“You don’t understand. When she tried to force me into bonding, I pretended to be interested in another woman, an older woman, who actually turned out to be Enovese’s mother.”
His eyes went wide in the dark. He desperately wanted to ask how far the pretending went, but Kasmiri rushed on, “Not that we ever did anything other than kiss, and the woman, she was just using me for her own scheme anyway. No one got hurt, except my mother.”
“Kasmiri—”
“When that didn’t work, I decided that I would select my own bondmate, not leave it up to her, so I picked Chur. I stole his sword in an effort to force him to select me at the Harvest. When he refused, I placed it on the consort throne. My mother thought he was laying claim to her, but in the end, she did as I knew she would: Clathia ordered Chur to select me or she would kill his chosen.”
That explained why Kasmiri was so shocked and angry when Chur didn’t select her. She thought her plan was foolproof.
“All I’ve ever done was cause my mother pain.” Kasmiri burst into tears.
Sterlave held her, rocking her gently, letting her cry herself out. “Kasmiri, whatever you did, your mother forgave you, because that’s what mothers do. They love their children no matter what.” He had heard tales of men who raped, murdered, and stole, and their mothers still loved them. “Someday, our children will do something foolish or even harmful, and you and I will forgive them. We’ll love them in spite of what they do.”
“What if I don’t?” she asked, injecting ice into her tone. “What if I can’t love them to begin with?”
“Every mother loves her own children.”
“No, they don’t. Fathers don’t, so who’s to say mothers do?”
Sterlave was suddenly very lost. He thought he understood what tormented her, but there was more going on than just the loss of her mother. Had her father rejected her? If that was the basis for part of this, it made sense that she would be afraid of him abandoning her too.
“I don’t even like children.” She sniffed while wiping her tears away. “They’re loud, and all they do is defecate and cry.”
“Eventually they stop,” he said, trying his best to cajole her. “Then they totter about and get into everything. Then they get old enough to talk back.”
“See? Are any of those good things?”
“But then, sometimes they look at you with such love it breaks your heart and makes all of the trauma worth it.” He’d only seen this on the outside looking in. He’d envied those kids whose mothers and fathers loved them. Often, he pretended that he had that support, but then, he always had to go home to his father.
She went stiff in his arms. “That’s what I mean—my mother didn’t love me, she left me without a word of explanation and dumped a world of problems in my lap!”
“I don’t know why she didn’t tell you. Maybe she was ashamed. Maybe she was afraid you would have stopped her. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Kasmiri, there are a hundred explanations. But even if she did leave an explanation, it wouldn’t change what is. She’ll still be gone. You’ll still be here.” He wondered if his words were any comfort at all.
“Of course I’m here, I’m not a coward like her. I wouldn’t take the easy way out.”
She vacillated between anger and regret, but mixed up in all her emotions loomed her fear of children and her own worries about being a mother. In that moment, he wished he had some kind of manual so he would know the right thing to do, the right thing to say. Maybe Undanna, with her big book of protocol, could help. He doubted it. Every person, every situation, would be different. All he could do was his best.
“So much has changed in a very brief time.” He nuzzled her neck and kissed the curve of her ear. “You became a citizen, bonded, lost your mother, and gained an empire. Give yourself time to let it all sink in.”
“Don’t forget my duty to breed and work out some kind of deal with the two living gods.”
He couldn’t see her, but he knew she’d rolled her eyes along with that tiny shake of her head.
“Yes, that too, but take it one day at a time. You don’t have to fix everything tonight, or even tomorrow. Don’t be afraid to ask for help from people with more knowledge than you. You have advisors, so use them. And most importantly, don’t be afraid to lean on me.”
She held her breath for a long time, then finally asked, “Will you be there to hold me up?”
He cupped her chin, exerting gentle pressure until she looked up. Her eyes were so wide and hopeful they touched him deep inside. Softly, he swore, “I won’t let you down.”
Clanging alarms woke Kasmiri out of a sound sleep. Sterlave sat up, taking her with him since she dozed draped across his chest. He told her to stay, then leapt out of bed.
She lay back with an indulgent grin. He was such a man of action. When he kicked the door in last night, his power had aroused her despite her exhaustion. He was a man who wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. Even her. She was proud and a little bit afraid all at the same time. Keeping a handle on such a determined man would be difficult, if not impossible.
However, he’d been more than just powerful last night, he’d been there for her emotionally, and she didn’t think many men could do that. Sterlave was a lot more than just physically powerful; he had a heart too.
He strode toward the door, determined to find out what was happening, then realized he was nude. He yanked her dress off the floor, wrapped it around his hips, and left.
She pulled the fur up to cover her chest and waited. Only once had she heard alarms wailing throughout the palace and that was when someone had discovered her father’s dead body. A cold shiver caused her to clutch the fur tighter. She didn’t think she could handle any more death.
Sterlave was gone so long she almost went after him until she realized he had her dress around his hips. She didn’t think she could get away with wearing his clothing, but slipping on his shirt did make her feel less vulnerable. As soon as she pulled it over her head, his scent enveloped her—arousing, male, utterly enthralling. After a few deep breaths, she was calm enough to climb back into bed and wait.
Sterlave returned, his face grim, his strides so powerful he ate up the distance between them in seconds. “Has anyone come in here since I left?”
“No.”
He nodded and yet proceeded to inspect her rooms anyway.
“Who are you looking for?” Was he jealous? Did he think she somehow managed to sneak a lover in during the short time he was gone?
“I wish I knew.” He faced her, one hand holding her crimson dress to his hips. She would have laughed, but his expression was so determined she didn’t dare. On the verge of asking him what was going on, he asked, “Who would want to hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” Her mind swirled with confusion. “Why would anyone want to hurt—” she stopped abruptly when she thought of all the powerful houses just wanting for her to fail at providing an heir, or better yet, simply die, so they could ascend to power. Now that she thought about it, many people wanted to hurt her.
“How many houses wait in line behind you?”
Concerned by his sudden questioning, she had to think before she answered, “Eleven.”
“Which house commands the best claim?”
“All of them. None of them.” She shook her head and shrugged. Her mind was awhirl with possibilities. “They can’t lay claim unless I die or I fail to provide an heir.”
“I don’t think they’re going to wait for a bouncing bundle of joy.” Sterlave whipped the dress off his hips and tossed it on the bed. “Get dressed.”
Crisis or no, she didn’t like him ordering her about. “What happened?” she asked, defiantly settling back into the bed.
“Get dressed and then we’ll talk.” In opposition to last night, he was now all domineering and stubborn.
“I’m not doing anything until—”
Sterlave landed on the bed with his full weight. “Kasmiri, this isn’t the time to
argue with me.” He gripped her shoulders, preventing her from moving away and forcing her to look right at him. “I need you to do what I say so I can keep you safe.”
The look in his eyes made her realize he wasn’t angry with her, he was afraid for her. Her legs wobbled once she rose from the bed. He helped her slip his shirt from her shoulders and then wrap the crimson fabric around her body. Sterlave dressed as well but left off the echalle.
“Last night someone started a fire in your mother’s rooms.”
“A fire?” She rolled her eyes. “It was probably an accident.” Irked that he tried to terrify her over something so trivial, especially when she’d once set fire to the fabric along the walls by leaving a candle too close, she yanked her hands from his and strode to the mirror to fix her hair.
Sterlave spun her around.
“How dare you?”
Refusing to back down, he clasped her hands in his. “This was no accident, Kasmiri. The fire was so intense the glass ceiling shattered. If we had been sleeping in there…” His gaze drilled into hers. “I doubt someone was after me, which leaves you. Do you get it now? Someone wants you dead.”
13
Loban entered the back of the training rooms where a new mound of gear awaited his attention. With the lowered head of one who was truly repentant, he settled himself upon the short stool, picked up the first chest pad, and began to stitch the frayed edges.
Throughout the morning, recruits came in to pick up what he’d repaired only to drop off more items that needed his attention. The parade of gear was endless. For once, Chur did not stop by first thing to fix his freakish eyes upon him.
Always Chur looked to read his mind, but Loban was too crafty. He pictured a shield of black around himself whenever Chur was near. Today would be the ultimate test. If Chur had even a flickering suspicion about what he’d done last night, Loban didn’t think Chur would waste time folding him up and shoving him in the gannett. He’d just kill him on sight.
A shiver tingled along his back, but he tightened his muscles, forcing the fear away. He had to be strong to prevail. Now was not the time to let panic ruin his plans. The gods only blessed those who were worthy.
Loban was worthy.
He still wondered exactly what Chur had done to earn their favor, for in his eyes, Chur was decidedly unworthy, but he had not been with the man every moment of every day. Clearly, Chur had done something to please the gods.
With a tilt of his head, Loban wondered what Chur would do if he simply asked. Would he answer, or would he laugh, then turn away? Loban didn’t think he could stand to witness Chur giving him his back yet again. Dismissal incensed him. No, he was better off keeping his interactions with Chur limited.
Loban lowered his attention to an avenyet. A hundred hands had frayed the leather strap wrapped around the center of the double-ended club. Balancing the club between his knees, he removed the damaged leather and wrapped a new strip around the heavy wooden weapon.
Once he’d fastened the band securely, he lifted and twisted the club, testing the grip. Before he could enjoy the sensation of holding a weapon in his hands, a raw recruit came and yanked the avenyet away. It took everything he had not to retaliate. Rather than vent his rage on some naive hopeful, he simply picked up the next weapon and set to fixing it.
There was a time when he’d ruled these rooms. When he’d first come from Plete, he quickly realized everyone respected Chur, but they didn’t fear him. Within half a cycle, every recruit feared Loban. During the day, they feared his battle prowess, and at night, they submitted to his lustful needs. Even Sterlave, the current consort, had surrendered to him.
That night was one Loban would never forget. Something about the easy-going, soft-spoken recruit from Gant inflamed him. Loban had deliberately sought a confrontation and purposefully injured Sterlave so he’d have a reason to apologize later. When Sterlave invited him into his cell, Loban took what he knew they both wanted. Sterlave tried to resist, but he was scrawny and no match for Loban’s mature strength. Besides, he wanted it, just like all the others.
However, that was three seasons ago, when Sterlave was an undernourished recruit. After dedicating himself to training and maintaining his focus despite a thousand distractions, Sterlave flourished. He’d had the guts to officially challenge Chur when Loban had held back. Sterlave lost, and died, but again, the gods found something worthy, something that Loban could not see no matter how deeply he delved. They let Sterlave live and blessed him with the title of official Harvester, while Loban was disgraced and forced to minister to the recruits.
His handler, Helton Ook, assured him that he would soon triumph over Chur and become the next Harvester.
Helton lied.
Shortly after Sterlave became the Harvester, Chur dismissed Helton and demoted Loban. Helton walked away with barely a scratch of shame while Loban was now languishing in servitude to men far beneath his mighty glory. Some nobody became the next Harvester when Sterlave selected Kasmiri.
“It should have been me.”
He whipped his head around and blew a sigh of relief that he was alone. Talking aloud to himself would get him noticed and not in a good way. A Harvester had to be both physically and mentally fit. After almost three seasons of languishing in Chur’s shadow, his time couldn’t come soon enough. Everything Helton had told him to do, he’d done, but then everything went horribly wrong.
Loban reined in his frustration.
Soon, very soon, the gods would recognize his worth, bless him with dark powers, and then, he would rise above them all, forcing them to bow down before him. Once he had gathered the full of his supremacy, he would decimate any and all who did not quiver in dread of him. He alone would be the living vessel for the gods. Chur and Sterlave would kneel or perish. His cock twitched at the thought.
When Loban ruled the Onic Empire, he would have anyone in any way whenever he pleased. He would erect special temples where hundreds of his followers would arrange themselves in various provocative postures. At any time, he could enter and sample his fill. Then, for his amusement, he would couple them off, perhaps more than two, and watch them mate. They would offer themselves up for his pleasure or suffer under the stone.
Loban frowned.
He’d never thought slowly crushing a criminal with progressively heavier stones was a gruesome enough punishment. He thought for a moment about the myriad ways he could punish and kill. Then he decided. Under his rule, those who erred against him would be torn apart by wroxes. Since the tiny wrox ate by darting and biting, their small, sharp teeth would make the death a long and painful one. If Loban kept the criminal upright, he would be able to enjoy their screams for hours.
A tingle along the short hairs at the back of his neck jerked Loban out of his daydream. He lifted his gaze to Chur. For a split second, he let Chur’s gaze penetrate before he remembered to slap up his black shield.
Had he been fast enough? Loban held his gaze for a moment without malice, without joy, then nodded and lowered his attention to his work. Unsure, Loban kept his gaze down. Had Chur read the truth in his eyes? His mind scrambled for a plan, but all he could think of was to run. But where? He had no friends, no allies, no one to offer him sanctuary. In a flash, he realized he couldn’t even run outside because the people who’d gathered there worshipped Chur. All Chur would have to do is lift his finger, cast blame upon him, and his followers would rip him apart with their bare hands.
Since he couldn’t run, he would have to fight.
There was a time when he couldn’t wait to challenge Chur, but Helton had convinced him to hold back. Helton insisted that Chur would choose his mate from the Harvest, and Loban would automatically become the next Harvester.
Three times Loban waited, and three times Chur did not choose. In the end, Helton convinced the recruits to issue multiple challenges, but still insisted Loban hold back. Loban wished he had not listened to Helton. All these seasons he spent biding his time when he could have been harv
esting. If he had challenged Chur the first season he came into the Harvester training rooms, he might have obtained the power of the gods.
Moreover, he wouldn’t have suffered the revenge rape by one of the recruits, now dead. Loban hated thinking of that day, when Sterlave, scrawny, pathetic Sterlave, had saved him from taking another recruit’s cock up his ass while he languished in the gannett. Three had already had their turn, but Sterlave stopped Vertase. Loban always wondered why Sterlave had not joined in, but he decided Sterlave was too afraid to seek revenge.
He wanted to look up and see if Chur was still watching him, but that might reveal his trepidation. Instead, Loban focused intently on rewrapping the worn cirvant handle. Something deep inside stirred, welcoming the feel of the short curved sword. With two jabs, he could kill Chur. A vision of his golden form jetting crimson stirred his prick anew. Loban actually didn’t want to kill Chur. He’d much rather keep him alive, in chains, perhaps as a pet. Just thinking of the things he could make Chur do eased his tension and allowed him to finish his work.
Tonight, he would continue the Harvest.
14
Sterlave didn’t want her to see the damage, but she insisted. Where Kasmiri’s room was mostly crimson with touches of white and black, the empress suite was mostly white with touches of crimson, black, and silver. Bright sunlight and crisp harvest air streamed into the massive room through the broken ceiling. If not for the soot marks smeared over everything, the whiteness of the walls and ceiling would have been blinding. However, everything was charred, broken, melted, or burned.
When she tried to enter, he held her back. A multitude of servants swarmed through the chaos, cleaning up the mess, but he didn’t want Kasmiri to get anywhere near the disaster area.
“But my mother’s things,” she argued, lifting her hands to his arms. In her state of shock, she didn’t push him away so much as she clung to him.
“If they find anything worth saving, they’ll set it aside.” From the magnitude of the damage, he didn’t think they would find much. His heart broke that she might not have any remembrance of her mother other than her memories.
Dark Harvest Page 14
