Free [The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest by Anitra Lynn McLeod

morning. She couldn’t see his face, but she’d sensed he smiled ruefully as he spoke.
    Tentatively, she opened the bottle, sniffed, and then poured a drop onto her fingertip. Smoothing the oil over her thigh deadened sensations. The feeling of numbness was one she was unfortunately familiar with, but this wasn’t as deep or as utterly deadening as what her parents forced her to consume and spread upon her person. Carefully, she poured more of the oil into her palm, then rubbed it onto her sex. Numbness replaced the pain. She was able to rise from the bed, but her body felt drained of energy. From her hips to her ankles hurt, probably from squatting down so many times. Between her legs, at the most tender part of her inner thigh, she found more pain, so she slathered that area with oil. The more she moved, the more she discovered little aches and pains. In the end, she covered her entire body with the oil, then slipped on the robe her
paratanist
had thoughtfully left at the bottom of her bed.
    With a sigh, she considered her new living quarters. Everything was black, burnt umber, or dark brown. The black was befitting her as the Harvester, for only a Harvester could wear black. Her family color was yellow, but from now on, even when she returned to them, she would wear black. Such would be a welcome change, as the particular shade of yellow her family line wore made her look sallow, as if she were perpetually ill. Black matched her hair and brought out the gray of her eyes. She frowned. What did it matter what she looked like? Her family had already mapped out the rest of her life. Refusing todwell on them, she moved to the far wall and pulled open the drapes.
    Tandalsul,
the twin suns, poured bright, golden light into her rooms. She stood, soaking up the heat. After a quick glance around to ensure that she was alone, she opened her robe. The oil captured more heat, penetrating into her flesh, then into her muscles. When she heard her door open, she yanked her robe closed and spun.
    Her
paratanist
entered and bowed.
    “How are you?” she asked for a lack of anything else to ask. It had taken her a long time yesterday to realize he only spoke when she spoke first. When he’d been given to her during her indoctrination, he’d not come with a set of instructions and she’d been too overwhelmed by everything to ask. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d actually win the Harvester competition.
    “I am fine, Harvester.” With that, he moved to the kitchen to prepare her morning meal.
    She had tried to get him to call her Ariss, but he’d refused, saying that such violated his sacred duty. He shook his hood-covered head when she asked after his name. He begged her to call him
paratanist
and nothing else. Ariss had been raised with servants, mostly the deliberately bred
serbreds,
but she’d never liked treating another human being as lesser than herself. Her sister, Darabelle, delighted in tormenting them, especially the younger handsome boys who cared for father’s prized Cuear-cian mounts. So fascinated was Darabelle with handsome boys, that Ariss wondered if Darabelle had made it intact to her Harvest last night. Not that it mattered so much these days, but Ariss took pride in knowing that she had come to Chur a virgin.
    Another frown darkened her face, for she wasn’t as sure of that fact as she had been before she’d remembered the man with the agonized face. Had she had sex with him? Was that why her parents stripped him from her memory and forced her intochemical numbness? The more she dwelled on trying to uncover the truth, the more her head ached. In the end, she pushed the thoughts away.
    Now that Harvester Chur Zenge had ascended to a demigod, having been sacrificed to him was a mark of prestige. All she really remembered of her Harvest was lying there, freezing, buried under a pile of autumn leaves because Darabelle had hidden the sacrificial robe. Other virgins had used the same technique,