Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

  “No!”

  “—how much I want to be with you,” he went on more insistently. “My life has been turned upside down and inside out over you, and still—”

  Lyra put her hands over her ears. “I don't want to hear—”

  “WHY NOT?”

  The words were left to hang, anything else he may have been about to say, forgotten.

  “Why … not?” he said again, much softer.

  He tried to reach for her, to stroke her brow like before, but Lyra pushed him away, blurting, “Because, the moment I met you, I have been trying so very hard not to fall in love with you and you keep making it excruciatingly difficult!”

  Lyra blinked—in absolute horror at what she had just admitted—as much to herself as him. No, it wasn't true! She saw J'Kor struggling to get over his own shock, but before he could say anything, she ducked past him and hurried away. Rejoin the gala. Find Sal and Maryn. Get a grip on yourself!

  Sidling by a group of guests, Lyra turned a corner, and nearly knocked right into a body coming the opposite way. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, glancing up.

  Lyra gasped at the face that looked down upon her. Shivers ran down her spine. She went weak in the knees. Holy Father of all! Was D'Pendul the only one not in attendance tonight?

  “Well, well! It looks like our paths have crossed again, after all,” schmoozed Captain Rookenik of the Fifth platoon, his smirk as wide as the Forkors.

  D'Pendul would have been preferable.

  Lyra froze before the tall, lean soldier outfitted in much the same dress uniform as J'Kor, his lips curling back behind large, wide teeth in a supercilious smile. This was the man responsible for Jon and her friends' deaths. He had attacked and massacred her people without so much as a second thought and Lyra felt sick just looking at him.

  “I must say, I am quite surprised to see you here,” Captain Rookenik observed. “I thought that Keeper was going to use you as her assistant.”

  With difficulty, Lyra found her voice. “I ended up being sold, sir.”

  Rookenik burst into laughter at her twist of fate while Lyra stood cursing the most emotionally charged, awful party she had ever attended. Really, Father? Really? Oh, just let me die now before things get any worse!

  “Is that so?” The young captain finally found control. “And to whom were you sold, I wonder. Anyone I know?”

  Lyra loathed that she had to keep speaking politely to this monster. “Lady J'Kor's son, sir,” she muttered. “Surely you know the family, seeing as how you are here in their home.”

  Another round of merry laughter. Evidently, Lyra had made his night with this unexpected meeting. She was dying to spit in his face.

  “Oh, the irony is just delightful,” he said, his shining eyes set too close to his beak of a nose. “Without the incident involving your people, I would no' have been promoted to captain and subsequently find myself here with you, enjoying the outstanding atmosphere in this fine place tonight.”

  “What do you mean, sir? I thought you were already a captain when you attacked us.”

  “I had just been promoted a week prior,” he said, sniffing with pride. “You see, I was the one that got the lead on where to find your settlement in the first place.”

  He WHAT?

  Lyra frantically gathered her chin up from her chest to ask the troublesome question that had been itching the back of her brain for over a month now. “What was the lead? We always have lookouts. We only speak to merchants we trust. We don't even allow open fires at night.”

  There were at least a dozen other rules and precautions they had always followed to not bring attention to themselves, as well—precautions regarding how they dressed when they entered civilization, which days were less populated for shopping at market, how much they spent on goods in one place, how many of them could travel inconspicuously together in public …

  “Oh, a young, enterprising lieutenant can hear quite a lot in the market by keeping his ear to the ground and being patient,” he boasted.

  “It was one of the merchants, wasn't it?” Lyra guessed sadly, mentally sifting through all the ones she thought had been sympathetic to their plight. “They pointed us out for a price. Or told you in which direction we were headed.”

  Rookenik's arrogant smile broadened. “Even better, actually. I happened to hear it from one o' your own while sitting quietly behind a storage barrel in plain clothes.” Then the line of his mouth turned bitter. “The men did no' laugh at my tactics anymore when I went to my commanding officer with directions that eventually brought us within a mile o' you.”

  One of their own? A careless Believer with a loose, flapping tongue had let themselves be overheard!

  Lyra racked her brain to recall who had gone on that last trip before the move. Who was the traitor?

  CHAPTER 19

  I knew it! I knew it! Bless the Mother, I knew it!

  Kade plopped onto the window bench, taking in a great breath of relief. He had been pretty sure. Her behavior with Shasmae at the house had hinted again and again that she really cared for him. However, it wasn't until she had said it so bluntly just now, that he was one hundred percent sure.

  It was a little scary, taking that leap of faith and admitting his feelings. They were new to him after these weeks of distraction. Only now did he understand that the hurt he'd felt from Lyra's attempt to run was simply because he'd fallen for her. And he had been so determined to go through the dawning with Shasmae that he almost hadn't recognized two very important things. One: It was driving Lyra crazy to see him with someone else. And two: That dawning for him had not been about interest, it was about spite.

  After that, everything about Lady Pryn was wrong—her speech, her dress, her comments, even how she looked in his home. Then later, in front of the fire, when he couldn't help but feel like he was betraying Lyra and glanced toward her room, he had caught her watching them. That was the eye opener. The look on Lyra's face. She wanted him, and Kade didn't want anyone else. It appeared Lyra was still not willing to come to terms with that yet, but it was the truth.

  Thank the moons for Shasmae's understanding when he gently pulled away and apologized that it was not working for him. She'd had every intention of going through with their plans. Why not? But as they spoke she admitted that, perhaps, it was not him, but the idea of him that had her infatuated all those years. She was an intelligent girl. Shasmae knew she was not really comfortable there in such modest accommodations … on the farm … with the animals. Now, that didn't mean she hadn't shed a tear or two of embarrassment. She was still young, but as Kade stood on his porch, watching her carriage drive off into the night, he knew she would be just fine.

  Then he had gone to bed feeling more at peace than he had in years. The only problem now was redeeming himself to Lyra and waiting her out.

  Today had gone even better than he dared hope. Tragic as it was, the experience with her at the Weet's had been most providential. He was able to be there for her and help her dig deeper into her amazing talent. The response he got returning her necklet was most encouraging, too. And it seemed she loved the dress. Bloody good momentum for just one day.

  Guests began to meander purposefully by, and with a start, Kade realized everyone was heading to dinner. He figured he would follow and find Lyra along the way, probably hooked up with Sal and Maryn. Eager as he was, however, Kade would give her plenty of space the rest of the night to prove his willingness to be patient. That's what love was, after all—putting the needs of another above your own.

  His best mate was already seated at one of the long tables set in close rows in Mother's reception room, but Lyra wasn't with them, and neither Sal nor Maryn had seen her since he had taken her from Malig'ahnt. Kade walked up and down the tables, searching, but several minutes later he had to conclude that Lyra was definitely not in the room. He checked the bathrooms, the halls. The first rally speakers were being introduced now. Still no Lyra.

  Kade grew concerned. Was Malig'ahn
t somehow involved in her disappearance? He peered back into the reception room and found Serpahn and company dining dégagé as they passed around sly remarks about other guests so unfortunate as to catch their eye. He seemed innocent enough—well, as innocent as Serpahn got.

  Maybe Lyra found a dark, quiet place in which to brood and think, just like she said she needed. Kade began a more thorough search of his mother's house.

  Sitting rooms. Storage closets. Office. Bedrooms. He was swearing to himself by the time he finished searching the storage pantry and all he came up with were several dusty bags of worm- infested grain that Cook had been neglecting for some time.

  “God o' Lyra,” he finally muttered, “if you care for her at all, help me find her. It is no' safe for her to be alone like this.”

  Standing dubiously in the middle of the kitchen, Kade suddenly remembered that he could widen his search to include the yard. If she wanted peace and quiet, outside was the better place to be. Then he made a mental note to start taking her tracker with him wherever they went.

  It didn't take long for Kade to search the courtyard and compact side gardens. He made it to the very back stone wall with no luck and was ready to swear again when he noticed the gardener's work shed in the corner partially concealed by hedges and vines. The door was ajar.

  “Lyra?”

  It was pitch black inside, but opening the door all the way allowed moonlight to spill in for several feet, illuminating a work table with drawers and shelves storing seeds and yard maintenance supplies on one side. On the other: a ladder, shovels, a push mower, and stacks of old ceramic pots.

  Something moved in the back—a flash of gold material reflecting the light.

  “Lyra?” Stepping in, Kade heard what sounded like mumbling coming from the back corner behind the table. “Sugarpip, I have been looking all over for you. I am sorry if I scared you earl—”

  There she was, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth in a rhythmic manner. But it was the combination of her tearstained cheeks, repetitive mumbling lips, and blank, far away expression that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

  “The winds across the northwest ridge are a pain, but … the glacier lake … I love the stroll through the yellow pine stand,” she muttered tonelessly as another tear ran down her cheek unnoticed.

  Kneeling in front of her, Kade took her by the shoulders. “Hey, Pip. Look at me. Can you look at me?”

  The rocking stopped and dead eyes turned on him. “The long valley to the shag pines … violet ryhst flower meadow.” Her voice quivered and her chin began to tremble. “Oh God!” she started to sob, “I am ssss-so sorry, my love. I am s-so sorr—!”

  Something was very, very wrong.

  “Lyra,” Kade used a thumb to tenderly stanch some wetness on one cheek, “what happened?”

  She clutched her knees tighter. Her dejected face stared blankly at his chest. “It was m-me. It was my f-f-fault,” she whispered haltingly. “I am the traitor.”

  “What was your fault?”

  “The … the captain of the platoon that … that killed everyone and c-captured me. He's here.”

  The rocking started up again and Kade's stomach bottomed out with his first inkling of what she may be talking about. “Oh, Sugarpip, I am so sorry.”

  “He was the o-one that heard me. I was just chat-ch-chatting with the grocer woman while our s-s-supplies were being load—“ She had to pause again to gain control of her voice. “I was comp—laining about the long t-trip home and … he was … he heard.” Lyra finally looked at him. “I led him to us! I killed Jon. Petrona. Horth … everyone!”

  Kade shook his head saying, “No, Lyra. That is no' true. You are no' responsible.”

  “I am! I wasn't careful enough. The grocer was just being nice and asking about our—our trip.”

  Kade nestled her heaving body against his chest and she crumpled into him, clutching his dress shirt like her life depended on it. Over racking sobs, he kissed her head, murmuring, “Lyra, it is okay. It is okay …”

  He was not very aware of the time passing as he comforted her there on the dusty floor among the cobwebs and peeling paint. Kade only knew she needed him and he would give. As long as it took.

  Eventually, the bustle of people leaving drifted in. The gala was over. Lyra had gone back to her dull staring at nothing with only the occasional heaving sigh to assure him she was still breathing. “Hey,” he said, shifting, “I think we should see about getting home.”

  Lyra was a mess—puffy eyes, runny makeup, a red, sniffly nose, hair escaping from its pinned arrangement—and she was still beautiful. She gave a tiny, forlorn nod.

  # # #

  Someone was carrying her. She was being put in a carriage.

  Lyra wasn't sure of the time. And she didn't care. Time wasn't important. Her life wasn't important.

  As Rookenik had started relating the phrases of the too specific route he had overheard, Lyra in horror mouthed the last phrase with him. Those had been her words.

  Oh God! Her words!

  It had been a lighthearted conversation with the kind grocer whose three children playfully hung about her. Lighthearted and totally innocent. Totally naive. A new wave of remorse overcame Lyra.

  “Enjoyed the wine a little too much, I am afraid,” she heard J'Kor explain to some curious guest.

  The snort of threshers. Then movement—lulling, repetitive. Lyra drifted in and out of consciousness. She was occasionally aware of J'Kor stroking her hair as she lay curled up on the seat, her head in his lap, but mostly she was aware of the voracious guilt that ate its way through her insides, consuming everything, then regurgitating her up and eating her all over again.

  After a long while, J'Kor shifted under her.

  Lifting her head to blearily peer around, Lyra found she was cuddled on him in his great room, lying on the sofa in the dark gray of early morning. J'Kor's top coat was removed with his arms curled over her as they slept. She lowered her head again, burying her face in the comforting warmth of his chest as memories of the night's events stirred afresh again. Another sob shook her and J'Kor woke.

  He stroked her head comfortingly until the wave of sadness eventually ebbed once again.

  “Sorry,” Lyra whispered. “You must be so tired of me.” She started to lift herself off him, but he resisted the attempt to pull away.

  “That is no' true,” he murmured, and Lyra did not have the resolve to try again.

  A minute later, she became aware of her gown's buttons getting undone down her back. Another minute later, she was on her feet, J'Kor coaxing the dress off. Then he was working his fingers through her hair, removing her pins.

  J'Kor took her to his bed, pulling back the covers and laying her down. Soft lips brushed gently over her forehead. “I will never tire o' you,” he whispered.

  She couldn't resist any longer. Lyra reached for him. She wanted him close. She wanted his mouth on hers, his heart pounding through her, skin against skin, the giddy heat of passion, anything besides this dull, chilling void of despair and emptiness.

  But J'Kor wrested himself from her grasp. Her hands were placed back at her sides. “Lyra, no.”

  “Why?” she whimpered.

  “You know why,” was his soft reply. “No' like this.” Then Lyra was left alone in the bedroom. Heartbroken. Guilt ridden. And now shamed.

  She had just thrown herself at him. And he had rejected her.

  Turning onto her side Lyra curled into a ball and cried herself to sleep.

  “Twitterbug, why won't you come to me?”

  Huddled on a dirt floor with her back against a dark corner, Lyra cringed from Jon's beckoning arms. “Jon, I am so sorry!” She could not bear to look at him.

  “Lyra, I don't blame you. None of the others do, either.” He squatted to her eye level. “We all make mistakes. It's part of our mortal inheritance. You know that.”

  But Lyra hid her face behind her arms. “But our mistakes do
n't usually kill the ones we love. How can I even try to repent of this one and make restitution for your life? For the lives of the others? What about their families?”

  “You can't,” he responded simply, honestly. “Not fully anyway, and those families will always feel that loss.” A lock of her hair began to get twirled slowly in his finger, but she shuddered in shame and it was dropped. “All you can do is continue forward in faithfulness to the best of your ability, and find out God's will for you.”

  She peeked up at Jon's perfectly formed features, no hint of the gashes and injuries he had sustained the last time she saw him alive remaining. Lyra reached doleful fingers to touch his jaw and a new, terrible thought struck her. “Oh my love, might I have been able to save you—heal you? If only I had known at the time.”

  His hand went over hers. “No, Twitterbug. My death was required for you to gain the full power of your gift.” He smiled sadly. “It was my time, anyway, for a number of reasons. This was only one of them.” Suddenly, Jon cocked his head like he'd heard something. Then he bent to kiss her softly. “Go discover some of the others. Kade is coming.”

  “Lyra?”

  A creak of the door. Morning light drifted in from the window.

  “I need to change,” J'Kor explained quietly as he entered.

  “Okay,” she answered weakly back, rolling to her other side, away from his wardrobe—and him. Lyra pulled the covers over her head. She was so ashamed. She was worn out. The pressing guilt was squeezing the life out of her, and Lyra wanted to hide in bed and sleep for a week.

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He left and another tear soaked into the threads of her pillow. She ought to get up and do something useful.

  Not now. Maybe later.

  Later, Lyra woke again. It was afternoon, and the children were home. She heard them bustling about, bringing their things in. Okay, she had to get out of bed now. Lyra dragged herself up and trudged to the closet where a brief glance into the vanity mirror revealed a slip of white sticking up from her bra.