Ariss clung to his shoulders. Clasping him by digging her nails in, she lifted herself up, wrapping her legs around his hips, nestling his sex deeply inside. When he glanced at her face, he discovered her eyes were wide open, her pupils so large they ate up the colored portion of her eyes.
Losing himself in that abyss, Kerrick demanded, “Give me your tribute.”
Her lips parted as her head went farther back. Tightening her thighs around his waist, she dug her feet into his buttocks, mashing her clit against the rough of his pubic hair.
Bouncing her once, twice, she let out a scream of pure satisfaction as her cunt clasped his cock. Then, and only then, did he offer his tribute in exchange for hers.
Kerrick climaxed with the strength of a god. He felt the pull from his toes to the tips of his hair. Everything in his body rushed out to fill her. All of that power that had pushed at the walls of his skin vanished with his orgasm. All of it was gone in the blink of an eye, causing Kerrick to stagger back. He fell to his knees so he wouldn’t drop Ariss.
There was no question in his mind now about his true duty.
Kerrick was not a servant to Ariss, but to Tavarus.
14
Ariss turned her back on the mirror, no longer caring what she looked like. She’d spent most of the day surrounded by a gaggle of servants who fussed over every strand of her hair, every minute fold of fabric, every tiny flicker of sparkling gems. Being a demigoddess was exhausting work. Whatever she’d become in the temple was changing her. Not drastically, but subtle changes occurred to the color of her eyes, the lift of her cheekbones, the texture of her flesh. Inside, she felt the same, but outside, she was changing. Slowly but surely, she was becoming the vessel of a god. When she placed her hand on her belly, she felt power below, even though the babe wasn’t old enough yet to move in any way she could discern, she still felt him. Him, for she knew that her child was male. Too, she knew, that sacrifice and trauma shrouded his destiny. Ariss had no idea if he would prevail, only that she would not be there to help him through his strife.
“Are you ready?”
Kerrick’s voice tugged at her heart. When she turned, she fastened her attention on his eyes. Beautiful clear green, like the darkest forest shade. His golden hair was longer now and perfectly straight, sweeping across his gaze so he had to flick the golden curtain back. Always she wanted to reach out and push the strands away, but the one time when she had, he clasped her hand and pushed her away. Not a big push, not enough to hurt her or even unbalance her, just enough to make it clear he did not welcome her touch. Such an action broke her heart. She knew in that moment that Kerrick would never forgive her.
Two cycles had passed since Kerrick had become her bonded slave. At the time, she knew the depth of his anger. On his knees before her, he’d clenched his jaw so tightly she thought he would permanently change the shape of his face. Repeatedly, she wanted to tell him that all of it was for show. She had no intention of keeping him as her servant. But she couldn’t put his fears to rest in the temple. She had to go through with what was demanded of her. Placing the metal collar around his neck hurt her just as much as it hurt him. She didn’t believe in owning other humans. And certainly, she didn’t want to own Kerrick. She wanted him as her bondmate, not her bonded slave. Her joy at fulfilling her duty was lost amidst the pain of what she’d done to him, and the dread of not knowing whose child she carried.
Tavarus had embraced her through the tawdry throne, filling her with the molten lava of his seed. Yet, shortly before that, she’d been with Kerrick. He hadn’t climaxed, but she knew he didn’t necessarily have to. Besides, he’d later given his tribute deep inside her rather than at her feet. Not that it mattered to the acolytes. They said the father of her babe was Tavarus. Sadly, even Ariss herself couldn’t lay claim to her own child. She was simply the vessel chosen to carry the issue of a god.
“I am ready,” she said, extending her hand out to clasp Ker-rick’s arm. She needed his help to maneuver in her heavy robe. Once they entered the celebration, she’d be able to remove the unwieldy thing, but not until then. Part of her current duty included making grand entrances. The collar of the black robe rose high behind her head, forming a backdrop littered with gold and diamonds. Her hair was piled atop her head, elongating her neck, giving her a regal bearing. She looked every bit fit enough to be a god’s consort. Her dreams of living a simple life in the forest seemed further from her grasp than ever. Because of her foolishness, her single-minded determination to escape her parents and Ambo, she’d placed herself into the grandest mess.
Often, in the dark of night, as she slept alone in her massive bed, she wondered if she could have changed anything, or if all of it, from becoming the Harvester to her willingness to do anything to feel Kerrick’s magical touch, was all predetermined by the gods. How did one escape one’s destiny if a god was determined to use one for his own ends?
Kerrick placed his free hand over hers. To those on the outside, the gesture would seem an offer of comfort and support, but she knew it was simply for show. By the prophecy, he was fated to be at her side until the day she died. On that day, he would be ritualistically executed, so that he could accompany her to Jarasine. The only way he could break free of his bond was to precede her in death. Of course, if he did, he was expected to wait in the nothingness for her to die.
Kerrick wore a simple brown tunic and loose brown trousers. The fabrics were of the finest grade, but the color indicated his station as a slave. Only a small black band of trim around his upper right arm indicated his previous status as a Harvester. Around his waist, he wore a thick animal-hide belt, also brown, that held several weapons. Normally a slave wasn’t permitted to own weapons, but Kerrick was her protector. His status among the servants in the palace was unique. There had not been one like him ever in the written history of Diola.
She remembered the night she’d snuck into his room, and his despair that he couldn’t wield the weapons with much skill. Her teachings were immaterial now. Tavarus could possess him and his skill was unmatched by any mere mortal. Tavarus was the god of the Harvesters, a god of sex and war. If any dared to attack her, Tavarus would use Kerrick to inflict swift and sure retribution. So far, his skills hadn’t been needed, as everyone in the palace avoided them but for when courtesy or protocol demanded interaction.
Already Tavarus left his mark on Kerrick by changing his outward appearance in subtle ways. His hair was blonder, his face stronger, his height slightly increased. However, the alterations that Ariss feared the most were the ones that none could see, not even Kerrick himself. There were times when Tavarus surged through Kerrick. When his eyes darkened and his pupils swelled to cover the irises, that was when she knew Tavarus possessed him. Ariss dreaded looking into his eyes and seeing fathomless black. Because when Tavarus took command of Kerrick, he made him do things that Kerrick would not wish to do. When Tavarus ruled Kerrick’s body, he would throw her upon the bed, mount her in a fury, and then be gone as swiftly as he climaxed. Kerrick would awaken later, his expression bewildered.
Ariss did not tell him what Tavarus was doing.
Kerrick’s resentment at being her bonded slave was bad enough. He didn’t need to know that Tavarus was using him as a sex surrogate as well, especially when Kerrick was forbidden to touch any woman. The only way he could find release was once a cycle in the temple.
At first, Tavarus had possessed Kerrick with great frequency, often several times in the same day, but Ariss knew this was because she was new to him. After a while the novelty faded. Tavarus seemed to come less and less, which eased her mind. She thought at first he would move on to other women, using Kerrick to sample this mortal realm, but apparently the bonding ceremony literally bonded Kerrick to her; he could not fornicate with another woman, as far as she could tell. Sadly, Kerrick couldn’t have her unless Tavarus was in his body.
Always, though, in her lingered the nagging question of what they would become. Where would they go once
the baby came? Ariss feared the acolytes would tear the child from her arms and insist they rear him within the temple. Just the thought of his life there, shrouded in mystery and worshipped by those around him, made Ariss want to run. However, there wasn’t anywhere to run to. If Tavarus wanted his son to come of age worshipped as a living god, then he could make it so. Even if she and Kerrick ran, all he had to do was possess Ker-rick and return her to the palace. Should she dare to run alone, she feared he would do something to her through her child.
Once, when she stood on the balcony looking down at how far the land below was, and just the idlest thought of what would happen if she fell over crossed her mind, her belly clutched in such pain she backed away from the railing. The throbbing ache didn’t stop until she returned to the room and closed the glass door. From that moment on, she hadn’t been able to step onto the balcony. What hurt her more than anything was that she didn’t want to harm her child, it had only been a passing thought, but Tavarus punished her for it. She hated him for not even allowing her the privacy of her own introspection.
When she’d been shaken by his violent sexual cravings, Tavarus had taunted her through Kerrick, chasing her around her rooms, ripping her clothing off in bits until she was covered in nothing but rags. He’d caught her, forced her to her hands and knees, and then brutally used her from behind. Fingertip bruises had lined her hips, and rug burns had marred her knees and hands for days.
Valiantly, Kerrick had tried to fight him. In his eyes, she saw the conflict as the god’s possession turned his green eyes black.Back and forth, his eyes changed from green to black, but ultimately the god was stronger, and Kerrick’s resistance only fueled his anger. Things were easier for them both if they simply let Tavarus have his way. Kerrick remembered nothing of this encounter, but he’d frowned and raised speculative eyebrows at her injuries.
She knew he thought she was indulging another man; sadly, the only man she wanted was the one she couldn’t have. The only hope Ariss clung to was that Tavarus would never hurt her deeply, only superficially, because he wouldn’t risk the child within.
What made Tavarus’ aggressiveness worse was that in the temple he’d been so unbelievably gentle. When she’d confronted him, he’d laughed, and said that was to waylay her into giving him permission to use her through Kerrick. If she’d known the truth of his sexual hunger, she never would have bonded to Kerrick.
“You are stunning,” Kerrick said, ushering her from their lushly appointed rooms and into a clutch of guards. Four abreast in the front, four in the back, they made their way to the great hall.
Ariss smiled at him, pleased that he appreciated how many hours she had sat immobile to become the living statue she was now. She could barely turn her head less she muss her hair or ruin the line of the fancy robe. Behind the four guards in back lagged several of her servants. They carried extra adornments so that all throughout the celebration, Ariss would always look her best.
Kerrick’s slave collar gleamed. She’d tried to remove the loathsome thing, but she was unable to do so. Even in death, he wouldn’t be free from the band. To outside eyes, Kerrick willingly played his part of dutiful servant. Her heart took a dangerous lurch in her chest because his willingness to do this was to protect her from censure. Almost everything Kerrick did was to shield her from harm. But only in the public’s eye. When they were alone, his anger was like a palpable force. Her heart broke when she discovered he could barely look at her without clenching his jaw. However, she realized he wasn’t angry with her, but at the situation he found himself in. Deep inside, he still cared about her, but he couldn’t stop resenting his subservient position.
She’d tried not to let her emotions grow, but she couldn’t prevent herself from falling in love with him. Love was an emotion she could not afford, for she dared not cross Tavarus. But she’d only heard him laugh in her mind when he’d forced his way into the secret part of her thoughts, those she’d managed to keep hidden for a time. Tavarus said love was for poets and fools. The gods did not love. They merged to find pleasure, but there was nothing about love in their mating. Only foolish mortals considered themselves hampered by such delusions. If loving Kerrick soothed her, let such be so, for Tavarus didn’t care. All he wanted was access to the plush, welcoming heat of her body when the mood struck him. Kerrick could have her heart, for Tavarus had everything else.
“What is this celebration for?” she asked, moving slowly but steadily down the hall. There had been so many in the last two cycles that Ariss couldn’t keep them straight.
“The new empress has been crowned.”
Ariss nodded absently, then immediately stilled her head. One more forgetful movement and her hair would tumble down.
At one time, she might have cared about the crowning of a new empress, but not now. The petty politics of the palace meant little when her world became that of the gods. The only thing that gave her pause was wondering if her parents would attend this party. She realized they likely wouldn’t. Her sister had vied for the position along with every other girl from the elite Houses who was of age. Ariss didn’t know who had won, but she knew her sister had lost. Mother said Father was so mortified that he’d wanted to return to Felton. She had no idea if he had, but moreover, she didn’t care. The one time when she’d seen her father, he’d recoiled from her. He’d said all the right things to show obeisance to the god’s vessel, but she could tell he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. It took Ariss a while to comprehend the fact that her father was afraid of her.
If he could have extracted some benefit from her position, he would have, but in this, she was alone. Her rise to the state of a demigoddess did not include her family, for her change had come as the Harvester, not as his daughter. Once Radox grasped that fact, he abandoned her. Her father was nothing if not practical. When he realized he couldn’t use her any longer, he was gone, probably off trying to find a way to use one of his remaining daughters.
From what little gossip she heard among her staff, Ariss gleaned that Ambo refused to give her father the palace contract for raw astle fibers. All his work in making her the Harvester was for naught; she hadn’t fulfilled her end of the bargain to become Ambo’s bondmate, which voided his agreement with her father. Ariss couldn’t even blame her father for her current misery. If she’d stuck to the rules of her position and clung honorably to her duty, she might have faired a far different fate.
“There’s no turning back now,” Kerrick said.
She startled, for she thought he’d read her mind, but instead, he meant they had arrived at the sweeping entrance to the great hall. Just beyond the arched doorway, hundreds of voices swirled in a cacophony as a thousand individual scents filled her too-sensitive nose. With a deep breath, she squeezed his arm and stepped inside. Glittering dresses of the brightest jewel tones littered the black Onic tile floor. Swirling to high-spirited music, the ladies and gentlemen of the elite were like beautiful flowers blowing in a gracious wind. Ariss’ black clothing separated her from them. She was darkness in the sea of light that spilled across the expanse of the hall.
Heads turned in her direction and steps faltered, but only for the barest moment. Quickly they turned away to forcefully make merry, as if her dark presence hadn’t disturbed their gaiety. Much like her father, the bulk of the elite granted her deference and the respect due her by virtue of her position, but below their forced smiles lurked hearts filled with fear. Only Kerrick looked upon her without terror skulking in his gaze. His eyes held a dull fury, but sometimes, far below, she saw his desire.
Tables laden with food dotted the room while potted plants offered secluded spots with chairs and couches so that guests could find a momentary reprieve from the festivities. Everywhere her gaze traveled, she found greater and greater excess. Servants were dressed elaborately and frozen in place like living statues. Ariss felt for them. Her own hideous outfit confined her movements. Huge fountains of red wine gushed into the air, burbling merrily. T
o her eyes, they seemed as huge, open wounds spewing blood. She clutched Kerrick’s arm tighter as her stomach roiled in protest.
Sensing her distress, Kerrick led her to a raised platform with several layers, like widened steps. At the top rested the elaborately carved Onic timber throne of the empress. No consort throne sat by its side. Ariss thought that curious. Below the highest step rested another throne. This one was smaller and not as decorative. Was this one for her consort?
The protocol officer had drilled Ariss earlier, but she couldn’t remember any of what she’d said. When Kerrick led her to the smaller throne, she hesitated, dread stealing over her. In a rush, she remembered. She would have fallen to her knees if not for Kerrick’s strong arm holding her up. This was not a party for her to attend as a guest. This was a party for her to sit on high so all the elite could look upon her and see the vessel of a god. This show was to remind them that the child she carried would one day rule beside their new empress.
Turning her back to the throne reminded her of her punishment in the temple. She shivered, even though this one had no stone phallus. Carefully, as she sat down, her servants arranged her robes to fall artfully over the chair so that when viewed, she would be centered in the decorative folds. Feeling like artwork on display, Ariss sat very still, nestled in the golden fabric that lined the inside of her black robe.
Kerrick stood to her side. One hand dangled loosely at his side while the other rested lightly on the hilt of his blade. His gaze never ceased to travel over those below them. Now she understood another reason why they had seated her up high; such afforded her protector a wide view. Not that any would dare to attack her. She sensed that if any harbored her ill will, Tavarus would know. He would reach down through Kerrick and destroy them.
[The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest Page 18