Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Chur understood at once that this was not a battle between mother and daughter, but between empress and former Harvester. Kasmiri was simply the fulcrum on which each woman pivoted for position.

  Clathia dismissed Arianda’s cryptic remark with a clap of her hands and a call for drinks. Servants flooded the hall. Their bland brown robes were a startling contrast to so much finery. When one appeared at her side, lacquered crimson fingertips plucked up a slender crystal glass filled with blood red wine. Clathia encouraged all her guests to do the same. Anticipating a toast, the elite scrambled to comply. Chur selected a glass and cupped it in his palm.

  “To my daughter!” Clathia’s voice filled the hall. “Long may she live; long may she bring glory and riches to the Onic Empire.”

  Everyone lifted his or her glass, echoing, “Long may she live!” and then drank.

  Chur did the same but only pressed the cup to his lips without swallowing.

  Arianda sipped from her cup and then passed it to Kasmiri, who downed it in one swallow.

  Clathia’s mask slipped almost imperceptibly, but she filled the crack with another feral smile. “Let us celebrate the cusp of my daughter’s transformation from child to woman.” With that, swift music wafted through the hall. Satisfied that the drama was over, guests returned to dining, drinking, and dancing.

  Kasmiri turned her back on her mother, linked her arm through Arianda’s, then headed for the tables laden with treats.

  Clathia suppressed a snarl as she turned to Chur.

  “Honor me with a dance, Harvester.” She snapped her fingers. A servant dutifully appeared with a tray. They deposited their glasses.

  Chur placed his hand at the small of Clathia’s back. Heat from her flesh surged through the fabric, warming his palm and saturating the air around her with night-blooming flowers. When he went to capture her hand with his, she forced his hand to her waist. Clathia cupped his shoulders and drew him close. Swaying in time to the music, she shimmied her body along his. He fought to put some distance between them. She maneuvered closer with each step. Plastered against him in the most unseemly way, Chur struggled to keep his disgust under control. He knew the empress had no interest in him physically. She sought only to use him.

  Lifting her head very close to his, Clathia whispered, “You cannot do as I asked for Arianda is sharing her food and drink with my daughter. I will not take the risk.”

  Relief threatened to drop him to his knees. Since Clathia did not know of his decision, he said, “Such seems most wise, my lady.”

  Clathia drew back. “Call me Clathia.”

  “As you wish, Clathia.” He’d call her anything to escape further intrigues. He longed for the evening to end so he could return to Enovese. After she helped him remove his uniform and washed away the sticky gel that held the slashed fabric to his skin, they would tumble together in his bed, surrendering to dizzying passion. That moment seemed ages away. Reluctantly, he turned his focus back to Clathia.

  Arching her brow, she cast her gaze to her daughter and Chur did the same. Arianda and Kasmiri put on quite a show. Clinging to one another, laughing, feeding each other—they did everything short of copulating. Chur couldn’t wait to ask Enovese what she thought of this display. Why would Arianda deliberately seek to incur Clathia’s wrath? It would be one thing if Arianda showed up with a woman as her companion, but why, of all the women in the Empire, would Arianda select the daughter of the empress? He shook his head, convinced that he would never fully understand the machinations of others.

  “Disgusting, isn’t she?” Clathia asked, misinterpreting his shaking head. “You can understand now why I wish to rid my daughter of such an evil influence.”

  Chur refused to comment. He had never explored his personal feelings about same-sex relationships. Loban’s raping of the recruits infuriated him for rape was not a mutual joining. If two men or two women agreed to the liaison, he couldn’t see why anyone else would care. He certainly didn’t. His early thought, like mother like daughter, flashed through his mind. Had Enovese ever been attracted to another woman like her mother clearly was? If everyone wore shapeless robes in the tanist house, he didn’t see how such was possible. Yet still, he didn’t want to picture Enovese in anyone’s arms but his.

  Clathia uttered a deceptively soft sigh. “There is only one solution. You must claim Kasmiri at the Harvest.”

  Her tranquil words hung between them while a million thoughts raced through his mind. How dare she suggest such a thing as if he were in complete accord with her wishes. Her treatment of him as a servant who lived only to do her bidding incensed him. He wanted to grasp her upper arms and shake her until her coiled hair untangled, her eyes rolled back in her head, and her teeth rattled together. All the while he wanted to scream in her face that she was nothing but a ruthless bitch who was so enchanted with herself she could not see beyond her own pathetic desires. Rather than brutalizing the empress, which would end in immediate execution, Chur calmed himself with some kintana breathing.

  He realized he could boldly lie to Clathia and say that he would, but when he didn’t the fallout would lead only to misery for him and Enovese. His deception might end in exile. He’d rather deal with her wrath now.

  “Respectfully, I decline. As I told you before, the only right I have is the absolute right to select my bondmate. Kasmiri is a lovely young woman”—he almost choked on the words—“but she is not the woman for me.”

  Her intense gaze snapped back to him. At first her eyes went wide, honestly shocked that he dared to disagree with her, but then they narrowed. Outraged, she sputtered, “I will not tolerate your insolence. You are my subject and you will do as I command.”

  Chur spun her sharply for the dance, dipped her back over his arm, and then pulled her close. “I am your loyal and faithful subject, but I will not offer an eternal bond to a woman I do not love.” With a nod of his chin to Kasmiri and Arianda, who still clung to one another, he added, “And clearly, she is not in love with me.”

  “Love does not matter in a match like this. You will be consort to the future empress.”

  “She seems more interested in another.”

  “She’s young and confused!” When several heads turned their direction, Clathia flashed a smile as if nothing were amiss and then lowered her voice. “Once selected I know her attention will turn fully to you. Remove Arianda’s influence and Kasmiri will recognize her duty.”

  “While I appreciate your conviction that I could woo any woman, including your headstrong daughter, I must keep true to my duty to myself.”

  Clathia tilted her head in consideration. “You have already selected another woman.”

  Refusing to confirm or deny, he shrugged and promptly changed the subject. “I cannot claim any woman if I do not survive the challenge.”

  Clathia startled at his words. When she looked up into his face, he saw the truth flickering in her gaze: She had no say in the challenge. Her prior claim that she would ensure he would not survive if he did not kill Arianda was an empty threat. Even if she could manipulate Helton or Ambo, she still had no direct influence over the challenge. She knew it and now he’d confirmed his suspicions. Much to his surprise, the icy sheen melted from the empress. A touching vulnerability softened her features. Clathia was not a monster, she was only a woman determined to protect her daughter and ensure the future succession of her family line. In that moment, he felt for her.

  Soothing his voice to a low murmur, he offered, “You are strong, Clathia. Manipulation and murder will not serve you well in this crisis. If I could help you, I would, but even if I did as you asked, I cannot father children.”

  Clathia tossed her head, “There are ways other than traditional methods.”

  Apparently, even his sterility wouldn’t get him out of his mess. Calmly, he continued, “Do you think I am the kind of man who would force my attentions on your daughter? Would you allow any man to subject your child to such brutality?”

  Tears
gathered in her eyes and he thought he had finally touched her heart, her mother’s heart, but Clathia blinked the moisture away. Below his hand, her spine stiffened. Her chin lifted regally high.

  “I would rather her forcibly plowed than allow her to remain fallow.” Her callous words clashed with the last dulcet notes of music. With the dance over, Clathia moved out of his embrace. “Heed my words well, Harvester. If you survive the challenge, I expect you to claim my daughter. Dare you choose another, I will destroy not you but your chosen.”

  27

  The last cycle before the challenge zinged past swift as lightning. Chur had returned from Kasmiri’s pre-Harvest party with a vile of poison and the ruthless edict of the empress. Enovese bothered not with words to soothe him but obliterated all thought with physical contact. Rather than frustrating him with continual questions and speculation, she kept her whirling wheels of thought to herself. When Chur touched her mind, he found only calm, as if water untouched by wind or tides. She didn’t fool him for a moment, yet he too wanted their last days to be peaceful.

  Each night after his brutal training session they would bathe, eat, and then wallow in passion. Chur surprised her with his need for physical contact but not necessarily sex. More often than not, he would simply wrap her in his arms and spend the entire evening kissing her. Amazed, she reveled in his ability to kiss in endless ways. From short nips to a smoothing of lips to open-mouth dueling of tongues; his inventiveness never failed to excite.

  Despite their efforts to remain positive, in the shadow of night, Chur would toss and turn, his tormented groans ripping her from sleep’s embrace. In his dreams, he lashed out against unseen enemies, vowing to destroy them, willing to die to protect his eternal bondmate. Enovese moved to the far side of the bed to avoid his flailing arms. Hurt burned deep inside, for she knew his conflict was over protecting her. He’d shared with her the exact conversation with the empress. Either Chur laid claim to Kasmiri or Clathia would destroy his chosen.

  Held far under the water of the calm Enovese projected lurked a deep-seated rage. They had worked so diligently to be together, yet something thwarted them at every turn. If she believed in fate, she would think it held some personal grudge against her, but Enovese believed she made her own fate.

  Refusing to give up, she readied his rooms for the transition to new Harvester. This she did when Chur was training, for he might worry she anticipated failure. She did not. One way or another, she would not serve the new Harvester. Removing the traces of her living within Chur’s rooms took very little time for she had few personal possessions. Mainly she removed the bed from the closet and returned it to her tiny room down the hall.

  She hadn’t spent any time in her area in almost three seasons. Everything, from carpet to bare walls was the same creamy beige, as bland as her nondescript robe. Since her room was adjacent to the Harvester’s suite, it had no windows and only cheap lighting crystals of muddy green. It was more cell than room. Just stepping foot within the cramped space depressed her. She cleaned the layer of dust off everything so that it appeared lived-in, placed the folding bed along the wall, and practically lunged for the door. One way or another, she would never enter that prison again.

  Despite her efforts, Chur noticed the changes. He didn’t comment. She didn’t probe his mind. They moved through the last few days projecting so much positive thoughts to the other that maintaining the optimism grew tedious.

  On this, the last day before the challenge, there would be no punishing training session for Chur. He slept in, holding her so tightly in his arms she had difficulty breathing. She clung to him, welcoming every moment, taking and locking the sensation of his massive body, his heat, and his unique scent into her consciousness. When he woke, he groaned and rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him. He grasped the end of her braided hair and worked the strands free, draping her tresses over their entwined bodies.

  “Such beautiful harvest-colored hair.” He rained kisses along her cheek to her neck, then to her shoulder. “Several times I’ve fantasized of being bound by your hair.”

  Playfully, she wrapped a hank around his wrist. “Long as my hair is, I think it is still too short to fully bind you for my pleasure.”

  He laughed and then flashed an image to her mind: her straddled across his hips as her hair swirled around her head, lengthening in the wind until impossibly long. Tendrils lashed out, binding his wrists and ankles. Once she captured him, she began to dance upon him, lifting her face to the sky with her neck beautifully arched, her eyes closed, her mouth moving as if in prayer. Magnificently lovely and profoundly erotic, the picture he painted aroused her, for in his mind, he saw her as devastatingly stunning.

  “You are stunning, not just in my thoughts but in my eyes.” Cupping the back of her head, he drew her close, brushing his lips to hers with reverent attention. “You are a goddess, Enovese.”

  In his arms, she felt like a goddess. Cherished and treasured, respected and loved. “If only I had the powers that went with the position.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, “but would you bestow your favors on a mere mortal such as me?”

  “You are no mere mortal.” She teased her hands along his bulging muscles. “I would steal you away from this corporeal realm to live with me in Jarasine.”

  “I thought the gods were formless in Jarasine, that they only took form in the mortal realm?” He kissed her nose. “I would not want to be without form. I take too much joy in the physical.”

  “I had not thought of that.” Enovese traced his scar. “But who knows how the gods find pleasure? Perhaps the merging is more intense without a body.”

  “Perhaps.” Working his hand down, he swirled his fingertips along the curve of her breast. Her throaty moan elicited a satisfied smile. “But I have no desire to find out. I rather like my body merging with yours.”

  And there it was.

  Regardless of all their efforts to refrain from discussing the truth, reality popped up anyway.

  Chur did not want to die.

  Enovese couldn’t bear to lose him.

  He closed his eyes. He continued to stroke her, but his movements were no longer fluid but erratic. She stilled his hand by pressing close. They lay together for a long time, not moving, not talking, simply waiting for the sharp ache to abate.

  “If I fail the challenge, I want you to try again.”

  They’d had this argument before. She had no desire to rehash her position so she said nothing.

  Chur ensnared her gaze with fierce determination. “I don’t want you to give up.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  A frown twisted his features. “I intend to win, but should I fail, I cannot bear the thought of you being used in the paratanist selection ritual.”

  This was his greatest fear. Several times, she caught flashes of his perception of the ritual. Chur saw her belly swelled with issue, a gleaming knife descending, ripping the screaming innocent from a bloody mass that was once her body. When the acolytes finished with her, Chur envisioned them tossing her aside, like a worthless harshan, with her limbs in a heap, her tresses tangled and as lifeless as her blood-drained form. So vividly did he picture this, when she first witnessed the impression, she rushed to the basin to vomit.

  “I do not intend to become a part of that ritual.” She tossed her head, moving her gaze away from his, but not quickly enough. He’d caught the thread of her thought and followed it into her mind, unraveling her intention despite her efforts to block him.

  “Where is it?” Rolling her off, he untangled himself from her hair, climbed out of bed, and stormed into the kitchen.

  She followed, watching him yank open every cabinet and drawer. She knew exactly what he was looking for. He wouldn’t find it.

  Frustrated by his fruitless search, he strode to her, grasped her shoulders, and demanded, “Tell me where you hid the vial.”

  “No.”

  Sinking his fingertips into her upper arms, h
e shook her, not violently, just enough to frighten her. When she struggled, he let go.

  “What you are planning is not a solution, Enovese. How dare you accuse me of giving up when you are considering killing yourself?”

  She didn’t deny the accusation. She didn’t bother to defend her decision either. For at least the final choice would be utterly hers.

  “Do you think it pleases me that you would rather be dead than without me?” His expression changed from confusion to disgust. “You are the strongest woman I have ever known. How can you be so weak to even think of suicide?”

  Her shoulders stiffened with his insult. Ruthlessly, she pushed his vision of the paratanist selection ritual into his mind.

  He winced.

  “With that looming in my future do you deny me the option of a peaceful exit?” She didn’t want to hurt him, but he had to understand why she had settled on this if all else failed. “I have suffered a lifetime of other people’s choices. I want the last one to be mine.”

  His torment showed in every powerful line of his form. He appreciated her reasons yet elected to fight her anyway. “You don’t know what’s in the vial Clathia gave me. You said yourself it might cause some harm other than death.”

  “I said that before I’d had a chance to examine the contents. I assure you, the liquid is deadly.” One drop to her lips would result in instant painless death.

  “The only assurance I want is that you will not consume that vile liquid.” He observed her eyes with a desperate hope she would reveal the hiding place.

  “Do you wish for me to lie to you?” Drawing near, she stood close enough to feel his heat. She tilted her face, capturing his gaze. “I could swear to you that I won’t, but one look in my eyes and you will know that I am lying.”

  Disappointment clouded his summer-sky gaze. “Give me the vial. I will destroy it.”

  Enovese stepped back but kept her head high. Her withdrawal caused the temperature around her to plummet, puckering her flesh, tightening her nipples. She hoped the reaction would distract him, which it did, but only for a moment. Tenacious, he refused to allow her to divert his attention. He moved close, too close, enveloping her within his heat, his embrace. Wrapping his powerful arms around her, he maneuvered her close, lowered his head, and whispered directly to her ear.