Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Kasmiri blew out a tense breath. She was exhausted and her day wasn’t even close to being done. The last thing she was willing to tolerate today, or any day, was insubordination, especially from someone she intended to dismiss. Ambo had been able to find and share the palace treasury account for the repair projects, so he should be able to locate her personal funds.

  Calmly, she asked him to try again. He made a great show of searching, even tossing out several frustrated sighs, but turned up empty. With a shrug, he waved the screen away and stood.

  “I haven’t dismissed you.”

  Ambo wavered, his back to her.

  “I want to see the royal account.” In the future, she would make sure she could retrieve the information herself. A spark of fear started in the pit of her belly, working up and out across her limbs. There had to be a reason he didn’t want to show her. Had her mother squandered all their funds? How could she? There was reputed to be enough money for several decadent lifetimes, but such could all be talk. Kasmiri honestly had no idea how much funding her mother had left for her. “If you cannot find the information, I will have you replaced.”

  At that, Ambo spun, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Replace me? You can’t replace me.” Before he could take a step toward her, the two guards leapt into his path, effectively blocking his access. Ambo stumbled back. He would have fallen if not for Helton’s stabilizing grip.

  Helton leaned near and whispered something in Ambo’s ear.

  Ambo looked to argue the point but forcefully swallowed. With a tense smile, he returned to his seat, flicked a button on the base of the chair to reactivate the screen, thrust his finger three times, and then sat back with a smirk.

  Kasmiri turned her attention to her display. It took all her might not to let her jaw drop. Wordlessly she dismissed all her advisors. Ambo and Helton refused to go.

  “Go, or I’ll dismiss you permanently!”

  Helton wisely kept his distance, but said, “You won’t dismiss either one of us, not now, not ever.”

  Her guards sensed his threat and tensed.

  With a deft hand gesture at Ambo’s screen, Helton caused a new set of information to flash before her. At this, her jaw did drop.

  “Lies! It’s all lies!” But something in his sooty gray gaze told her this was no falsehood. Everything she’d learned in the last few moments was not only true but also explained why her mother didn’t even try to fight her disease.

  Why bother when she had nothing to live for?

  Sterlave spent most of the day trying to find Loban. When he asked around, he found out where his cell was located, but his room was mostly bare, his bed untouched. No one had seen him since last night. Sterlave went to the training rooms to see if Loban had shown up for work. He hadn’t. Frustrated, he asked Chur.

  “Why this urgency?” Chur asked, turning his attention away from sparring recruits.

  Sterlave opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. He’d promised Rown he wouldn’t speak of his rape to anyone.

  “You don’t have to; I can read the truth on your face. He hurt someone.” With a shake of his head, Chur sighed. “Someone close to you?”

  Sterlave nodded.

  “You don’t have to tell me who.” Chur called forth one of the more skilled recruits to oversee the sparring students. He issued his final instructions, then left.

  Sterlave followed behind as Chur led him out of the training rooms.

  “Where are we going?” Sterlave examined the narrowing hallways with interest. He didn’t think he’d ever been this way.

  “Somewhere private.” Chur continued his long-legged strides, eating up the distance with forceful intent. His entire backside rippled with muscles as he moved. Sterlave found it difficult not to stare when all Chur wore was a loincloth. No wonder Kasmiri’s nipples stood at attention whenever she saw Chur—his practically did. The man couldn’t help but ooze sex appeal. At the end of the long, straight hallway, Chur pushed open a door and stepped out onto a circular balcony.

  Once Sterlave joined him, he pushed the door closed.

  “We won’t be disturbed here.” Chur gripped the metal railing. “Last night, something strange happened to me. I was with Enovese and she was…” Chur trailed off. “It doesn’t matter what she was doing. Anyway, I felt something, a feeling, a force—whatever it was, it tried to possess me.”

  Chur’s description was similar to what Sterlave had felt last night. Hesitantly, Sterlave asked, “When it left, did you hear it laugh?”

  Chur caught him with his intense gaze. “How did you know?”

  “It tried to get me too. While I was with Kasmiri.” Sterlave held his gaze, afraid if he looked away Chur would know that he’d come between him and Kasmiri last night.

  When Chur turned his attention to the decimated lands, Sterlave released a tense breath.

  “Something’s brewing, something dark, something evil,” Chur said. “It couldn’t find a home with me, or you, and who knows how many others, but it did find a home last night. I can feel it building.”

  Below, the destruction was a perfect backdrop to their discussion. As winter came with its icy grip, a cruel, heartless force came with it.

  “But what does it want? It tried to get me to hurt Kasmiri, nothing more. As far as evil plans go, it doesn’t seem to be much.” As soon as he said it, he wondered if that was the point of the force—to hurt people sexually. Both he and Chur had been with their mates when it attempted to possess them. Had it found its way into a more welcoming body?

  When he suggested this to Chur, he nodded speculatively.

  “Perhaps Loban proved to be the perfect host.” Chur’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the railing. “I made a foolish decision to keep him here.”

  A breeze washed over them, salty and fresh, from the Valry Sea. Calmly, Sterlave asked, “Why did you keep him here?” He’d never understood Chur’s reasons for wanting such a dangerous individual around. “Why not brand him and send him home in shame?” A part of him stung that Chur hadn’t made Loban pay for what he’d done.

  “You once told me not to fight your battles for you.” Chur considered him with a sidelong glance. “Now you’re angry that I haven’t.”

  Sterlave bristled at the subtle reprimand. “This wasn’t my battle. Sending Loban home would have saved others from his brutality.” Rown’s broken posture and his tormented face filled his thoughts, spurring his rage. “If you’re looking for me to make you feel better for a bad decision, you best look elsewhere.”

  Rather than reacting with anger, Chur fixed his gaze on the broken land around them. “I thought I could help him. I thought if I showed him that he could be a better man, he would be. I had no idea he harbored such resentment toward you.”

  Surprised by Chur’s composed admission, Sterlave said, “I don’t think this is only about me. I’m sure he’s just as angry with you.”

  “But he didn’t hurt someone I care about.”

  Chur had to know Loban didn’t attack Kasmiri. Her two hand-selected guards would have ripped him apart. Which meant Chur knew it had to be one of their servants, for Sterlave had no other friends. He’d never gotten close to anyone in the training rooms, other than Chur himself. Even his handler, Helton, kept himself distant. Friends were a luxury Sterlave could never afford in his village. Things hadn’t changed when he’d come to the palace for training.

  When Rown related the details of his attack, Sterlave had worried about Kasmiri. He’d rushed to her advisor’s room but stopped short of pounding on the door when he remembered her guards. Neither man would let Loban anywhere near her. Besides, Loban had a penchant for young men, not women.

  “What if there are others he’s attacked?” A great wall of dishonor rose up, encasing him. What if Loban had hurt many young men all because Sterlave was too ashamed to confront what he’d done? If Sterlave would have stepped forward, he might have prevented a lifetime of pain for others. Had his cowardice allowed a monster to
flourish?

  “I know it’s private, but can you tell me where the attack occurred?”

  “In the tishiary, where the servants—”

  “I know where it is. It’s the perfect hunting ground for someone to prey upon defenseless individuals.”

  For the first time since Chur’s miraculous transformation, Sterlave saw worry settle across his noble brow. When Chur turned his attention to the Onic Mountains, his shoulders lifted with his deep breath. Every muscle in his body tensed, as if preparing for a fight. A great blast of freezing wind rose up and enveloped them, chilling Sterlave to the bone.

  “I fear that with everything I’ve done, everything the gods have done for me,” Chur said, “I am still too late to save the Onic Empire.”

  Loban relaxed, draped across a silky, padded couch while two young men performed for his amusement. One day soon, he would have thousands of servants ready to please him in any way he saw fit. For now, he would have to settle for a handful. Ambo’s suite was large, but it would hold only so many people.

  Ambo preferred young women, but Loban quickly grew bored with their simpering need to please. The men fought back. Eventually they did submit but never willingly, which only fueled his excitement. He demanded only those trained to perform with women, then forced them together with men.

  Sniveling, Ambo huddled in a chair next to him, his watery eyes darting everywhere but at Loban himself or the lusty display. When his pudgy finger crept up to his nose, Loban smacked him, hard, in the fleshy part of his upper arm. With a yelp, Ambo lowered his hand to his lap. Even if he had to break his arm, Loban would break Ambo of that disgusting habit. When he’d first come into Ambo’s rooms, dried snot wipes covered the furniture and even some of the walls. It took Ambo most of the night and a staff of ten to clean up the mess.

  Loban had made other changes too. He ordered that heavy wall fabrics, in black, be hung across the brightly painted murals. Servants reupholstered all the silver furniture in black and crimson. When Ambo argued about the danger and difficulty in obtaining those particular colors, Loban waved him off.

  “Let them know that I am here. When they come to fight, I will be ready.”

  Only the Harvester could wear or decorate with black, and only the empress could use crimson. Since Loban considered himself the ultimate Harvester and the soon-to-be emperor, he was entitled to use the proper colors. None could deny him. Even after only one harvest, his power rose, darkening his flesh, increasing his powers. Above him, he felt Chur Zenge. His goodness pushed a foul taste into the back of Loban’s throat. Worse yet was the power emanating from Sterlave. How could one untouched by the gods have such terrible influence? When Loban had sought guidance, the gods were strangely silent.

  Ambo insisted he only had so much funding to carry out changes to his rooms. If they did too much too soon there were those who would ask pointed questions. Loban ordered him to find more funds and to stop worrying about anyone finding out. As of today, Chur and Sterlave already knew the gods had selected him. They just didn’t know where to find him. Besides, with the secret they held about the empress, funding shouldn’t be a problem. If he so desired it, he could have Kasmiri willingly on her knees before him, begging him to keep silent.

  Loban had no true interest in Kasmiri. He wanted to torment her only because she belonged to Sterlave. Always he’d felt something was different about him, even as a raw recruit Sterlave projected a quiet, pure confidence. Loban wanted to destroy his poise. How dare Sterlave naturally possess something that eluded Loban?

  A niggling doubt invaded his mind. What if, by raping him, he’d actually made Sterlave stronger? No. Loban shook his head. Brutality crippled. Taking from others destroyed their confidence, their peace of mind. Rape stole the soul. That’s what empowered him. All those battered and broken souls piled up at his feet allowed him to stand tall among men. So tall did he stand he now touched the heights of godhood.

  A knock at the door drew his attention from his inner thoughts. Ambo shot to his feet, stumbled, then waddled to the door. Panting, he opened it a bare crack and peered out. Helton almost knocked him off his feet when he swept the door open.

  Helton registered the changes to the room with a frown. His displeasure increased when he saw the two young men writhing before Loban’s couch. With a shove of his massive hands, Helton dislodged the two.

  Loban simply laughed as he waved them away.

  “You lack discipline.” Helton refused to sit. Instead, he loomed above him, glaring down, injecting his stare with a simultaneous dose of fire and ice.

  “I don’t need discipline.” Loban uncoiled from the couch, then stood a breath away from Helton. “I’m a god.” With a flex of his body, he faked a punch to Helton’s face. To his credit, Helton didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look concerned. Helton held his place and continued to glower.

  “You’re not a god yet.” Helton turned his head and spat. “You still need us just as much as we need you.”

  “Perhaps,” Loban said silkily. “But someday the time will come when I don’t need you at all. What then, Helton?” He snapped his fingers at his glass. A serving girl refilled it, then departed. “Will you and Ambo band together to fight me?” Casually, he sipped. They had to know that he felt no allegiance to them. He understood why Helton helped him, as he would do anything to humble Chur Zenge, but in Loban’s empire, there would be only one ruler: Loban.

  Helton narrowed his eyes. “Unlike you, I have discipline.”

  He refused to say any more, so Loban said, “Tell me what you intend to do.”

  Helton laughed. It was the first time Loban had ever heard the man laugh. Unpleasant, his laughter sounded like two rocks rubbing together. When Helton shrugged, the spicy scent of his armpits wafted up. Not a distasteful smell but surprising when Helton needed no longer exert himself. He wasn’t a handler anymore. What was he doing with himself all day? His bronzed face was oily, his white hair plastered to his skull as if he hadn’t rested for hours.

  Deciding he didn’t care, Loban turned away. “Would you like something?” Loban lifted his hand to the multitude of servants. “We have a little bit of everything. What’s your pleasure?” He’d always wondered what aroused Helton. Did he crave the smooth touch of a young woman, like Ambo, or the hard muscles of a young man? Or, he stifled a chuckle, perhaps he craved the illicit. Did Helton mate with animals or perhaps the diminutive serbreds? Did he find his pleasure alone, or did he own a servant with whom he shared his bed? The only thing Loban knew for certain was that Helton did not have a mate. He’d had one, for he’d selected her when he was the Harvester, but she’d died shortly after. Helton could have had any woman in the land after that, but he’d remained alone. The only reason Loban knew this tidbit of information was that Ambo babbled incessantly when threatened.

  With a snort, Helton dismissed the offer. “Again, I have discipline.” He turned to Ambo. “We need to talk.”

  Ambo nodded so vigorously his chins slapped into each other. He took two steps before Loban clasped his hand to his shoulder. Ambo squealed, jumped, and quivered simultaneously.

  “You’ll discuss whatever it is in front of me.”

  “This doesn’t concern you.” Helton tried to drag him away, but Loban refused to release his grip.

  Ambo made a keening sound at the back of his throat.

  Once, when he was very young, Loban’s mount had become stuck in a vast mud pit. As he sat on the edge, watching the beast sink, the creature made a similar sound. Poor Ambo. He’d gotten himself into something thick and bottomless. As the sludge swallowed his head, he didn’t know what to do. Loban would have felt sorry for him, but he didn’t. Ambo was stuck in a trap of his own making.

  With a soft voice that belied his true intent, Loban asked, “Is it about your daughter?”

  The very word caused Helton to stiffen. Unable to turn his neck, he turned his entire body.

  “As far as discipline goes, Ambo has none at all.” Loban f
lashed a rapacious smile. “He told me everything.”

  Ambo’s whine deepened.

  Helton’s grip on Ambo’s wrist clamped down until his bleating increased in pitch. When Loban did the same to his shoulder, Ambo vibrated the tone until he collapsed from a lack of breath.

  Furious at his betrayal, Helton kicked his unconscious body.

  “You can kick him all night; it won’t take back what he said.”

  “What do you want?”

  Now that he had Helton’s undivided attention, Loban paused to take a sip of his wine. Smooth as astle, the crimson liquid flowed down the back of his throat to warm his belly. Ambo might be a glutton, but he was a glutton with excellent taste.

  “I want what I deserve. You are going to help me obtain my rightful place, or I will kill your daughter. Well,” he paused, considering his glass, “I’ll kill her after I defile her.”

  A gritted jaw displayed Helton’s fury. With an expert eye, he weighed and measured the threat before him. Loban knew how drastically his appearance had changed. His pale skin had turned burnished copper, so deep it drew in the light, refusing to reflect it. His lips, always blood red against his white teeth, were now even more predatory. Fathomless and cruel Onic black eyes now glittered with the lust of a thousand vicious torments. Helton weighted, measured, and realized he could not subdue the monster he’d created.

  “Leave my daughter be and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  20

  Kasmiri marched back to her room with her head held high. She had to bite her lips to keep her tears at bay. Normally, she would have let them fall, but her guards paced her. She doubted they saw the information Helton and Ambo had sent to her screen, but she still would not appear weak before her subjects.

  Once she left them at the door, her tears flowed along with great sobbing gasps. In that moment, she prayed for Sterlave to be there, waiting for her, but he wasn’t. Just once in her life, she wanted someone to be there when she needed them. She thought of sending Rown to look for him but didn’t want to face Rown, not when she couldn’t get herself under control. It was bad enough she’d taken her anger out on the poor boy; the last thing he needed to see was her falling apart.