by Jean Winter
“My lady,” Lyra addressed Mother with a low, formal curtsy.
Mother, in typical fashion, took her time pouring herself another cup of tea. “Lyra, tell me about yourself. From where do you hail?”
“I grew up near Flantilly, my lady, helping my family on the farm. When I was eighteen, I decided that I wanted to better myself and I applied to become khari'na. I was ten years with my first lord before I was returned to the caravan.” She beamed an innocent glow of satisfaction.
Good. Straight forward.
“And why were you returned?”
“Because—” Lyra faltered, her gaze falling to the floor. “I was weak, my lady. I was no' sturdy enough.”
Wait. What?
“Sturdy?” his mother said, slightly confused.
Lyra bit her lower lip in consternation. “My lady, I do not wish to cast a shadow on the character of my former lord. In that home I learned to read and clean and care for children and many other good things for which I am most grateful.”
Mother shook her head. “Lyra, child, I desire you continue your explanation. Please speak your mind.”
“Well, I blame myself for my own ignorance, I do, but he liked to, uh … he—he preferred to be rough.” Her chin began to quiver with her last words.
Kade sat dumbfounded and fascinated at the same time with Lyra's act. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
“Are you saying he beat you?” asked Lady J'Kor.
“It was his pleasure to treat me with a very heavy hand, yes.”
“And do you believe such treatment was warranted?”
“Oh, I am sure it was, my lady! It must have been! An honorable lord would do no such thing without good cause, I am certain!” Lyra insisted with wide, fervent eyes. “But for the life of me I could never figure out how to be better—to rise to his expectations. Sometimes, during an especially sound correction I would pass out and then—and then he would be upset that I could not perform for him. I had not the strength to keep up with his demands.” Lyra's dejected gaze lowered to her twiddling fingers at her middle. “I am afraid I failed him one too many times.”
Wow! Oh, wait, he should be playing along. “Lyra,” Kade murmured softly, guiding her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms round her waist in a secure embrace. “I have explained to you already that how he treated you was no' right. Will you stop blaming yourself?” He brushed his nose along her cheek. “Please? For me?” Bloody moons, she felt good.
Lyra turned to him, smiling through brimming tears. “My lord honors me with his approval.” And she stroked a soft hand across the side of his face.
Meanwhile, Mother was struggling for an appropriately astute response. “Some lords require more o' their khari'na than others, child. It appears that you and he … were ill-paired.”
Lyra nodded vigorously in response though her eyes continued to bore deeply into Kade's. “I never before knew such kindness … and pleasure with a man. Your son, my lady, has lifted me out of a darkness I did not know I was in.”
Kade's concentration level was swiftly declining, especially when her finger started trailing a circle on his chest. Mother cocked a perfectly lined eyebrow.
“Do you mean to blame your past abuse for your disrespectful behavior in town?”
Lyra turned, shamefaced, toward his mother. “I am afraid I have not yet become master over certain defensive reflexes that have followed with me. I am most ashamed of my behavior and I beg forgiveness for my lack of emotional command.”
Were it not for the slightly flushed pallor of Lyra's profile, Kade would not have remembered she was still recovering from an intense sickness. He should wrap things up quickly now.
“You see, Mother? She has been nothing but a sweet, docile lamb since.”
Brightening, Lyra brought her face close to his. She giggled, “My lord did not think me so 'docile' yesterday morning in the hayloft.”
Kade was horrified to feel heat rising to his cheeks at Lyra's unexpected improvisation. Holy Henna, was he blushing? He dove back in quickly, eyes gleaming, and speaking just loud enough for his mother to overhear.
“Hmmm, you are right about that.” He justified giving Lyra a squeeze. “That particular little romp necessitates an entirely different adjective for you.”
She giggled again and her hand on his chest began a meaningful descent. “Would you like to see that again tomorrow?”
Kade was going to expound on the unnecessary need to wait that long when a caustic throat clear killed the words before they could leave his mouth. Oh yeah. Mother. The woman sat ramrod straight on the love seat watching them, and he reluctantly loosed his hold on Lyra.
“Mother, if you have no further questions for Lyra, I would like to take her back to the kitchen and show her how to make your favorite dinner.”
The wheels were turning in the silvered head. “Well, Kadent,” Mother finally said, “your Lyra seems harmless enough, if a bit simple-minded. I shall take my findings to the committee and recommend that she be allowed a probationary period under your care, at the end o' which time it will be determined if her rehabilitation has proven permanent.”
Oh brother! But, knowing his mother, this was probably the most generous offer he could expect. Besides, the “evaluation” was still not yet over. They would be scrutinized the rest of the evening until she left. His mother wasn't stupid. Proud, yes. Stupid and easily duped, no.
So the charade continued with Lyra in the kitchen, but it was driving Kade to distraction. He wanted to talk to her about what had just occurred over there. He made the excuse of showing his khar the linen closet in the hall to pick out napkins, and as Lyra was rifling through the somewhat untidy piles, Kade, with one more glance over his shoulder, landed an impeding arm across the linens, effectively cornering her between the open door and himself.
“What … was that?” he said.
She looked up in surprise. “Did I not do a good job?”
“On the contrary,” Kade laughed incredulously, “that was—” He took her by the arm. “I thought we agreed that you were no' a good liar.”
“That wasn't lying, that was acting,” she said with a dramatic flourish of her hand. “Didn't you ever put on theater plays with your friends as a kid?”
“Acting?” The warning look he got from Lyra reminded Kade to check his volume. “Acting?” he said again in a whisper. “There is no difference. Lying and acting are one and the same.”
“Are not,” she shot back, though a smile began at those touchable lips. “Now leave me alone! You are making me break character.” Lyra pushed his arm off the linens.
“Fine,” Kade allowed. The challenge was on. She turned back to counting out the silky red napkins he used on special occasions and Kade sidled up behind, speaking huskily into her ear, “But, when do I get to see what 'happened' in the hayloft?” His hands began to explore her hips and Lyra stiffened, just as he knew she would, making him chuckle.
“Honestly, Kadent, such impropriety in the middle o' the day and with company in the house,” Mother harped disapprovingly as she approached. “That vice did no' issue from my side o' the family.” Shaking her head, she entered the lavatory, shutting and locking the door behind her.
“Yes—such impropriety, my lord,” Lyra mimicked in a whisper. She pushed stubbornly against his body. “Now, let me go.”
“This is no' over.”
“Oh, I am sure I comprehend that even better than you, my lord.” And breaking away, with folded napkins in hand, she gave a sour, “Excuse me,” and tromped away.
Things had suddenly turned quite interesting.
Kade sauntered back to the kitchen, back to the Believer woman who continued working by his side but deigned to look him in the face. This made Kade grin. A few minutes later she was grabbing hold of the counter edge to steady herself a moment. This made him frown. It happened again.
He couldn't ignore it the third time.
“That is it. You go lie down this instant,” he whispered. “I can ma
ke up an excuse for your absence.”
“No. Your children will be here any minute and I intend to stand ready to meet them properly, as I should.”
“Lyra,” he growled.
“I can last another hour through dinner, and once I have dutifully cleaned up—per your mother's approval—I will let myself slip away.”
“Now, you listen to me—”
“I think I hear the taxi coming, my lord and lady,” Shapler announced.
“Please, my lord,” Lyra pleaded. “I can't afford to give her any excuse.”
The fear in her eyes was real enough. Grudgingly, Kade relented and left her to receive his children. He had a surprise to explain.
CHAPTER 6
While she set the table, the window afforded a good view of J'Kor helping down a sweet-faced, light-brown haired girl in a bright bonnet. The girl hugged him hard then raised hands to his face, delighting in its new smoothness. J'Kor kissed her affectionately on the forehead. To the tall, gangly boy who leaped easily from the coach, he merely nodded.
J'Kor's son strode directly to the self-propelled carriage, clearly admiring the mechanical marvel. It looked like he was just beginning to develop the broad shoulders of his father and was the picture of how Lyra would have imagined J'Kor as a teenager. The girl, on the other hand, resembled the beautiful woman in the portrait Lyra had dusted the other day, though she exhibited a very soft build with movements and coordination reminiscent of a much younger child. J'Kor called his son back, who obliged only after veiling himself once more within his carefully crafted, bored, uninterested teenage visage.
Lyra turned her attentions back to her table setting and the soft clinking of plates and dinnerware, until galloping footsteps resounded on the porch. The door burst open and J'Kor's daughter practically tumbled in. She laid wide, innocent eyes on Lyra, then became eerily still in openmouthed astonishment.
Lyra hastily set down her handful of spoons. “Good evening, young miss,” she curtsied, “you must be Jos'lie. Your father has told me all about—”
Jos'lie gasped and scrambled back outside, leaving the door standing open.
“Strange. Jos'lie does no' usually react that way to strangers,” said Lady J'Kor from the sofa.
Lyra turned to her, flustered. “I'm so sorry, my lady. Did I do something wrong?”
“I do no' believe so. Jos'lie. Jos'lie, dear!” Lady J'Kor called to the girl. “Come back here and say hello to 'Na Lyra.”
A cautious, pixie-like face appeared in the corner of the window, eyes round as the moons as they stared at Lyra who retreated back to the table to quietly continue her work. She would give the girl space.
J'Kor's son entered next, arms full of luggage, and he looked Lyra up and down with a critical eye. “You are no' as pretty as my mother was,” he concluded. Then, he shrugged. “But at least I will no' have to clean the lavatory anymore. Hey, Shapler! Will you show me your mobile? Can I drive it?”
The luggage was dropped on the floor.
“Breht,” Lady J'Kor chided from her seat. “Come here and say hello to your grandmother before you run off to play mechanic with Mr. Shapler. I have no' seen you in a month.”
An apology was mumbled and Breht trudged to his grandmother to fulfill his duty.
J'Kor was carrying Jos'lie when he came in, her face bashfully hidden in his neck. Old and long as she was, Jos'lie seemed quite comfortable in her father's arms. “Breht, come take this luggage to your room. You know better than to drop your things in the middle o' the floor.”
“But is that no' the khar's job now?”
J'Kor's expression grew stern. “'Na Lyra is already busy with other things at the moment and I will still expect you to do your part.”
The teen glared accusingly at Lyra. “Aye, sir,” he grumbled and got up to do his father's bidding.
Jos'lie had begun to watch Lyra shyly from her father's shoulder and he finally set her down. “This is 'Na Lyra, Princess. Do you want to say hello?” The removal of his daughter's bonnet revealed an unusual feature Lyra never seen before. At the edge of Jos'lie's hairline above her forehead, one small section grew a startling snow white in contrast to the even auburn brown of the rest. A charmingly unique fluke of genetic chance.
Lyra sat in a dining chair to appear less intimidating and Jos'lie finally approached her, reaching out a soft, delicate hand to touch Lyra's long, dark waves. “Papa, my dream. It th' fairy lady,” she said in wonder, her speech carrying a distinct halting throatiness.
“Did you dream about a fairy with dark hair, Princess?” J'Kor went to a knee beside his daughter.
“No, no. Papa, I dream 'bout her!” Jos'lie positively identified Lyra with a pointed finger. “She magic … fruh-m th' mountains!” As Jos'lie's enthusiasm increased, her carefully tongued diction deteriorated. Suddenly, Jos'lie was at Lyra's shoulder, pushing her hair to the side. She gasped again. “I right! She fairy wom-an with th' glow-y bump. She come to sing. Be my … new mama!”
Lyra looked uneasily to J'Kor for assurance, but his nonplussed expression told her that words like this were indeed unusual, even for his unusual daughter.
“Jos'lie, sweetbee, I told you that 'Na Lyra is a helper for Papa,” he clarified. “And she will be your friend and help you, too.”
“No, Papa! She is … ahoor new mama,” she insisted with childlike simplicity. Then Jos'lie's eyes lit up. “Where, Mama? Where is it?”
Lyra's unease grew. What might this unique little girl “predict” next? “Where is what, Miss Jos'lie?”
Lyra's hands and lap were searched. Then Jos'lie dashed into her father's bedroom. Lyra followed, J'Kor close behind where they found Jos'lie going through things in the vanity closet.
“Where is it, Mama Lyra? Where you' book?”
Lyra's heart nearly stopped right then and there. She couldn't possibly be talking about—
“What book, sweetbee?” J'Kor looked quite troubled.
“T' spet-shul book for you, Papa! A spe-cial book. Mama Lyra present for you.”
Lyra clung to the closet door, suddenly quite dizzy. Oh, Father, if this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny!
Jos'lie was elbow deep in Lyra's backpack when she squealed with delight, pulling out Iyalyn's dolly that Lyra had found the morning Jon was killed. It had been stashed in a hollow log at a spot where her children sometimes played with friends. The shag pine carved toy had already been missing for weeks when Lyra accidentally discovered it while rounding up livestock, and even though she and Jon had already fashioned and sewn a new one for their youngest, Lyra knew how much Iyalyn was going to love seeing it again
“This mine?” Jos'lie said, thrilled and delighted. She stroked its carved hair and cradled it in her arms.
“Uh, Princess, that is—” her father started.
“Do you like it, Miss Jos'lie?” Lyra knelt beside the girl and helped her smooth down the folds of the doll's frilly dress. The bit of rare and precious lace sewn onto the hem had been a matter of monumental significance for Iyalyn.
“Aye! This my present?” She concentrated on forming her words better again.
“It certainly is.” Lyra reached a hand into her backpack. “And you can give this to your brother, too.” She rested her son's switchblade on the girl's lap. She had borrowed it from Rorn when hers had recently dulled from use just before the move.
“Wow! Preh-sent for Breht. He will like. Thank you, Mama Lyra. You' th' best!” Jos'lie wrapped arms around Lyra in an uninhibited death grip, and Lyra was surprised at how good it felt to hug a child again. Then Jos'lie was running back into the great room with the new treasures.
“I would no' have compelled you to do that,” J'Kor told her softly. “I respect your ownership o' your few possessions.”
Tender memories of Rorn, Iyalyn, and Verise, played in Lyra's memory—family dog piles on Jon, games and dancing, reading and praying together … She pulled herself onto the vanity's stool. “Will it score points with your mother?”
>
“Quite a few, I would imagine.”
“And with you?” she asked more quietly.
He leaned on the doorjamb, watching her. “About a thousand.”
Lyra nodded. “Then it's worth it. Besides, Iyalyn wasn't really missing that doll anymore. It was already replaced before I found it again.”
The torrent of mental images of her family and life from before continued to overwhelm Lyra. She ducked her head and heaved a big, shaky sigh.
“Er, take a minute for yourself if you need,” J'Kor said.
“Okay,” she whispered, grateful.
A few minutes later, Lyra was ready to help J'Kor dish up pasta into a big serving bowl. Breht and Mr. Shapler were outside bent over the opened mechanical area of Lady J'Kor's mobile while Jos'lie sat with her grandmother, giggling as she tried on Lady J'Kor's reading glasses, the “new” doll nestled snugly in her lap. The woman's imperial rigidity had nearly entirely melted away. She showed her granddaughter a coloring book she had brought for her. Lyra was almost in shock.
“She is no' a bad woman, Sugarpip,” J'Kor told her quietly as he handed her spice shakers to take to the table. “She just holds very strong opinions about what is right and proper.”
Lyra had prepared herself to wait until the family was finished with their meal before she fed herself, but once everyone was served, J'Kor invited her to the table. His concerned eye wanted her sitting and eating sooner rather than later. Lyra fixed a plate and shyly took a seat at the opposite end of the table from the family, near Shapler. He gave a polite nod, but said nothing. Jos'lie, meanwhile, kept throwing big, food-filled smiles at Lyra who smiled back, but concentrated on remaining inconspicuous otherwise.
The conversation drifted from the mobile's performance capabilities to Breht's last disc meet to Lady J'Kor's busy social calendar and all the latest gossip and important goings-on of the elite. Jos'lie accidentally tipped over a glass which was met with some unsurprised groans and which Lyra jumped to help clean up. The patch on Ahskr's shoulder was finally noticed and J'Kor obliged the inquisitive faces with a lively—though abridged—version of the recent night raid.