by Jean Winter
His return of her to J'Kor was done with typical flourish, though his eyes penetrated into hers a moment longer before he turned and left to attend to other guests. Thankfully, Lyra had obligations with Jos'lie and didn't have to go right back to J'Kor. She didn't want to worry over spotting any tells in his countenance that Mejhisk was certain was there.
None of it was true, anyway. J'Kor's acting must just be coming off too strong.
The next number was an upbeat, jazzy tune perfect for Lyra and Jos'lie to bop around together in the crowd of singles. They laughed and laughed as they tried to mimic the moves they were seeing others perform. Perhaps it was out of respect for the host and his best friend's family, perhaps the sensation of her auction price and all the events surrounding that night had worn off, but Lyra noticed with gratitude that she was being left alone tonight.
In between songs, her eyes swept the room for J'Kor. Some guests were still keeping close tabs on her behavior and now would be a good time for a big, content khari'na smile. J'Kor would also like to see his daughter having such a wonderful time.
Lyra got part way around when her gaze fell upon something familiar. It was bright and red and ran diagonally across a broad, proud chest. She gasped and, ducking, reached for Jos'lie's hand to avoid the gaze of the junior Lord D'Pendul calmly surveying Salkin Mejhisks' ballroom.
D'Pendul was not alone. A gorgeous woman in black and red—to match his colors—hung smugly on his arm while his public face smiled and nodded cordially to everyone who greeted them. The music began again and Jos'lie shook herself out of Lyra's grip so she could continue dancing.
Maybe that was the best thing to do—stay right in the middle of the floor surrounded by a ton of people. Taking her shoes off would be good too. It would remove several inches from her height. Feigning enthusiasm, Lyra began again, watching D'Pendul work his way slowly about the perimeter, a perfectly composed figure of poise and upper-class bearing.
When the song ended, Lyra had no choice but to follow the guests dispersing from the floor. There was no sign of J'Kor , so with shoes in hand, she led Jos'lie to an unoccupied bench against the wall and got her engaged in a game of spotting the prettiest gown in the room. The next tune started and Lyra finally spotted him, but her relief was stilted when she realized he was leading a woman onto the dance floor—or rather, the woman was leading him. It was the same one in red and black who had come with D'Pendul!
“Good evening. Would you care to dance?”
Lyra turned mortified eyes on Lord D'Pendul who offered a solemn bow. Somehow he had snuck up on them!
“Miss J'Kor,” he smoothly clarified, extending a hand to Jos'lie.
Shocked and delighted, Jos'lie jumped to her feet before the obviously fine gentleman who was taking an interest in her. Her toothy grin was accompanied by a clumsy curtsy. Lyra jumped up, too, though her motivation was fueled by an entirely different emotion and a protective hand flew to Jos'lie's shoulder, holding her back from taking his offer. She didn't trust for a second that this man was simply being nice.
“My Lord D'Pendul, how surprising to see you again so soon. Are you a friend of the host?”
His hand dropped in concession to a self-effacing grin. “Actually, I am crashing. I happened to be visiting some friends today who begged me to come along. They said no one puts together a social event like Salkin Mejhisk and,” he looked around appreciatively, “I think he has just created another believer.” His diction was too perfect, the last word spoken with too much care. It sent a shiver through Lyra.
“No doubt, you are a coveted guest at any party, my lord. I am sure Lord Mejhisk would be happy to personally welcome you if he knew you were here.”
“My name Jos'lie!” Jos'lie butted in. “What is yours? Ow! Mama Lyra, you hurt me.”
Lyra murmured a quick apology. She hadn't realized how hard she was squeezing Jos'lie's shoulder.
The politician bowed again to the eleven-year-old. “My name is Devor, Miss Jos'lie. Shall we have that dance?”
Not so fast, mister. Lyra stepped between them. “My lord, I don't think you understand that the young Miss J'Kor here is—”
“Special, I know. Eleven are you, Miss Jos'lie?” He bent to the side so he could see her again. “My, my! That quite makes you the lady o' the house.” Once again, he was too well informed.
Jos'lie danced around Lyra, curled hair bouncing. “My Papa, says I … big girl now!” She thrust her small, soft hand into D'Pendul's much larger one.
“But my lord,” Lyra protested. Where was that darn servant woman who was supposed to be looking out for her? “Jos'lie doesn't know how to—”
“We will be just fine, Mistress J'Kor,” he said. “I will take good care o' her.” That reassurance didn't sit well, and Lyra watched with trepidation, the mature man lead her innocent charge onto the floor.
He started her off with a modified dance step which Jos'lie soon got the hang of, and stuck with it. Jos'lie looked like she had died and gone to heaven. She broke rhythm after a minute just to wave ecstatically at her Mama Lyra and make sure she was still watching. Lyra waved back while D'Pendul waited patiently for Jos'lie to be ready to begin again, a small smile pressed upon his princely features
They began talking and Lyra's anxiety increased. Was he some kind of child predator? Was he trying to descry information about her? Or was this some political goodwill move to be seen giving attention to an intellectually impaired child? Lyra had lost J'Kor again. Certainly he would be interested to know with whom his daughter was dancing, but she reluctantly decided against walking around to find him. She had to keep a low profile tonight. Absolutely no scenes.
As the last chords finally rang through the room in a grand finish, Lyra started to wonder if, perhaps, she had let her imagination get a little carried away. D'Pendul had seemed perfectly polite and willing to help Jos'lie enjoy herself. Of course, everyone who had noticed the unlikely pair acted as if it were the sweetest thing they had ever seen. If this was a political move, D'Pendul just collected a few hundred votes off Jos'lie.
“Mama Lyra, Devor has papa, too. Just like me!” Jos'lie exclaimed, pulling her new friend by the hand back to Lyra “Visit! We can visit, Devor say, the gov'-ment palace.”
Merciful Saints! Please no!
“How exciting, Sweetness! What a generous offer that is.” Lyra glanced uneasily up at him. “However, I am sure Lord D'Pendul is a very busy man, and it will probably be a while before he has time to let us visit.” Please agree with me you sneaky pol'.
“Well, they actually have organized tours now,” he offered. “You may come anytime.” Lyra was almost ready to give him a grateful smile, when he bowed to Jos'lie once more then turned to her. “And now that I have fulfilled my obligation to dance, first, with the 'lady' o' the J'Kor family, I can request a turn with its mistress.”
She involuntarily gulped before she could compose herself. “Are you certain you do not need to get back to your friends? They must be missing you by now.”
“I am rather enjoying making new ones at the moment,” he replied, taking her hand. “Is this no' what we party crashers do?”
His bit of humor would have been more appreciated if Lyra's skin were not crawling at his touch. However, she smiled graciously up at him like a good khar should when asked to dance by such a distinguished gentleman, and allowed herself to be led forward. Jos'lie's servant finally reappeared, finding her assignment again. Fire that woman.
With perfect posture, he began to direct Lyra in the new, lilting number while she fretted over what she would say should he continue his previous prying.
“Now, where were we per our last conversation at the restaurant?” he said. “I believe we were speaking o' your hometown.”
Curses!
All the tiny settlements she remembered paraded through her head and Lyra took a chance on the remotest one. “Parqool, my lord. I grew up near Parqool. Though we didn't go into town much.”
“Ah, Parqoo
l, o' course! Known for their honey,” he said in a leading voice.
Crap. He had just trapped her. Lyra had no idea if that was true. She suddenly made herself falter in her step, looking dizzy. D'Pendul immediately offered support.
“So sorry, my lord. Oh, how embarrassing,” she said, a hand going over her stomach.
“What is it?”
“I'm afraid you will have to excuse me. I think I suddenly feel nauseous.” She started to turn. “You know, monthly female … stuff.''
In an instant, his steadying hand was at her elbow and he began to lead her off the floor. “Then I will accompany you somewhere quiet where you can rest.”
“Please, my lord, if I can just find my J'Kor, I will let him bear the burden for my well-being.”
“But I insist, Mistress.” D'Pendul smiled down at her. “You have fallen ill under my hand and social decorum demands I take responsibility for you until I can feel at peace with your recovery.”
Who made that stupid rule? It was possible he was just making that one up, but regardless, Lyra suddenly became painfully aware that she was being escorted from the safety of a crowded room. This was not good. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't risk a scene. Not now. This man had even more power than that scum Malig'ahnt to dictate her fate. Helpless, Lyra looked behind her at the merriness of the party, quickly fading from sight.
“You are very honorable, my lord.” Now she really was feeling sick. What if she found a bathroom in which to hide? Lyra moaned, “My lord, I think I am going to be really sick.”
“Then let us haste to find you a wash basin o' some sort.” The reply came without a hitch and Lyra couldn't tell if he knew she was lying or if he just naturally never broke a sweat.
Just ahead was an obvious lavatory, but it was obvious for the line of people waiting outside. Drat. Beyond that, however, Lyra spied a servant emerging from a cubby hall, drying her hands on her apron as she went. Spurring herself forward, Lyra broke from D'Pendul's grasp and dove through the door, shutting it behind her before he could say anything.
The small room of shelves lined with cleaning and maintenance supplies and a basin sink just left of the door told Lyra she had just holed herself up in a janitorial closet. Shoot! Well, he didn't know that. She hoped. Lyra made scuffling sounds and turned on the faucet, letting it run. After that, all she could think to do was stand dumbly in the middle of the room. Someone knocked softly.
“Mistress J'Kor? Will you allow me to come in and check on you?” said D'Pendul.
“No! No, my lord,” she said, making a good retching sound followed by some sputtering coughs. “You don't want to come in here. I'll be fine in just a minu—” (A purposeful choke.) “Really. You don't need to wait for me. I appreciate your chivalry, but I can take care of myself from here. (cough, hack) Surely you are being missed.”
“Nevertheless, I think I should remain here until you feel fit to emerge.”
Lyra gripped at her hair, resisting the urge to pull. “Well, if you really wish to be useful, my lord, you could go fetch my J'Kor for me. That would make me feel much better.”
A moment of silence passed. Then through the door, “Have you really become so fond o' your new lord so quickly? He must be a very good man to have ingratiated himself with you so thoroughly in this short span o' time.”
Where did that come from?
“… It has not taken long for me to realize how lucky I am to be called his, my lord. I could not be more content.”
Another brief silence.
“Does he know?”
Lyra's blood turned to ice. “Know what, my lord?”
“Where you really came from.”
The ice shattered. Piercing, frozen shards slashed through every cell of her body. “I don't know what you mean.” She forgot to keep sounding sick.
“Your reserve company was ambushed by the Fifth Platoon about thirty miles due west o' Flantilly. You were captured, implanted, and then bribed into the custody o' the khari'na caravan. You were no' supposed to walk on that auction stage.”
Lyra dropped to her knees. Father in Heaven!
A short, humored laugh followed. “I know you are no' really sick, Mistress.”
Open the door.
Why not? He had her right where he wanted her, anyway.
Slowly, she got up and opened the door to D'Pendul standing straight and formal, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting, as if he were expecting her to open it at exactly that moment. His mouth cracked into a sly smile. “I think you are a Believer.”
Lyra would not deny it directly. She lifted her chin. “I am the khari'na of Lord Kadent J'Kor. Bought and paid for. His home is now my home. His bed … my bed, and I have no further comment on the subject. Now sir, will you let me pass?”
Quietly, D'Pendul stepped to her and reached to the side where the running water finally got turned off. “Aye,” he said, regarding her from head to toe. “You seem to have taken quite well to the khar lifestyle.” His hand rose and brushed some of her hair away from her cheek—the one with the fading bruise. “So he does know.”
Reddening, Lyra yanked her face away. “Will you let me pass, sir?”
He didn't move. “I wonder,” he murmured, “has the Believer so easily denounced her religion and embraced her new life?”
A fire sparked in Lyra's eyes and she raised them to the mocking man before her. The irony that she was at the party tonight trying to make everyone believe she was embracing the life did not concern her. He had just knowingly challenged her character, though she struggled how to answer. To verbally acknowledge anything was death.
Through clenched teeth, Lyra heard herself mutter, “My lord assumes a great deal. But, as I am at the mercy of his conclusions—which he seems to have already made about me—I only ask again: May I pass?”
His expression remained serene, unperturbed. Lyra endured eternities with every passing second until, finally, D'Pendul shifted. It was ever so slight, but created just enough space for her to edge past. In a flash Lyra was striding down the corridor.
Suddenly her way was barred by two large gentlemen! How they had materialized so inexplicably she did not know, but Lyra came to an abrupt halt, breaking into a sweat.
“No, let her go.”
The placid directive came from D'Pendul at the cubby hall and it was obeyed, the men parting in unison. With a cautious glance at each, Lyra continued on her way.
“Lyra!” said J'Kor, suddenly appearing and rushing to her. “I have been searching for you. Someone said you left the room looking sick.”
Stay calm. Stay calm! But when Lyra felt his protective arm about her shoulders, her breath caught in a sob, and when she looked back, the men were already gone.
J'Kor hastened her down the hall, around a corner, and propelled her through a door. “What. Happened,” he said, his eyes alight with foreboding.
They were in a small study, dim in the fading light of dusk, and Lyra stared blankly at the matching seating arrangement and petite end table upon which was spread a delicate, lace doily. “He knows,” she said.
“Knows what?”
Lyra turned to him. “He knows. D'Pendul. He knows everything.” She already felt as if something thick and cold were strangling her neck.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, I'm sure.” Lyra sat heavily on the nearest seat and a moan rose from her throat. “He knows. Oh, God in Heaven, he knows! I am so sorry. I tried to deny it, but he already knew before he even started asking questions. I think he was just … toying with me. I guess he wanted to see my reaction.”
“And how did it end?” J'Kor said, taking the chair opposite.
“I asked if he was going to let me leave. And he did. He just stood there, staring at me like a creep, and I walked away. My lord, I have no idea what he is thinking. I have no idea what he is planning to do next!”
J'Kor was suddenly crouched beside her, a hand on her knee. “Lyra, I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath.�
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Lyra tried, but then the full enormity of the situation came crashing down in one devastating moment. “Oh, my lord! Oh no! I'm so sorry. D'Pendul also knows about you! He knows that you know about me. He knows you are helping me. You and the children might be in trouble, too!”
The Tohmu'vah was probably still safe. It was too important for God to let it fall into the wrong hands. And if, after all she could do in faith, Lyra was not able to fulfill her stewardship, she knew that somehow, God would prepare another way for its safe return to her people. But as for the J'Kor family … Tears welled up in her eyes. This family could end up toast in the wake of the situation. They may be Caldreen'ns, but they didn't deserve that.
“Shhhh,” he soothed, rubbing at her leg. Then she heard him break into a chuckle. “Lyra, you are such a character. You are more worried about me getting a reprimand than your own life.”
She wiped at a tear and sniffed. “We both know your punishment could be much more than a simple reprimand, my lord. You should turn me in while you still have the chance to look loyal.”
“I am no' going to do anything until I know better what needs to be done,” J'Kor said, his tone taking on an edge. “If he wanted to have you arrested, he would no' have let you walk away. Maybe you convinced him that you are reformed. You have been doing a great job convincing everyone else tonight.”
Lyra didn't tell him Mejhisk already had suspicions. He was right, anyway. There really wasn't anything to be done about D'Pendul until they understood better his intentions. But just sitting around, waiting for something awful to happen? How maddening!
J'Kor stood. “Come here, Sugarpip.”
He quietly pulled her up with him and took her in a warm embrace. “In case you have no' noticed,” he murmured into her ear. “I am no' ready to share you yet.”