Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Involuntary, Sterlave shivered. If not for the gods’ intervention, he would have died that night. He still didn’t understand why he survived. However, questioning a gift from the gods was never wise.

  A handful of recruits surrounded Chur as he divvied them up into pairs for the first round of mock battle. Chur’s eyes lit up when he saw Sterlave in the doorway. He nodded, finished with the recruits, and then joined him by the mats.

  “I am glad you came.” Chur centered himself on one of the mats, then began the fluid moves of kintana.

  Distracted by his power and grace, Sterlave stood still and watched. Chur executed every move with perfect precision. Thick muscles flowed around strong bones. His bronze skin glowed golden. Rapt with concentration, he still made everything look easy. Before the change, Chur had always been skilled, but now he was superior. Sterlave experienced an overwhelming urge to touch him, not in a sexual way but…if he touched him, some of his magical power might rub off.

  “Are you going to watch me all day or actually get to work yourself?” Chur’s direct gaze delved right into his mind.

  Embarrassed, Sterlave set the two niclas aside and settled himself a distance from Chur. By comparison, he was clumsy and stiff. Rather than flowing from one move to the next, he more stumbled into them. Of course, kintana had never been his greatest skill, but still, he knew he could do better than this childlike display.

  “Relax, it’s not a competition. Kintana should center your mind and body for battle, not be a battle.” Chur teased him without missing a move.

  Sterlave laughed and took several calming breaths. Rather than worry over what Chur was doing, he kept his attention on his own exercise. Within moments, he relaxed, found his center, then let the power inherent within direct his form without.

  “Now that you’ve relaxed, I have a proposition for you.” Chur placed one arm forward and one back as he bent one knee.

  “What’s that?” Sterlave finished the arm sweep of his pivsnosta, then began the next set of motions.

  “I want you here with me.”

  Sterlave stumbled but caught himself. Chur didn’t mean what his brain interpreted. He blamed Kasmiri for putting these strange thoughts into his head in the first place. He’d never thought about Chur in that manner before she suggested it, but now he couldn’t seem to stop.

  “So, you want me here doing what?” Sterlave cast him a dubious glance, wondering if Chur’s new powers included mind reading.

  Chur lost his pose and doubled over with laughter. “I can’t read your mind, but you’re making your thoughts obvious by the way you’re looking at me.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “Even the daughters of the elite don’t look at me with that much interest.”

  “Sorry.” Sterlave kept his gaze on the far wall. “It’s difficult not to. I mean, all your scars are gone and you’re literally glowing. It’s impossible not to stare and, well, wonder things.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Chur lifted his chin at a few recruits, who quickly looked away. He sighed and resumed his pose. “There are days where I want to shroud myself in a robe.”

  “Then they would only stare at you more.”

  “Probably.” Chur laughed. “Anyway, I want you here with me because I want you to be a handler. I want you to help me train the recruits.”

  “What about Helton Ook?”

  “I dismissed him because of his obvious conflict of interest. A handler puts the recruits first, not his own agenda.”

  It was a tremendous offer, but Sterlave was hesitant to accept. “I honestly don’t know what Kasmiri has in mind for me.” Not that she deserved his consideration today, not after her behavior last night. However, as her consort, he might have other duties. He couldn’t make a full commitment until he discussed it with her.

  “I understand. I have no idea what a consort does. I mean official-duty–wise.” Chur flashed him a wink and a grin. “Some of your obligations are rather obvious.”

  Sterlave knew he referred to the incident in the basin room last night. “Those are the obligations I enjoy.” He couldn’t keep a wicked grin off his face. “It’s what came after that is rather unpleasant.”

  Chur ended his session, grabbed the two niclas, and then drew Sterlave to a corner with some chairs. “We can speak more freely here.” He tossed him one of the red-orange fruits.

  Sterlave caught it and bit into the top so he could peel the textured outer shell away.

  “You know, in Kasmiri’s mind, she was only protecting what she considers hers.”

  Surprised that Chur defended her behavior, Sterlave said, “But Enovese was not—”

  “I know, I know.” Chur held up his hand, then continued to peel the fruit. “Kasmiri acts first, then thinks later. To call her impulsive is to call this a thick peel—true, but not as informative as it could be.”

  Sterlave laughed. “Kasmiri is like a nicla; tough on the outside, but sweet on the inside. The problem is that getting to the sweet part is a major challenge.”

  “Give her time. She’s young; but if you work with her, I think you will be happy in the end. Like this fruit, she’s worth the hassle.”

  Frowning, Sterlave considered all Chur had said in a different context. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at here. Do you think I’m going to walk away from her?” The thought couldn’t be further from his mind. He would never abandon Kasmiri. Their tiff last night was simply that, a meaningless power play. They would get over it. He didn’t think their road together would ever be smooth, but he wouldn’t run away at the first sign of trouble.

  Shrugging, Chur shook his head. “I’m not getting at anything. I just worry about you.” He took a bite of the red-orange flesh. “I consider you one of the few friends I have around here.”

  “You seem more concerned about Kasmiri.” A surge of jealousy infused his spine. What if he, like Kasmiri, wasn’t happy with one mate? What if Chur had designs on getting Kasmiri in addition to the stunning Enovese? Sterlave couldn’t compete against him before, and now, after his transformation, it was hopeless. “Are you only softening me up for when you take her away from me?”

  Chur’s brows lowered. “If I wanted Kasmiri, I would have selected her during the Harvest. Believe me, I do not want her for myself.”

  “Then what is all of this about?” Sterlave had never possessed any skills in interpreting other people’s ulterior motives, which was just one of the reasons he found Kasmiri so inexplicable.

  Chur took a deep breath. “Changes are already in motion and more are coming. Kasmiri needs you more than she will admit, and I will need the both of you to see the changes through.”

  Before Sterlave could ask what Chur was talking about, a murmur of a thousand voices distracted him. As he listened, the voices grew in volume, yet he couldn’t make out what they said.

  Chur stood. “They are here.”

  “Who?”

  A servant rushed into the room begging Sterlave to follow.

  “Go with him. Kasmiri needs you now.”

  Baffled, Sterlave followed to the Throne of the Empress. In an anteroom, the servant removed his clothing, then dressed him in ancient warrior gear. In quick succession, the servant secured a gleaming breastplate to his body with animal-hide straps, then added a helmet that covered most of his head but left his face exposed. He placed a series of metal plates along his right arm, wrapped a loincloth with metal strips sewn into the fabric around his hips, then added a decorative belt. Dropping to his knees, the servant laced sandals to his feet, then placed the Sword of the Empress on the belt.

  No matter how many questions Sterlave asked, the servant refused to answer. He seemed determined to shove him into the clothing as fast as possible. Frustrated, Sterlave grasped the man by the shoulder and shook him. “Is something wrong with Kasmiri?”

  Before the terrified servant could answer, Ambo Votny entered, and snarled, “Calm yourself!”

  Sterlave let go of the servant and
considered shaking the snot out of Ambo. “What’s going on?”

  “Empress Clathia is dead.”

  10

  Clad in the heavy empress cape, fashioned of red furs and glittering gems, Kasmiri trudged down the crimson carpet toward the massive Onic throne. A vast audience of elite and dignitaries lined either side of her path. She hardly noticed them. Numb with shock, she didn’t even feel the threat of tears anymore. Everything went by in a sickening blur of colors, scents, hallowed words, pedantic ceremonies, and endless reminders of her new and crushing duty.

  Within her hand, she held a small golden replica of planet Diola to remind her the future of the Onic Empire was hers alone to bear. Glancing down at her gloved hand, it seemed too small for such a mighty burden.

  At the end of the red carpet, she ascended the three steps to the elaborately carved black throne. Four servants maneuvered her cape so that she could sit. No weight came off her shoulders. The looming throne behind her only added to the obligations already pressing in on her.

  A blare of processional music drew her gaze to the far end of the room. Sterlave walked toward her with even steps perfectly timed to the drumbeat. His brows were low, his eyes hooded, his mouth a compressed slash. Ancient warrior gear glittered while the Sword of the Empress swayed with each movement of his hips. Like a hunter stalking prey, he never let his focus waver from her face. Glorious, magnificent, undeniably male, he ate up the distance between them.

  As he drew close, the concern in his gaze spiked fresh tears to blur her vision. Whatever petty argument they’d had was forgotten in the midst of this raw tragedy.

  At the top of the steps he stopped before her, dropped to one knee, clasped her hand that held the miniature Diola, and whispered, “My heart is breaking for you, Kasmiri. Before I swear myself to the entire empire, I feel I must first swear myself to you.” He lifted and kissed her closed hand. “I will do everything in my power to protect you, to honor you, to defend you. I will die in service to you.”

  Thick armor around her heart shattered. She had done nothing to deserve his pledge, but he gave it anyway. For the first time, she knew what it was to feel love, real true love, for another. His sincerity touched her so deeply that whatever fear holding her back all these seasons washed away under a tide of empathy.

  Uncaring if she broke protocol or not, Kasmiri leaned forward to embrace him. “I apologize for treating you badly last night.” It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to say, but that’s what popped out of her mouth.

  Sterlave pulled back to kiss her lightly. “I forgive you.” He rose and moved to his throne. He sat with all the dignity and grace of the highest lord and her admiration for him soared.

  Her doubts about his fitness as her bondmate dissolved. She could not envision a better man to rule at her side. Any lingering infatuation for Chur evaporated. Looking toward her future, she saw only Sterlave at her side, in her bed, and in her heart.

  After each of them swore themselves to the Onic Empire, Ambo Votny presented Kasmiri with a gem-encrusted cup. She drank of the bitter syrup and then passed it to Sterlave, who could not fight a grimace after he swallowed. She fought down a burst of inappropriate laughter. She now understood why he inspired such instant warmth from others. Sterlave accepted himself completely and by extension, accepted all others for who they were. He asked little and gave greatly in return.

  With the ceremony complete, Kasmiri stood. Her servants removed her cumbersome cape, the golden ball of Diola, and then she straightened her shoulders to perform the most painful ritual of her life.

  Step by step she moved across the red carpet, leading Sterlave and then everyone else to the Room of Ceremonies.

  Rather than the gay affair of last night, this was a most somber occasion. Crimson fabric shrouded the windows, the tables, and the chairs. Rather than a high table with glittering dishes and flatware, her mother lay upon a bed of white furs clothed in her most elegant crimson gown. Someone had taken great care with her makeup and hair because she looked as if she would rise at any moment and proclaim the entire situation a farce. Kasmiri wished so hard for that to happen, but her beautiful mother remained motionless.

  Kasmiri removed one white and one crimson flower from the ornate vases beside the table. The rest of the people stood back so that she could have a moment alone with her mother.

  Placing the red bloom to her mother’s chest, she murmured, “If only I had one more day with you, I would have told you all the things I never said. Like how much I admired you, how envious I was of your beauty, how your faith and your strength of conviction awed and intimidated me.”

  Wiping away her tears, she placed the white blossom in her mother’s hair. “I will miss you more than I can say, but someday we will meet again in Jarasine.”

  Never had she believed in an afterlife among the gods, but suddenly, she wanted to believe her mother would reside in the misty land of clouds. Somehow, thinking of her mother over her shoulder lending her strength was immensely comforting. Clathia always said believing in the gods was about faith, and it seemed Kasmiri had suddenly discovered hers.

  Tenderly, she stroked her mother’s cheek. She wanted to say so much more but couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat.

  When her knees buckled beneath her, Sterlave’s strong arms encompassed her, lifting her up.

  “I have you.”

  His strength infused her body.

  With one arm around her waist, he placed a white bloom on her mother’s chest. “I thank you for entrusting your daughter to me.”

  Maneuvering her gently, Sterlave placed her in a chair next to her mother, then sat beside her so together they could receive the wishes of the mourners.

  Kind words flowed over Kasmiri like rain. She maintained eye contact and nodded in the appropriate places, but her mind was elsewhere. She remembered a day when she was six seasons old and her mother took her to the exotic animal preserve on Chetapye. What she remembered weren’t the strange animals from all over the galaxy, but spending the entire day with her mother. Clathia lavished attention on her and listened to everything she said. They shared whipped frozen treats and her mother didn’t even scold her when the purple goo oozed onto her dress.

  “I never stopped loving you.”

  The phrase pulled Kasmiri from her reverie. A part of her thought her mother had whispered the words to her, but no, when she looked over she saw a man leaning over and placing a kiss to Clathia’s cheek. Oddly constructed with burly arms and shoulders so muscular they swallowed his neck, Kasmiri couldn’t place him. When he approached her, Sterlave greeted him by name.

  “Helton.” Sterlave nodded politely, a strong note of reserve in his normally warm voice.

  “Sterlave.” Helton turned his sooty gray eyes her way. “My deepest sympathy, Kasmiri. Your mother was a great leader and a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you.” Kasmiri waited until he moved away, then asked Sterlave, “Who is he?”

  “Helton Ook.” Sterlave glared at him. “He was a handler until Chur dismissed him.”

  Kasmiri thought Sterlave’s disgust was borne of having this man brutalize him in the training rooms. When she asked, Sterlave dismissed the idea, and said only that Helton proved himself unworthy of his respect. She didn’t have time to ponder a sudden strange thought as too many mourners wished to bestow their best wishes upon her.

  Drifting in and out of awareness, Kasmiri thought back to her father. His mysterious death over two seasons ago had come as a shock to not only herself, but also her mother, and all in the land. Vital, boisterous, so full of life, he was almost a force of nature. His sudden silence was deafening. Her mother had loved him despite his notorious liaisons with the wives and daughters of the elite. Clathia forgave him every time.

  Kasmiri was not so forgiving. As a young girl, she remembered riding high upon her father’s shoulders. He would run and jump, making her giggle until her sides hurt. She also remembered his pranks on Ambo and other members of
her mother’s circle of advisors. He said they were too serious and needed to laugh more. It seemed her father was always laughing even when he hurt her mother so deeply.

  Once she was old enough to understand the dynamics of a relationship, Kasmiri pulled away from her father. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t be happy with one woman. Many considered Clathia the most beautiful empress ever in the history of the Onic Empire, yet her father often set her aside to pursue women far less attractive. Tall, short, thin, fat, young, old—her father’s eye never stopped roving. No matter how many women he had, he always wanted more.

  A rush of guilt caused her to close her eyes, for she had been almost relieved when he died. Finally, finally, the harsh rumors would end and her mother could find a man worthy of her devotion. However, Clathia had chosen to remain alone. She took no lovers and refused to consider taking a new consort.

  When the inquest turned up evidence of treachery but no suspects, Clathia quietly let the matter drop, but Kasmiri had always wondered who was responsible. Her father was a philanderer, but as the consort to the empress, he should have had justice. Perhaps this man, this Helton Ook, who professed to still love her mother, had a hand in her father’s death.

  Hours passed as she and Sterlave greeted mourners. They took their words and gave back their own. Kasmiri tried to keep her head up, but too much weighed her down. Sensing her distress, Sterlave stood, offered his hand, then quietly led her away from the room.

  “I’m supposed to greet all the mourners,” she protested.

  “You cannot sit there while the entire empire files past. You have done your duty, Kasmiri, and now you will take care of yourself.”

  His tone permitted for no dispute and she allowed him to take her back to her rooms. At the doors, a guard argued with Sterlave, insisting that Kasmiri would now take up residence in the Empress suite.

  “Her bed is not even cold!” Kasmiri had always considered her mother’s rooms far superior to hers, but just the thought of sleeping there tonight raised the hair on the nape of her neck.