Before they could argue further, Ambo Votny waddled up, sweat pouring from his florid face. “You are needed in the circle.”
“Why are my mother’s—my—advisors meeting at this cold hour?” Another chill shivered down her spine. They wouldn’t be meeting on this tragic day unless a dire problem presented.
Ambo shot Sterlave a glare, as if asking him to step back so he could speak privately, but he refused.
Kasmiri took Sterlave’s hand. “He is my consort and is now a part of the circle whether you like it or not. To show him disrespect is to show disrespect to me.”
With a harrumph, Ambo offered a slight apologetic bow, then said, “Thousands of villagers surround the palace.”
“They have come to mourn my mother,” Kasmiri offered.
“They have been arriving since last night and I doubt they are clairvoyant.” Ambo appeared truly stricken. His massive eyes were bigger than normal and all his chins quivered with his pulse. “Not only are they destroying the crops around the palace, but they are chanting something about the living gods.”
Dumbfounded, Kasmiri shook her head as if that would clear away the confusion. “What living gods?”
“I believe they are speaking of myself and Chur.”
Even from far down the hall, Enovese’s voice rang clearly, without arrogance or pride.
“What are you doing here?” Ambo’s disgust was palpable. He snapped his fingers at the guards, but Kasmiri held them back with a flick of her hand.
Moving so elegantly in a gauzy black dress that she practically floated toward them, Enovese stopped before Kasmiri and bowed with the grace of a servant.
“You call yourself a god, then try to show respect to me?” Kasmiri wanted to take her harsh words back because now she understood the incredible rush of power she felt when she grabbed Enovese’s arm last night.
“I am not your enemy.” Enovese offered out her hand but Kasmiri refused.
“What do you want?”
Serenely, Enovese folded her hands together. “I want to help you.”
On the tip of her tongue rested a vile accusation, but she swallowed the bitter remark. She had vowed to change her ways, and now that she wore the mantle of empress, she must put aside her personal issues and concentrate on what was best for the empire.
“How can you help me?”
The twin suns, Tandalsul, slipped behind the Onic Mountains, turning the sky a soft purple. Kasmiri, Sterlave, Chur, and Enovese stood on a sweeping balcony that oversaw the lands around the palace. From this spot, many an empress had read proclamations, but today was unique. Even Undanna, Kasmiri’s protocol liaison, had to refer to her massive tome to find the proper sequence of events. Nothing in the book covered how an empress should introduce living gods to her people.
None of her advisors could offer a suggestion as to why the people had come. Visions from their soothsayers or elders was the agreed-upon explanation. Kasmiri decided the why didn’t matter. Now that they were here, the only issue that mattered was what to do with them.
If Kasmiri rejected Chur and Enovese, there would be an uprising. If she accepted them, she too would have to show deference. A flash of anger for her mother consumed her. How convenient that Clathia died right before everything fell apart. Had her mother indeed committed suicide rather than deal with what she knew was coming? The Onic Empire would never be the same after this longest day and night.
From where the four of them stood, the audience below could not see them. The people continued to chant softly while they huddled in blankets around massive fires. Most of the crops had been stripped for the harvest and what little remained, they consumed. With no regard, they trampled the fields, laying waste to generations of meticulously maintained gardens.
Kasmiri almost wept at the damage. By their actions, they would anger the gods, for all of this was in homage to them. Apparently, the people were only concerned with these new gods, these living gods; two people who through a forbidden relationship changed the world forever.
From behind a privacy curtain, Ambo had briefed her as she changed out of her mourning clothes and into a grand crimson gown. He explained that somehow, Chur and Enovese’s bonding elevated them, transforming them into gods. He had no explanation for how, only that it had happened. Aware of this profound change, Clathia knew she could not exile them, so she set them up in one of the grandest suites for visiting dignitaries. She lavished them with clothing and luxuries, all in the hopes of incurring their favor. Ambo had no idea what they wanted. Kasmiri rounded on him then, for neither he nor any of her advisors had bothered to simply ask!
Chur and Enovese waited outside Kasmiri’s dressing room and when she asked, the answer startled her. They wanted nothing for themselves. All they wanted was to change the procedures of the Harvest ritual. Unwilling to accept their lack of avarice, she questioned them in detail. The more she learned, the more she wished she did not know. In her ignorance, she had been blissful.
“Over thousands of seasons, the magistrate and others have perverted the prophecy, taking the empire away from a righteous path and into blasphemy.” Chur kept his voice level, but his face glowed with conviction. He believed his words were truth and he would die to defend them.
“Blasphemy?” Sterlave asked before Kasmiri could do so.
“At the end of the Harvest ritual, the elements of the male and female Harvesters are combined to create issue. These children are borne by tanists, who are then ritualistically slaughtered to bring forth paratanists.”
Shocked by the grotesque information, Kasmiri couldn’t speak. However, the information explained why Enovese looked like Arianda, because she was her child, created from this ritual. Kasmiri thought that also explained the tension between Arianda and Clathia. Clearly, Arianda had figured out what happened at the end of the Harvest ritual and confronted Clathia. How many other children did Arianda have toiling as servants in the tanist house? Kasmiri’s gaze flew to Chur. How many children did he have?
“None. Before my transformation I was unable to have children.”
An intimate glance passed between him and Enovese. Kasmiri surmised they were either pregnant or trying. Jealousy and fear surged. What if their child came before hers? Would they try to take the throne from her? Danger now surrounded her at every turn and she didn’t know whom to trust.
“But how did this happen? Why would they do this?” Sterlave asked.
Appalled that her own people had devised this disgusting procedure, Kasmiri was almost afraid to learn any more.
“In the days of the ancients, the male and female Harvesters would mate after the Harvest. If successful, their offspring, a paratanist, was revered and worshiped as a living god. This child had as much power as the empress.” Chur flashed Kasmiri a sharp look. “Now you know why many sought to change the ritual. They did not want to share their authority.”
“And now you wish for her to do so?” Ambo snarled. “Paratanists are servants! They are not worthy to touch the robe of the empress, let alone rule by her side.”
Rather than wilting in the face of such vulgar disregard, Enovese tilted her nose, secure in the knowledge that the gods had chosen her, no matter what Ambo said.
“I have warned you before not to denigrate my bondmate, Ambo.” Chur stood, towering over the magistrate. His body sparkled and snapped with energy as if his skin could no longer contain his power.
Ambo took two steps back.
Chur’s hand shot out, wrapping around his throat.
“Stop!” Kasmiri did not need another round of drama. A throbbing headache threatened to migrate through her entire body.
Chur released him and Ambo gasped for air.
“Leave us, Ambo. I have no further need of your services.”
Ambo looked to argue the point, but the fire in her gaze caused him to back away with his hands held up defensively.
Once he left, Kasmiri turned to Chur and Enovese. “I apologize if he offended you in any way
.” She forced the diplomatic words around the lump in her throat.
Enovese nodded. “You have no control over what that insufferable man says.”
“Actually, I do. If he values his position, he’ll learn to control himself, or face the blocks.” Kasmiri didn’t care if she sounded harsh. She had to get a handle on her advisors or they would ruin her empire. “There are many issues facing us, but first, we will handle the villagers who have come to worship you.”
Chur chuckled. The low rumbling was so inappropriate Kasmiri wanted to slap him.
Chur held up his hand as if to stop her. “I apologize, Kasmiri, for I do not laugh at your predicament, but at what you said. The people have not come to worship us. They have come to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” Kasmiri asked.
“The dawn of a new empire.”
With that thought weighing on her mind, Kasmiri moved to the edge of the balcony. A hush fell over the crowd.
“My people, I welcome you on this most profound occasion. Today Empress Clathia ascended to Jarasine. I would ask a moment of silence for my mother.”
All she could hear was the snap-crackle of fires and a distant hum of waves upon the shore of the Valry Sea. That they showed respect to her mother put to rest her fears of a violent uprising. Perhaps Chur was correct that they were here only to celebrate the new empire and not to destroy the old one.
“My mother’s untimely death has thrust the mantle of responsibility onto my shoulders. I will uphold the laws of our land, perform the rituals to appease the gods, and provide a forum for the people so that I can respond directly to any grievances.”
At this last Ambo grumbled, not loud enough for the people below to hear, but loud enough for her and all on the balcony to know his displeasure. Afraid of not only ruling but also facing a multitude of changes, Kasmiri did not need dissension in her ranks. Ambo had been the magistrate since her grandmother’s rule. Perhaps the time had come for the seventy-season-old man to step down.
“The Onic Empire follows the ways of the ancients. Their rituals have been handed down to us through thousands of seasons. It has come to my attention that the empire has moved away from the vital essence of those rituals. To remind us of our true path, the gods have sent two heralds.”
Kasmiri turned and motioned for Chur and Enovese to join her at the edge of the balcony, one on each side of her. When the audience saw them, they moved en masse to their feet, cheering and shouting until Chur lifted his hand. Immediately, they settled down.
“We thank you for your warm greeting.” His rumbling voice carried easily without amplification. Dressed in a pair of loose-fitting black trousers with a sword at his side, his bare chest gleaming in the fading light, he appeared as a benevolent warrior god. “Changes have already begun, but the greatest changes will come from you.”
Mumbled confusion greeted his words and a wave of panic stiffened Kasmiri’s spine. Was he going back on his word? Would he incite them to riot? She thought of the fastest path to her mother’s Golden Bird. If things got out of hand, she would grab Sterlave and fly away.
“Dreams and visions brought you here. You turn to us looking for answers, but those answers lie within you.” Chur paused dramatically. “Within each of you lies the truth of the gods. You know what is right, what is wrong, what is just. Return to your villages and spread the word that the gods have heard your prayers.”
11
The puny servant was no match for Loban’s strength. Easily, he captured the struggling woman, threw her upon the table where she folded her mistress’s clothing, yanked up her dress, and ripped away her undergarments.
When she drew a deep breath to scream, he shoved the ripped mondi fabric into her mouth. “I don’t need a fancy room to perform the ritual. I can accept your sacrifice here in the servant’s tishiary.”
Loban had discovered the tishiary wing of the palace by accident, but once he realized every servant came here to bathe, wash their own or their owner’s clothing, get supplies, or exchange gossip, he haunted the place, hiding himself behind fabric-shrouded walls until he learned their rhythms, whom they worked for, and when they were likely to be alone.
The woman below him only came at sunset. He didn’t know her name, not that he cared, but he knew she served one of the upper elite for the clothing she washed was sapphire blue. Only the highest of the high wore deep jewel tones. This servant shunned the other servants, not from hubris, but because she was often the subject of their most vicious gossip. They said she obtained her high position by poisoning those before her, not enough to kill them, but just enough to make them ill so she could rise to the occasion and prove herself worthy to serve better in their stead.
Loban cared no more about the truth of that tale than he cared to know her name. All he needed from her was her sacrifice. He didn’t even care whether she was a virgin. Chur Zenge ascended through the willing acceptance of virginity, but Loban knew he would find his power by the forceful taking of the spirit.
Rape empowered him.
Loban knew he would rise to dark power by stealing that which none would willingly give: their soul.
With rough, calloused hands, he grasped her trembling knees and forced her thighs apart. When the fabric clung, he shoved the dress up to her hips, exposing her pale and quivering limbs. He would have ripped the dress off, but she had nothing else to wear and he didn’t want any evidence of his activities, not that anyone would believe a lowly servant. Loban knew he could Harvest all the servants he wanted without fear of reprisal, for in the Onic Empire, servants were the lowest of the low. Their owners never troubled themselves about their feelings, their needs, or even their health. When one servant died, another of their breed took their place. Loban could conduct his Harvest ritual in private and keep his Harvest secret. The servants wouldn’t tell, and even if they did, no one would believe them.
Secrecy would only feed his sinister power.
Hungry eyes examined the thick black curls that covered her sex. With a grunt, he slid her forward, placing her left foot against the hilt of his pathetic stolen dagger. He’d tried to find a sword similar to the Harvester’s, but he’d had to settle for this. Before she could wriggle away, he lifted her right foot to his shoulder until her leg was almost straight against his bare chest. When she struggled, he slapped her hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to knock her unconscious. He needed her awake.
Loban spoke in her language because he knew she wouldn’t understand the ancient tongue. “By might of the blade I claim that which belongs to me.”
The woman only gazed at him, her eyes confused and darting about as if seeking help. As a servant, she would have no knowledge of the Harvest ritual.
“I’m going to remove the fabric and you are going to repeat after me. Do you understand?”
Tears leaked from her narrow brown eyes as she stared blankly at him.
He slapped her and asked the question again.
This time she nodded vigorously.
Loban removed the wad of fabric from her mouth and told her the words he wanted her to say.
Confused, she stuttered out the words, but when he lifted his hand ready to slap her again, she breathlessly said, “I give myself to you.” She’d left out the word “freely” so he slapped her until she gasped out the lie, “I freely give myself to you!”
Sharp, hot spikes of arousal surged down to his prick, swelling the tight flesh until his cock stood rigid against the makeshift codpiece. When he leered down at her, devouring her confusion and fear, she tried to move her head away, but he clutched her chin and ordered her to look at him. Controlling her stimulated him beyond his wildest fantasies. She was his first sacrifice, but he knew she wouldn’t be his last.
Loban yanked the codpiece aside. Unlike the Harvester, he didn’t prepare himself or her with the soothing estal oil. Why cushion his possession when he wanted to feel her stretch to accommodate him? After this, she would belong to him. No matter who too
k her, or how tenderly they used her, she would always think of him, and this singular moment. Forever after she belonged to him.
Positioning himself to her entrance, he glared down at her, then shoved forward as hard as he could. Narrow eyes went shockingly wide as her body bucked against him and the table. Anticipating her scream, he covered her mouth with his hand, leaned near, and whispered, “Remember, you asked for this, you freely gave yourself to me.”
Below his hand, she shook her head. He’d forced her to submit, but he didn’t care. He would have taken her had she said the words or not.
“You belong to me.” He rammed himself deeply into her, just as the Harvest ritual demanded. She was so tight and dry that her passage scraped painfully along his prick, but he didn’t stop until he’d buried himself balls deep. “Only me.”
Once he’d pushed fully home, he withdrew, glancing down just long enough to see her blood coating his shaft.
“Take pride, for you are the first of many I will harvest.” He let her legs free and helped her from the table. She moved as if to run, but he grasped her shoulder, pulling her against his body, nestling his stiff prick between the tender slit of her bottom. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you and all those you love. Do you understand?”
She nodded, gathered the sapphire blue clothing, and then departed the tishiary on wobbly legs.
Loban realized two things: One was that he would have to find some kind of oil to prevent his prick from being rubbed raw because it smarted now after only one sacrifice. Two was that he had no paratanist to clean or anoint him. He thought briefly of commandeering a slave to perform those duties, but that could lead to gossip that would expose his plan. In the end, he decided he would have to minister to himself. Let the official Harvester have all the accoutrements and luxuries. He would revert to a pure austerity that would only bring him to the gods faster. They would see that he was far more worthy than spoiled Chur.
Loban snuck back along the billowing curtains to the bathing unit. There, he washed himself and applied a generous amount of oil, the kind the servants used to massage their wealthy owners. He leaned back to wait for his next sacrifice. Within minutes, a lone male servant exited the bath, drying his hair with a towel. The man was small and so delicate of features he almost didn’t look masculine but for his flaccid penis.
Dark Harvest Page 12
