To Keith's amusement, the artist did his work after using a topical
anesthetic, saying it was to prevent a flinch from spoiling the design.
Remaining still and with no more than minor sensations of pressure on
his face, though, seemed to be making him more receptive to what had to
be his thakur--the things he was feeling certainly couldn't have had
their origin in a properly-raised warrior!
For one thing, the idea of the Family's sexual activity no longer
bothered him, even with the certainty that it would include man-loving.
His thakur's approval and enjoyment of watching such things meant he
should as well, and he seemed to be making the adjustment. He might
not be able to take part himself just yet, though the men on his
thakur's team were beginning to seem more desirable . . . It was
generous of the gods, he thought, to make even such a drastic change to
his thakur's values and standards so easy for him.
Eventually the artist was finished, and handed Keith a mirror. "What
do you think?"
Keith studied his cheek for a moment, then nodded. "Your skill is
worthy of my thakur. I thank you."
"You're quite welcome." The artist turned, bowed to Cortin. "By Your
Excellency's leave?"
"Granted; Lieutenant Degas will take you to your home or your studio,
as you prefer." She turned to Degas. "Tony, give him his fee--plus a
bonus for the house call and inconvenience. Double should be about
right."
"I'd say so," Degas agreed. "Maybe a little extra since Keith's happy
with it?"