispered conversation: Mejhisk reasoning and J'Kor not wanting to be convinced.

  Lyra looked at the necklets. From her browsing with Bit earlier, she knew that the lower cost items were to her left and things got more expensive in the opposite direction. A brief impulse enticed her to go all the way to the very right end and pick out the gaudiest, most jewel-encrusted, ridiculously priced strand she could find. He could afford it, right? She turned her head to peek at J'Kor again, and the vindictive thought melted. He was standing by himself now, staring off into space with his hands in his pockets, worry shrouding his features. Worry over … something.

  He glanced at her and Lyra quickly turned away. She sighed. This was no snooty upper-class snob. He seemed genuinely kind and polite and good humored. And anxious. Her con
science pricked at her again, reminding her that he was also personally responsible for saving her from certain torturous abuse. She left the necklets and went back to him.

  “My lord, I really have not the slightest idea how to choose a piece of jewelry to reflect your kindness to me,” she offered humbly. “I would be honored to wear a boot string if it so pleased you.” Lyra tentatively looked up into those eyes. “The choice really is yours, anyway.”

  A smile to die for broke upon his features and he took one of her gloved hands in his. “As you wish,” he said. Against her better judgment, Lyra let the soothing voice and lilting accent wash through her as, together, they went to a section of necklets—some less expensive ones.

  For the next several minutes, she let J'Kor and Mejhisk debate and prattle over pieces. Mejhisk seemed to be enjoying himself more. He had opinions on just about everything, from the sheen of the finish to the proper placement of the gem setting to how it lay on Lyra's neck. Finally, he and J'Kor agreed on a delicately linked necklet of several chain strands all twisted together. Lyra couldn't help but like it. It was reminiscent of the fence whipping ropes she and her people made from the long fibers of nithusk. Then J'Kor flipped over the price tag. His mouth twitched in disappointment and he began to put it back until Mejhisk grabbed it up again in protest.

  “Mate,” J'Kor told him, “it is too much.”

  “I will decide what is or is no' too much to spend on my best friend, thank you very much.” Mejhisk glanced at the tag and hailed a saleswoman to ring it up. “You are far too touchy when it comes to money, brother.”

  J'Kor frowned, but said no more.

  At Lyra's questioning expression, Mejhisk grinned broadly. “My joining present to the both o' you.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially, whispering, “He never lets me offer financial assistance as a rule, but I managed to convince him this time for you. I have no' seen him this smitten over a woman since—”

  “Sal,” J'Kor warned.

  “In deep smitt,” Sal confirmed very mischievously in her ear before moving away.