Ariss sighed. Kerrick seemed as oblivious as everyone else did about the new duty placed upon her. She had not known until she’d asked her paratanist about the stone around her neck. In even more reverent tones than the acolyte, he explained that the parastone would change color when she became pregnant, thus foretelling the coming of the paratanist, the first true and proper paratanist in thousands of seasons.
Her initial shock fell away to furious speculation. If she became pregnant, she would automatically be bonded to Kerrick. No longer would she have to worry about Ambo. Together, she and Kerrick would raise their child. What would happen to that child in the future was of profound importance to her. She did not want her child used as she had been, as a political tool, but all that she would deal with later. To save herself, she must fully mate with her counterpart.
Kerrick enjoyed the mating, as most men would, but he didn’t consider all the ramifications of the word mate. Another pang of guilt assaulted her conscience. She should tell him the truth. Ariss was not one for lies and subterfuge, for she felt she was doing to him what her parents had done to her, but she wondered what good confessing would do. It would ease her conscience, but would it really matter? They didn’t have a choice; they had to mate. If he chose not to mate with her, they would punish him, and probably extract his semen, anyway. One way or another, they would try to impregnate her.
Her paratanist wouldn’t discuss exactly how they would punish Kerrick, but his silence made her think it would be something horrific. Essentially, Kerrick would be refusing to carry out the Harvester duties. If another man wished to mate with her, he simply had to fight and kill Kerrick, and he would become the Harvester. Ariss didn’t want that to happen. She didn’t want Kerrick hurt.
“Oh, who am I fooling?”
She wanted Kerrick.
Every insufferable, arrogant, and so blatantly self-assured-it-bordered-on-delusional bit of him. Something in him called to her so strongly she couldn’t deny it. Question it, yes, and endlessly, yes, but refute it? No. Besides, if she refused the new Harvester, she would suffer a similar fate. They wouldn’t kill her, but they would either force her to mate or exile her, and then replace her with the next woman in line. The magistrate himself would burn a brand of shame on her forehead and then send her to the frozen wasteland of Rhemna.
Therefore, she and Kerrick must mate. Of the nine times they must mate, there was always a chance she would fulfill the prophecy and conceive. If she didn’t, Ariss didn’t know what she would do. Her gaze drifted to the balcony. Was it high enough? If she jumped, she wanted to make sure the drop would kill her, not just wound or cripple her. Deliberately, she pulled herself from that line of thought; not all was lost yet. She still had time to fulfill the duty placed upon her slender shoulders.
Once she finished her small meal, she pushed away from the table and settled into bed. Sleep eluded her. Curled on her side, she held the stone in her hand, pressing it firmly against her skin. Ariss fell asleep praying that when she awoke, the black would have faded to leave a clear stone behind.
Morning came, filling her room with dazzling brightness. Her paratanist had silently entered and opened the heavy drapes that would have blocked the twin suns. After several days of clouds, Tandalsul emerged, bouncing brightness off the fresh layer of snow with blinding intensity. Before she’d even pried her eyes open all the way, she leapt from bed and rushed to the mirror.
Disappointment slumped her shoulders when the stone remained black. Seven more times for them to mate. Seven more chances for her to become pregnant. She knew how fragile pregnancy could be. Women sometimes waited a lifetime without success.
Her frown faded slowly when she realized she might have many more chances if she dared to be a bad girl. Kerrick had made her swear to meet him, and she’d automatically refused the idea because she didn’t want to be caught and perhaps punished. But now, if doing so increased her chances of pregnancy, how could she say no?
The only trick would be in eluding the guards. She wasn’t certain, but she believed they lurked near her rooms to ensure she didn’t leave and none but her paratanist entered. Getting past them would require skills that she didn’t have. As she considered the frozen land outside her rooms, a plan formed in her mind.
“Well, he said he wanted me to be a bad girl. I’ll show him how sinful I can be.”
9
Kerrick expelled a great whoosh of air when he hit the mat again. He’d lost count of how many times Sterlave had knocked him off his feet.
“You must anticipate your opponent’s moves.” Sterlave twirled the dantaratase in his hands, then quickly tossed the slender staff from hand to hand. “Get up.”
Using his dantaratase to balance his exhausted body, Ker-rick pulled himself to his feet. “Can’t we go back to bare-handed wrestling?”
Sterlave scoffed. “You already know how to do that. Training is about improving on skills you don’t have.” He feinted the staff left, then right, then attacked on the left. Kerrick blocked the blow but barely and clumsily. “Clearly, you don’t have any skill with this weapon at all.”
Offended by yet another rude remark, Kerrick moved his staff from hand to hand, then tried a great, sweeping arc at Sterlave’s feet. At the last moment, Kerrick lifted the staff and poked Sterlave in the belly.
“Better!” Sterlave said, brushing aside the thrust of the staff.“Just when I thought you were hopeless, you surprise me and actually land a blow.” Before Kerrick could smile proudly, Sterlave rushed on, “A tiny blow that wouldn’t hurt a child, but still, it’s better than nothing.”
Kerrick wanted to wipe the smirk off Sterlave’s face. He wanted to throw the dantaratase on the floor and fight barehanded. Kerrick controlled his anger because he knew that if he let it out, he would have no control at all. Flailing wildly at his target would only open himself to attack. That had been the first lesson Sterlave taught him.
“Never approach an opponent in anger. When you are unfocused, you give him all your power. Approach only when your head is clear and your body is calm. Only in this way can you prevail.” Sterlave had delivered his little speech over Kerrick’s gasping body. On his back, in agony on the mat, Kerrick had stayed there, listening, hating his handler, but acknowledging the truth of his words. Kerrick hadn’t said anything only because he’d had no breath left with which to speak.
Even now, his pride still smarted from Sterlave’s blows. With careful precision, Kerrick continued sparring with Sterlave, who clearly held back from his full power with the slender staff. As the day progressed, Kerrick managed to block blows with greater accuracy and landed a few more. His strikes lacked any real power, but at least he was making progress. And the mocking of the recruits had died down considerably.
The snickering had reached a peak the first day when he’d been working with the double club; no matter how hard Ker-rick tried, he simply couldn’t swing the avenyet with the same precision as Sterlave. Blow after blow to his padded midsection resulted in louder and louder chuckles from the recruits. Dark glares from Sterlave lowered the volume, but even he couldn’t stop them entirely. That’s when they’d switched to barehanded wrestling; there, Kerrick showed off the true power of his body, and those who were laughing stopped. When they’d grown bored and drifted away, Sterlave had switched to another weapon.
Day after day, Kerrick made minute progress. At night, he suffered his humiliations by thinking of Ariss and the next time he would meet her in the mating room. At least in sex he wasn’t a clueless buffoon. There, he knew exactly what he was doing. He couldn’t wait to indulge the very depth of his needs upon her. Already he planned for the night when he could take her in his arms again. Ariss utterly amazed him. Open, willing, eager even, she embraced him with a passion that astounded him.
A blow to the side from the dantaratase pulled Kerrick out of his thoughts and back to the training room. Repeatedly, he and Sterlave crossed staffs until Kerrick’s forearm ached from dampening the vib
rations.
Sweat covered Kerrick, dripping down into his eyes, but he shook it off, determined to knock Sterlave to the mat at least once. When he saw his chance, he took it, swinging his staff in a fast and furious arc at Sterlave’s feet. To his shock, Sterlave jumped at the last moment and blocked the forward momentum of the swing with his staff. He then flipped Kerrick’s staff up, which, in turn, knocked Kerrick to the mat. Kerrick didn’t even bother to get up; he just rolled to his back, panting weakly as he again considered the heavy timbers that held up the ceiling.
Sterlave’s face popped into view. “You never had a chance.” Sterlave tilted his head to the side. “Did you know that right before you attack, you tighten one eye down and lift the brow of the other? A clearer message you could not send to an opponent.”
Kerrick had started to believe that Sterlave possessed some extrasensory ability, for he always knew what Kerrick would do. Now Kerrick understood that he’d been inadvertently conveying his every move with his facial expressions. He would have rolled over and bashed his head into the mat saying “stupid” several times, but he didn’t have the energy.
Sterlave smiled. “I know my method seems harsh, but I doubt you will ever again forget to comport your face during training from this moment on.”
Kerrick nodded, knowing that he would always remember to keep careful control over his entire body during sparring events.
Sterlave offered out his hand and Kerrick gratefully accepted. He pulled him to his feet, then clapped him on the back. “Rest up, for tomorrow we start with the avenyet.”
Even though he wanted to groan, he didn’t. Quickly, Ker-rick learned not to give away anything he was feeling inside, because an opponent could use simply everything against him.
With as much dignity as he could, he made his way back to his rooms. His four guards shadowed him at a discreet distance, whispering on things Kerrick couldn’t hear and didn’t care to. He speculated they discussed his skill, or lack thereof, with the weapons, and he’d had enough snide remarks from Sterlave.
Once ensconced inside his rooms, he pulled the cord for his servant. With her help, he bathed, ate, and then dismissed her for the night. Kerrick didn’t want an audience for his practice session. Out of the closet, he pulled the slender staff. One way or another he was going to master his lessons and prove that he was worthy of being the Harvester. Kerrick was in the middle of an overhanded twirl strike when the main door opened. Curious, he placed his staff upright, tip against the floor. His paratanist entered, then closed the door.
He set the staff aside and straightened his loincloth. Kerrick knew he should be used to his servant’s odd silence by now, but he still found her speak-only-when-spoken-to stance more than a bit disconcerting. At times, he felt her gaze on him, as if she considered him in some way that was not entirely complimentary. Ever since she’d asked him about his desire to mate, her speculative consideration seemed to occur at greater frequency. Gods knew what she was thinking. When he asked, she mumbled quietly to herself and hurried away.
“Did you forget something?” he asked.
Fana walked toward him. She stopped a handspan away, stood silently for a moment, her head lowered, then dropped to her knees.
“What the—” he began, but cut himself off when she reached for his loincloth. She tugged on the fabric, making her intentions pretty damn clear. “Whoa!” Madly, he clutched at the slippery astle. “Oh, no, no, you don’t need to do that.”
His mind whirled. She’d told him she was forbidden and he really had no desire to find out if that were true. For the first time in his life, he wanted one woman. The knowledge shocked him, for he’d made no official declaration to Ariss, but his gut reaction was that he would be with her, and her alone.
Now he was stunned on two levels: one, that Fana had apparently decided to give sex a whirl; and two, that his visceral reaction was to be true to Ariss. Never in his life had he been faithful to any woman. Three times he’d been forsworn, and three times the bonding never happened because he couldn’t keep his penis in his pants.
“But I thought you wanted me to be a bad girl?”
It took a moment for the voice to register through his panic. “Ariss?” Abruptly, he stopped struggling to keep his clothing on. One sharp yank and she had him bare. With the timeless-ness of a dream, she tilted her head back until the cowl hood fell away. Cool gray eyes met his. After flashing him an insolent smile, she parted her lips and slipped them around his cock, drawing him into the heat of her mouth. Having her do this to him while she was dressed as a paratanist was the most arousing and unbelievably kinky thing he’d done in ages. Possibly ever. It was like throwing down with an acolyte in the temple.
“You naughty, naughty girl.”
Slowly, she twirled her tongue around the tip while cupping his shaft with her palm. Clearly, she’d been thinking about doing this to him, because she tried new and wonderful techniques that had him hard within moments. However, what really aroused him were all the wild fantasies running through his mind. Ariss was the vixen and the virgin with her devastating, sultry innocence. On the verge of an intense climax, he pulled back. He didn’t want the evening to end so abruptly.
Concerned, she glanced up at him. “Did I do it wrong?”
“Gods, no.” He laughed. “You’re doing it a little too well.”
With a smile, she pushed the hood off her head until it spilled around her shoulders. Somehow, the bland beige that should have looked horrible on her didn’t. She seemed almost regal as she knelt there on the floor, her eyes shining and her lips wet and slightly parted.
“How did you manage this?” Not that he really cared. He was so happy to see her, she had barely started to answer when he scooped her up into his arms and kissed the breath right out of her.
“Stop!” she said, playfully pushing him back. “This won’t be any fun at all if I’m not breathing.”
“So you came here for fun, did you?” With a few strides, he tossed her on his bed, then leapt next to her, taking care not to injure his erect penis. Rolling over, he framed her face with his hands. Finally, he had something he knew he was good at. Confidence filled him. He might fumble with weapons, but he never fumbled in bed.
“You are an amazing woman.” Softly, he kissed her nose, her lips, and her chin, utterly impressed with her creative problem solving. “How did you even think of this?” he asked, running his hands along the paratanist robe.
Twice he’d tried to meet her, but both times his guards stopped him, marching him back to his rooms with unrequited lust. As he had predicted, Kerrick became ever more intimate with his right hand. Quickly, the romance faded and he began to resent his lover, Mr. Fist. Sure, he was always there, but he only knew one position, and he didn’t kiss.
“The idea was the easy part,” Ariss said, working the tiny clasps of the robe apart. “I noticed that no one ever paid my paratanist any mind. He could wander the halls of the palace without question.” She paused for a moment, denying him more than a glimpse of her upper breasts. “Did you know that they are untouchable? To even brush against a paratanist accidentally could result in death.”
Kerrick didn’t know that, but he remembered how Ambo cautioned him not to touch his servant. “During my inauguration when Ambo presented me with Fana, he made a point of informing me I wasn’t to touch her.”
“At least yours gave you a name; mine insists I call him paratanist.” Ariss shook her head, then continued, “The hard part was securing his robe.”
Kerrick had a sudden flash of her servant tied up naked in her rooms. He frowned. “What did you have to do to get his robe?”
One sleek brow rose over a cool gray eye. “Are you accusing me of something untoward?” She batted her lashes with teasing innocence.
Frowning, he considered then rejected several answers. In the end, he decided silence was the best response.
With a laugh, Ariss said, “I very cleverly spilled something on his robe, and in my ge
nuine sorrow, I followed him to the supply room so he could retrieve another. Where, of course, I snagged one for myself.”
“Clever girl.” In a hurry to see more of her exquisite skin, he attempted to help her with the clasps, but his fingers were too big and clumsy. He did his best not to let his frustration show; he’d never had a problem undressing a woman before, no matter what she wore.
Ariss pushed his hands away. “Naughty girl, bad girl, clever girl; you realize I’m not a girl?” She finally got the last clasp separated but didn’t remove the robe as she waited for his answer.
Considering her curves, he said, “Believe me, I know.” He winked and gave her a practiced leer. “But bad woman doesn’t sound nearly as sexy as bad girl. See, the second implies innocence corrupted.”
“Well, that explains it.” She lifted up so she could slide the robe off her shoulders, revealing that she wore nothing below, nothing but that peculiar black stone necklace.
“Should I call you a bad boy?” she asked mischievously.
Distracted by her lovely form, he hesitated before answering, “Most definitely.” He managed to refrain from pouncing on her in a state of high lust. Kissing his way across her shoulder, he murmured, “You should do everything you can to corrupt me even more.”
Impishly, she stopped him from dipping his head to her breast. “Why would I waste my time?” Lifting his face to hers, she dropped her gaze to his erection, and said, “I do believe you are quite fully corrupted.”
With a laugh, he fingered the paratanist robe lying on the bed. “Maybe next time you can steal an acolyte’s robe. Think of the games we could play with that.”
Her mouth dropped into a perfect little O of shock. When she recovered herself, she flashed him a disapproving frown and said, “You are a bad boy.”
[The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest Page 11
