Dark Dreams (16 page)

His lips found hers, drowning her questions, drowning all coherent thought. Desire ignited her. She wanted to forget everything in this moment. Only this was real, this passion and this man.

She felt tears escape her closed lids and did not care.

Everything weighed upon her – the resistance of the Keldon nobles and their unspoken condemnation of her, the knowledge that her every action was being watched by foreign ambassadors while they debated whether to support the rebel T’Reothe or the Ghebite general. Rights and wrongs did not bother these pragmatic brokers of power, only results. Yet she could bear all this if only she knew that she had the General’s trust.

As his lips covered hers Imoshen gave herself up to the hunger of his kiss. She knew they should not be touching like this, not when they were to be bonded soon, but she needed to feel his desire for her. He cradled her head and tenderly brushed her cheeks with his thumbs

‘You’re crying?’

‘No.’ She shook her head and would have pulled away but he caught her arm, making her wince. Her split sleeve parted to reveal livid bruises.

‘I hurt you last night?’

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

‘Forgive me?’ he asked, voice thick with emotion.

A laugh escaped Imoshen. ‘For what? How could I be so mean-spirited when you were only thinking of my safety?’

He shook his head, drawing back a little. ‘I judged you by Ghebite standards. I listened to evil advice.’

‘From the Beatific?’ It was out before Imoshen could stop herself. When he pulled away sharply she ground her teeth in frustration.

‘I told you to keep out of my head.’

‘I wasn’t in your head. I have eyes. I can see and I’m not stupid, although your Ghebite men treat me as if I were!’ She lifted trembling hands to her face, brushing the hated weak tears from her cheeks. ‘Oh General, is there any hope for us?’

‘Us?’

‘F... Fair Isle.’ Imoshen hurried on. ‘The peace is so fragile. The Keld watch your men like hawks, looking for any slight, imagined or real. Your lord commanders seem to seek ways to flaunt their rise in status. A hundred times a day Cariah and I have to soothe ruffled feathers.’

He snorted. ‘I have seen the way Cariah soothes ruffled feathers. Which of my commanders hasn’t she bedded?’

‘Piers, I think. And Wharrd,’ Imoshen replied automatically, then wondered why Tulkhan glared at her.

‘In Gheeaba a woman of good standing would never take a lover!’

‘In Gheeaba a woman is the property of her father, husband or son. No wonder she has no love for men!’

Tulkhan shook his head despairingly, but Imoshen thought she detected a faint gleam of amusement in his dark eyes.

‘Ah, Imoshen, you have no idea,’ he told her.

Relief warmed her but she stifled it, hardening her resolve. To need his approval weakened her. ‘Then explain what I don’t understand. Perhaps I don’t know a great deal about your culture but I can learn. To keep me in ignorance demeans us both.’

He sighed. ‘The Cadre would argue to keep a woman in ignorance is the only true kindness, for she does not have the ability to cope with the same mental complexities as a man.’

Imoshen laughed outright. ‘That Cadre is a prime example of his own argument. Because his mind is closed he cannot see the Beatific for what she is. From the Basilica she weaves a magnificent web of power.’

Tulkhan gave a snort of laughter then rubbed his chin ruefully, as he studied her.

‘What?’ Imoshen asked, feeling strangely lighthearted.

He shook his head, offering his arm in a formal gesture. ‘T’Imoshen?’

She laid her arm along his and closed her fingers over his hand. Regally, she inclined her head. ‘General Tulkhan?’

‘I believe there is an entertainment being performed in the forecourt to welcome the newly arrived nobles and ambassadors from the Amirate,’ he said. ‘Our presence is expected.’

‘If we are lucky it will all be over before we get there,’ Imoshen whispered, falling into step with him. She darted a quick look up at him and caught his grin.

‘You are terrible, Imoshen.’

She sighed elaborately. ‘Yes. My mother despaired of me. She said I was too wild for the high court.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘You will have to prove your mother wrong.’

A little ball of sorrow formed inside Imoshen. It was true. She would have to succeed in the elaborate game of court life, because the fate of Fair Isle lay amid its seething factions. Yet she longed for her simple life at the stronghold, now irrevocably lost. If the Ghebites had not conquered Fair Isle she would have bonded with Reothe in the spring. The thought made her cheeks grow hot.

She frowned. Would Reothe dare to move against Tulkhan without her support? Because of the formality of the Old Empire, she had not come to know Reothe as intimately as she now knew the General, yet she had to acknowledge the powerful pull she felt towards him. They shared the same T’En heritage but the affinity went much deeper than that. How much deeper she did not know, and she did not want to find out.

Chapter Seven

I
RRITATED BY THE
scratching on the door, Tulkhan put aside his plans for T’Diemn’s defence. Curse these palace servants with their little metal doorcombs, creeping about in their silent slippers, obsequiously bowing to him while smirking behind his back. ‘Enter.’

Imoshen strode in and placed a sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘I have selected fifteen interpreters for you to make the final selection from.’

Tulkhan was not convinced his men would accept the advice of Fair Isle interpreters. He missed Wharrd’s counsel. After their bonding ceremony and the ensuing celebrations, Kalleen and Wharrd had followed custom and left to visit their estates.

Every day Tulkhan watched Imoshen win over ambassadors from both the mainland and the archipelago, securing her position. If only he could be certain of her motivation.

Tulkhan read the top letter. The man could read and write in three languages. The General fought a surge of annoyance. Few of his commanders could do more than sign their own names. If he foisted a Fair Isle scholar on them, they would be sure to take insult.

‘You’ll note I chose only men so as not to offend your commanders,’ Imoshen said, eager to convince Tulkhan. He looked up at her suspiciously. ‘Believe me, General, in all of Fair Isle you have no more loyal supporter than me.’

‘For the good of Fair Isle,’ he said, his Ghebite features impassive.

‘What? Yes, for the good of my people, and yours.’

‘And if you thought that T’Reothe stood a better chance of holding the island, would you throw your support behind him with as much ingenuity and vigour?’

She gasped, denial leaping to her lips.

‘Think long and hard before you answer that, Imoshen,’ he warned, ‘because I can smell a lie!’

She swallowed, resentment flooding her.

‘He was your betrothed,’ Tulkhan continued. ‘You broke your vows of celibacy to –’

‘I had given no vows of celibacy. I wasn’t old enough!’

‘It was expected.’ The General’s expression was implacable. ‘You thought little enough of your honour to break your vow to your betrothed.’

Fury consumed Imoshen. ‘You stood at the gates of my stronghold with an army. You threatened to put my people to the sword. What would you like me to have done, sacrifice their lives for my personal honour?’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I took the path of peace.’

‘So, from your lips I hear it. You support me out of necessity.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Do you wonder that I question your loyalty?’

‘You twist my words.’ She held his eyes. ‘Whatever my reasons, I stand at your side now. The worm of doubt is in you, General, not me.’

When he did not respond she gave him the formal T’En obeisance and turned to go, sadness welling in her.

‘I heard from Wharrd. He and Kalleen plan to be here for our bonding,’ Tulkhan said to her retreating back.

Imoshen hesitated, then turned to face him. He sat sideways at the table, his long legs thrust out towards the fire. Even seated, he dominated the room.

Their bonding...

He was deliberately flaunting their imminent intimacy. She felt her cheeks grow hot. Her skin was so fair it was impossible to hide her reaction. She saw his features tighten.

Daring him to comment, she held his gaze. The silence stretched. She sensed that he wanted something from her, but was unable to determine what.

‘Take these.’ He shoved the letters in her direction. ‘When my men assume control of their estates I will not be sending your watchdogs with them.’

Rejection made her stomach clench. She picked up the sheaf of papers, straightening them. ‘The farmer folk speak their own language.’

‘They’ll find someone who can speak the trading tongue.’

‘But –’

‘Enough!’ He gestured to the door. ‘My men would have nothing in common with your over-cultured scholars.’

Deeply troubled, Imoshen returned to her room and left the letters on her desk. If her judgment was wrong in this, how could she trust her instincts? A wave of despair swamped her. She needed Cariah’s coolheaded counsel and went to find her.

Heart thumping, Imoshen paused by the open doors of the crowded gaming salon. Slowing to a casual stroll, she wove through the tables.

Catching Cariah’s eye, Imoshen used Old Empire signals to let her know that she wished to speak privately. With innate elegance Cariah made towards a door that led to the withdrawing room.

‘Lady Cariah,’ Jacolm called, ‘stay and give me good luck. Sahorrd and I are losing hand after hand.’

‘Later,’ Cariah answered as she joined Imoshen.

‘Why doesn’t he ask you to advise him on what cards to play? At least then he might win a game,’ Imoshen muttered.

Cariah bit back a laugh. ‘Imoshen, you know he thinks the complexities of a card game too much for my feeble mind.’

‘How can you bear it? Prove him wrong.’

Cariah’s lips parted in a sensual, feline smile. ‘When I am ready. Not everything can be achieved by direct confrontation. Now, what troubles you?’

Through the withdrawing room window Imoshen could just make out the shapes of a formal garden with knee-high hedges and topiaried trees – a classic example of T’En order and formality.

Jacolm and Sahorrd laughed raucously, crowing their victory over a turn of the cards. The sound rubbed on Imoshen’s raw nerves, fraying the edges of her control. She felt the T’En power move in her, shifting like a restless, eager beast. It was more than she could bear.

‘Do you fear your T’En heritage, Cariah?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Failing –’

‘Hush!’ The woman closed the connecting door, then returned.

A dim light filtered through the stained-glass window, illuminating Cariah’s features as she spun to face Imoshen, her eyes luminous. ‘How can you speak of failure? Soon you will be co-ruler of Fair Isle. You are on the brink of achieving everything. Why, you even carry his child.’

‘How did you know that?’

Cariah blinked. ‘Kalleen told me. Forgive me if –’

‘Kalleen did not know.’

‘She suspected. So I...’

‘You what?’ Imoshen pressed.

Cariah silently lifted her hand and placed it palm down over Imoshen’s flat belly.

‘I felt the growing life,’ Cariah told her. ‘This child is historic.’

Imoshen covered Cariah’s hand with her own and opened her T’En senses, willing herself to feel that same fragile life. Her heart rate lifted and that recognisable taste settled on her tongue, sharp enough to sting.

Cariah gasped, pulling her hand away.

‘What?’ Imoshen asked, seeing Cariah’s startled expression. ‘You felt my T’En gifts?’

Cariah nodded. ‘I’ve never come across it so strongly before. But then you are the first pure T’En I’ve known. T’Reothe’s voyages coincided with my times at court, so I never met him, although I did hear rumours.’ She shuddered. ‘You made my skin crawl.’

Imoshen laughed. ‘If I don’t cloak it, even General Tulkhan knows when I use my gift on him, and he is pure Ghebite. I wanted to feel my child’s life force stirring. Was I going about it the right way? Show me.’

Cariah shook her head slowly. ‘I am not tutored in the gifts; anything I know I deduced myself.’ She caught Imoshen’s hand and placed her palm upon on her belly. ‘By accident I felt the life force moving in you when we touched.’

A strange tension gripped Imoshen, a skin-prickling awareness. Until this moment Imoshen had assumed only the pure T’En were gifted. It was said their part-T’En cousins had an affinity for the gifts, but... ‘You have innate power!’

‘No! Only a little. I got it from both sides of the family. One of Father’s ancestors trafficked with the Ancients. Don’t tell anyone, I –’

‘Cariah!’ Imoshen dropped to her knees, clasping Cariah’s hands to her face, kissing her palms. Tears of relief tightened her throat. ‘Teach me what you know. I have been so alone, so frightened. The Aayel died before she could instruct me. I feel the gifts stir in me. I fear what I cannot control.’

‘Hsst! You must not speak so.’ Cariah sank to kneel with Imoshen, casting a swift look towards the closed door. ‘They must never suspect.’

‘Suspect? They know I am a cursed with the gifts. How can they not suspect?’ Imoshen demanded. Then she saw Cariah’s expression and understood the other woman’s duplicity. It was her own power Cariah did not want revealed. ‘You live a lie, Cariah. You deny what you are!’

‘Don’t be so quick to condemn me, Imoshen.’ Her beautiful face twisted with emotion. ‘I saw my mother sicken and die, locked away in the tower of my family’s stronghold because as much as my father loved her, he feared her more. I will not be an object of fear and hatred!’ Her face hardened. ‘At best I could coach you to hide your gifts, but you already know how to cloak them.’

Guilt lanced Imoshen. How many times as a child had she longed to be accepted? What would she have done if she could have hidden her heritage? She could not judge her friend.

‘I’m sorry. Forgive me, Cariah,’ she whispered. ‘I did not think of your position.’

Tears spilled over Cariah’s lower lids, chasing each other across her cheeks. She fought to hold back a sob. Her pain touched Imoshen. Lifting a hand, she smoothed the tear track from Cariah’s soft cheek. ‘Forgive my cruel words.’