The words. During the ritual when it was time for him to climax, Enovese would ready the chalice and speak three words spaced with deliberately tight strokes that always catapulted him over the edge. She had used those words during the Harvest to push him and herself to climax, but he had no idea that all along she’d found great pleasure in pleasing him.
Even though the long day began to take a toll on him, he found he did not want to sleep, not just yet. Rolling Enovese close, he kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “Tell me how one becomes a paratanist.”
4
“I was forced to my role with no option of anything else,” Enovese explained. Where Harvesters could come from any social class and decided if they wanted to vie for the position, the magistrate picked a paratanist at birth by a complicated ritual shrouded in so much mystery she’d still not discovered the details.
As Enovese explained this to Chur, his face darkened. “You never knew your mother or father?”
She shook her head. “Despite what I have read about the process, I cannot believe my parents eagerly handed me to the magistrate shortly after my birth so I could be raised in the tanist house.” Enovese refused to accept that her mother and father would willingly let her go into a life of servitude. She believed there was something dark in that selection, something deliberately kept hidden, because to expose the truth to the light would destroy the myth. Just as all Harvesters underwent what she called the realization, she thought so too did a paratanist. The realization came when Enovese understood there was no glory in her role. She was a servant, and her servitude would not end until the day she died. By her very station, she would die a virgin. Enovese had no choice in the matter.
Enraged when she discovered the truth, she vowed that one way or another she would not die a virgin. She had accomplished her goal, but Chur had not claimed her as bondmate. All of her carefully laid plans had ended with Chur boldly demanding her as his bondmate. She knew exactly what she would do when he did. Enovese knew exactly what she would wear when he did. Problem was, Chur refused to acknowledge that he’d even harvested her, let alone stand up and claim her. Enovese didn’t know what to do.
By law, by ritual, by the very myth of the Harvester, Chur could stay sequestered in his rooms for a season. By her station, she would be bound to stay there with him. If Chur refused to acknowledge that he’d harvested her, Enovese couldn’t claim that he had. With her word against his, Chur would win. What she had to do now was convince him that they belonged together.
He asked what it was like in the tanist house and she tried to convey how though women of all ages filled the simple structure, she often felt alone, but more so isolated.
“There were many women, but only the tanists were allowed to speak. I was trained not to speak unless spoken to, then to use an economy of words.” A memory flooded her mind’s eye and she flinched. “I remember one girl stuttered and the tanist slapped her face again and again, as if she were determined to slap the stutter out of the terrified girl. The blows only intensified her stutter, and eventually that girl disappeared. I never saw her again. I never asked what happened to her, for a paratanist does not question the tanist.”
“They abused you.”
“Not me, not physically, but verbally—” Enovese fell back into that time quoting the endless repetition of her tanist’s words, “If careful instructions do not bring the desired result, then physical punishment will.” Enovese met his gaze. Chur’s eyes of summer sky opened to her. Clouds darted here and there, but below she found acceptance. His upbringing had been very different from hers, but until now, he probably did not understand just how different. Duty burdened him as duty burdened her, but he’d chosen to take on that duty whereas she had not.
“I am not unintelligent, Chur. If my choice is to obey to avoid physical punishment, then I will obey. I read, I studied, and I became the best paratanist I could be because that was my wisest choice. The only way I could escape my fate was to embrace my position and then fight from within. I am not impulsive. I am patient. I chose you out of many. I would have chosen you out of few. For Chur, I know in my heart that you are my bondmate.”
Enovese realized she spilled her soul out to a man who owed her nothing. Chur had every right to be furious with her, and if he chose to, he could literally destroy her.
Chur held her gaze and frowned. The scar that twisted his face stood stark against the muted light that spilled across his features. “Tell me one thing before I sleep.”
Enovese smiled and smoothed the edge of his lip and up along the scar that crossed his face. “Only one?”
“Only one thing.” Chur captured her gaze and his powder-blue eyes begged louder than any voice. “Tell me true if you wanted me for me or if you wanted me for I could save you.”
With a sigh of understanding, Enovese cupped his face. “I swear that I wanted you as a man. Not as a Harvester, not as a tool to perfect my escape, but as a man, because you, Chur Zenge, you are my bondmate. Even should you decide to cast me aside, I will still claim you as my bondmate in my heart.”
Her honesty only troubled him. His gaze lowered and he pulled away. “Do not ask too much of me.” After a moment of hesitation, he met her gaze. “I will not claim you as bondmate, Enovese, for I do not know you beyond what we shared tonight. A singular experience and one I will treasure, but I will not base my heart on one night of sex. For we both know sex weakens the body and spirit.”
He said the words by rote, for she had learned them too. The craving for sex was normal, but to indulge only weakened one both physically and mentally. A Harvester and a paratanist rose above base desire by the ritual. The fact that they’d both broken the ritual and enjoyed the physical aspects meant only that they were weak. They would overcome such weakness by being dutiful.
Enovese knew that above all else Chur considered his duties. He took his position seriously. He never missed a practice, a function, or a ritual. Chur lived and breathed the role of Harvester. When he felt on shaky ground, he lapsed back into the rigidly defined limits of his duty.
Cupping her hand to his face, Enovese said, “I do not ask you to do anything. I have spoken my claim. You have no obligation to do the same. I ask only that you give me a chance to show you why I have claimed you as my bondmate.”
Chur frowned again and rolled onto his back. “Sex will not sway me.”
Lifting up so she could look into his eyes, Enovese said, “I have never, nor will I ever, attempt to sway you with sex. By my own volition, I will gladly, eagerly, and most wantonly engage in sex with you, Chur Zenge. If you think I am doing so in order to inveigle you to my whims, then you must stop. If you cannot stop yourself, then ask me to stop. If you cannot manage that, then I humbly suggest that you might actually want me to do whatever it is that I am doing.”
Her impassioned speech compelled a sleepy smile. “Yes, my wanton virgin. In the future, I promise that if you are forcing me to do your lusty bidding, I will promptly stop you.” He lifted up and kissed the tip of her nose. “Do not think that I’m dismissing you or your concerns. Understand that you have tormented me for seasons with your rituals, I suffered my third Harvest, and my body feels like a wrung-out harshan.”
Enovese giggled, for a harshan was a soft towel used to wipe the sweat from his brow during weapon practice. She nestled down beside him but felt instantly alert when he stiffened.
He said softly, “You will not sleep beside me. You will go to your room.” Chur didn’t ask, he didn’t order, he simply stated his wishes.
Without a word, Enovese left his bed and entered her room. Not even a room, just a closet adjacent to his bedroom. Her narrow bed was cold, but she snuggled into the bedcovers, pulling them over her head. She didn’t know if she could ever convince Chur that her feelings were genuine. She didn’t know if she could help him overcome his seasons of indoctrination. More than anything, Enovese didn’t know how she could continue to be Chur’s paratanist after confessing her heart.
5
Rich aromas of seared meats and baking breads woke Chur. His paratanist created the customary huge morning-after meal and his stomach growled with anticipation. He stretched. Even after a full night of sleep, fatigue crushed his body all the way to his bones. Without lifting his head, he glanced around, but he didn’t see Enovese. Relief came with a tinge of guilt; he wasn’t sure exactly what he would say when he saw her. A childish part of him wanted things to go back to the way they were, but his logical mind knew they could never go back. His relationship with his paratanist would never be the same. She was no longer a nameless servant; she was a woman named Enovese. A woman with the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen.
He rose and showered self-concisely. Was Enovese watching from one of her alcoves? He wondered why such a thought would bother him now when it never had before. When he finished he almost called her out to oil him, for the regrowing hair began to itch unbearably; instead, he slathered himself up. Perversely, he took great care with his genitals, lingering over every touch in case she was watching. Her potential surveillance of his act caused a bizarre thrill to harden him fully. He stopped before he lost control, but also he was sore from yesterday; so many harvests had rubbed his cock raw. The oil helped to soothe the hurt, but his touch wasn’t nearly as comforting as Enovese’s.
He wrapped a black astle loincloth around his hips, then ate until his belly almost burst. By the time he finished, Enovese had changed the sheets on his bed. She knew him well. All he would do today was eat and sleep. Chur crawled between fresh linens, flopped onto his back, and dozed.
Hours later, he woke to more cooking aromas. Complex herbs and spices caused his mouth to water. He stretched. When he moved to rise, he noticed Enovese stood at his bedside, still as a statue. The nondescript beige robe covered her, but he pictured her as she had been last night, naked, with her glorious hair unbound and her striking eyes open, passionate, and wanton. He smiled at the image, but his pleasure faded when he noticed she held the ceremonial chalice.
“Explain.”
“Last night we did not complete the Harvest ritual.”
Her voice reverted to that sexless, emotionless drone of a paratanist. Despite his longing for their relationship to return to normal, he enjoyed her real dulcet voice far more than the false tone of her dutiful voice.
Flippantly, he said, “I changed the finale, but we did complete the ritual.”
“By the ritual you should have ejaculated into the chalice and I should have taken the cup to the magistrate this morning.”
Her informative attitude annoyed him as much as her answer surprised him: Why would the magistrate want that? Several odd images floated in his mind, the worst of which was that the magistrate drank the contents of the chalice. Chur shivered in revulsion. The current magistrate, Ambo Votny, was a short man with a florid face, a bulbous nose, and a distended belly. All Chur knew about Ambo was the man had a jovial attitude from too much drink and an unfortunate habit of picking his nose and then wiping the contents on his trousers. As the Harvester, Chur had attended many formal functions; he could always tell how long Ambo had been there by how many snot swipes decorated his uniform. Repulsion always caused Chur to stand well away from Ambo, for there were times when Ambo would be so inebriated he would wipe his nasal deposits on another.
“For what possible reason would the magistrate want that?”
“I know not why he wants the chalice, only that he does. If I do not deliver the cup to the temple, I will be in violation of my duties.” Ever precise and obedient, Enovese answered, then bowed her cowl-covered head.
It was then Chur realized that perhaps Enovese understood that last night should not have happened. Perhaps she too wanted to return to the narrow confines of her role. “If you fail in your duty you will be punished?”
“Yes.”
“What if you return the chalice empty?”
After a long pause, Enovese answered, “The magistrate will punish us both.”
With a sigh, Chur stood and removed his loincloth, but his mind would not stop gnawing at the question of why the magistrate, or anyone else for that matter, would want such a sample from him. However, once Enovese began to tease and torment his cock with her skilled hands, all thoughts left his mind. Aware of how sore he was, Enovese used feather-light strokes that aroused yet soothed him. Unlike last night, her movements were clinical, ritualistic, and utterly unemotional.
He wanted to push the hood away so he could see her face. He refrained. Perhaps it was for the best that they remained separated by duty. Determined, he closed his eyes and let the pressure mount. Chur forced himself not to think of the hands around his swollen cock as her hands; he thought only that hands other than his teased him. Three tight strokes and three magical words caused him to climax, but not with the intensity of last night. Nothing could compare to how her lips had caressed his shaft or the way her eyes fully captured his attention. Despair tugged at him, for he would probably never experience a climax like that again.
Shrouded in her robe, Enovese rose and bowed to him. She washed her hands, placed the chalice in a Onic box lined with black astle, and then left, presumably for the temple on the lower floor.
After he killed the last Harvester, Chur went to the temple for the official inauguration. He remembered a massive room shrouded in heavy fabrics, sparse lighting crystals of azure blue, and a stench of cloyingly sweet herbs. He hadn’t paid much attention to the statues and artwork for he was still riled from battle rage. Mainly, he remembered thinking it was odd that such a large room could feel so unbearably small. He felt giant sized, as if he dwarfed the entire palace. He remembered little of what they said or what he signed. He had been relieved when the ceremony was complete and he could leave. Chur simply could not breathe in the temple. Every wall crushed in on him and he barely managed not to run away, let alone stand for his indoctrination.
Alone, he found his rooms lonely for the first time. He showered again, smoothed his itchy skin with a scented lotion rather than the oil, changed his loincloth, and then ate from the warming platters Enovese had left on the table. As always, the food was excellent. She knew exactly what he enjoyed and how he wanted his food prepared; seared crispy skin on the meat and the softest cloud puff of bread, but still…something was missing. No matter how much he ate, he did not feel sated.
He practiced with the dantaratase, a slender staff as tall as he was, but his movements felt awkward and unbalanced. Reverting to his training, Chur took deep breaths to center his bodyline; yet again, he felt unstable. An agitated unease permeated his entire body causing him to feel uncomfortable within his own skin.
Next, he tried kintana, an ancient art of self-defense that used flowing movements to calm the mind and body. After an hour of rigidly focused concentration, he finally found his center. Never had it taken him so long to quiet himself. Almost as soon as he found his calm, he lost most of it when he wondered what was taking Enovese so long.
He thought back to the other Harvests, but he couldn’t remember how long it took her to deliver the chalice. Frankly, he couldn’t remember because he’d never paid any attention. He had no idea the goblet went somewhere. He thought it was simply ceremonial. The more he thought about why someone would want the contents of that cup, the more agitated he became. What possible things could they learn from his sperm? The first and most obvious was his fertility. Was it in case he impregnated one of his Harvests they could use it as a comparison to determine fatherhood? He shook his head. If he remembered correctly, during his inauguration, some clause forbid him from ever having to suffer sanctions of any sort if a child came of the Harvest ritual. Chur thought they called it immunity. He would have to ask his paratanist.
As if he summoned her, Enovese entered. She slipped her sandals off and left them by the door.
“I wish to speak to you.” Chur paced the length of the main room while Enovese stood statue-still. “Has a Harvester ever produced a child from
the Harvest?”
“I know not. I know a virgin has never lodged a claim against a Harvester, but that doesn’t mean a Harvester has not fathered a child. However, such an event would be unlikely as estal oil is a powerful spermicidal.”
Chur considered for a moment, but this information only prompted more questions. “Then why would they offer me immunity if a child came of the Harvest ritual?”
Enovese paused for a moment, and then answered, “The immunity clause is not for you, but for the child. You have no right to make a claim to a child produced during the Harvest.”
Again, her answer only prompted more questions to swirl in his mind. Why would they be concerned about such an event if the event were unlikely to occur? A sudden insight caused him to blurt, “At the end, when you prepare me for the chalice, the estal oil has been removed.”
“Yes.” Enovese sounded somewhat bored.
“So it would be a viable sample.”
“Yes.” She no longer sounded bored but speculative.
Another thought caused the regrowing hair on the back of his neck to stiffen. “You and I, when we broke the ritual, we did not use the oil when we…”
Her rigid posture slumped, but she offered him no answer for he had not asked a question.
“Remove your hood and look at me.”
With a trembling hand, she pushed the hood back. She met his gaze, appearing both beautiful and tormented.
“Did you try to trick me into impregnating you?”
Shocked by his accusation, she blurted, “No!” Enovese shook her head. “I would never do that to you.” Strands of her bound hair caught in the edges of the hood, glistening in the light. Her hair was the most dazzling mix of harvest colors.
“Then why are you crying?”
She wiped the tears away but refused to answer, nor would she meet his gaze. He pelted her with questions, yet she remained steadfast in not answering. Her insubordination infuriated him. In desperation, he threatened her. “I can have you cast out. I could have you exiled to the harsh lands in Rhemna. Barbaric and brutal, I’m told.”
Wicked Harvest Page 4
