Dark Dreams (22 page)

The General’s black eyes widened. No word passed between them, but they understood each other. It thrilled Imoshen.

Tulkhan cleaned the blade before replacing it in its scabbard.

‘I thank you for sharing this with me,’ she said. ‘It is a gift I will treasure always.’

He laughed. ‘Your gift is more tangible than that.’ With a flourish he opened the last object, a shallow chest. ‘This is your gift. A torque of pure gold to match my ceremonial belt.’

Imoshen stared at the neck circle. Its line was elegant enough, a crescent moon. That was not what offended her. It was the subject of the filigree and niello design.

‘See.’ Tulkhan unwrapped his ceremonial belt, which was made of rectangular hinged squares of gold embossed with the same design. ‘Let me see the torque on you.’

Imoshen opened her mouth to protest, but held her tongue. Tulkhan placed the heavy gold torque around her throat, then stood back to admire the effect.

Imoshen lifted her hand to the neck circle. It felt like a yoke of servitude, binding her to Tulkhan’s perceptions of a wife. She undid the clasp and removed the torque slowly, replacing it in its bed of velvet.

‘What is it, Imoshen?’

‘Your men deck themselves in golden jewellery.’

‘It is our way. We wear our wealth on our backs. It is not so long since we were a nomadic people, and old customs die hard.’

Imoshen sighed. He was defensive now. ‘What is on the torque, General?’

Tulkhan grimaced but contained his annoyance. The design was obvious. ‘The great Akha Khan in the form of a black stallion.’

‘And what is he doing?’

‘Crushing the enemies of his people.’ Even as he said it, he understood. ‘It is taken from a myth where he transforms into the stallion and tramples his opponents.’

‘Death and bloodshed.’ She lifted the heavy torque from its resting place and held it before him, anger making her voice tight. ‘My island has been trampled by Akha Khan’s stallion and my family are all dead. How can you expect me to wear this?’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘True, this is exquisite workmanship, but it deals with blood and death. Is the Ghebite mind so steeped in violence that it cannot create peace and beauty for its own sake?’

‘You refuse my gift?’

‘I will wear your gift with honour. But I will never be your
wife
and wear a yoke of servitude.’ Imoshen replaced the torque, searching his face despairingly. She scooped up the great sword on its bed of velvet. ‘I value the sharing of this more than anything else.’

Her declaration warmed Tulkhan. He took the sword from her and slowly rewrapped it. ‘Every morning when I wake I wonder, what will Imoshen confound me with today?’

Silence hung between them, heavy with so many words left unsaid.

Imoshen touched his arm. ‘Neither of us treads an easy path, General. We will be bonded and crowned on the last day of the old year. When the sun rises the day after tomorrow it will be dawning on a new age for Fair Isle.’

His hand covered hers. ‘I did not mean to insult you with my gift.’

‘It is the gifts you cannot see that I treasure most.’

He shook his head. ‘You are a rare woman, Imoshen.’

She smiled. ‘I will see you at the festivities this evening.’

Only when the door closed behind her did Tulkhan realise that she had forgotten to take the torque. He would send it to her room.

Crossing to the hearth he stirred up the coals then sat before the fire, resting Seerkhan’s sword across his knees. His heart beat faster as he recalled Imoshen’s words. The day after tomorrow the sun would rise on a new age for Fair Isle, one fraught with danger and challenge.

An age he would stamp as his own.

I
MOSHEN SHIFTED IMPATIENTLY,
causing her new maid to drop the comb. ‘I’m sorry, Merkah.’

The girl flushed. Imoshen suspected she wasn’t used to members of the royal family apologising.

‘It will be a grand feast tonight,’ Merkah ventured.

Imoshen nodded. This was her last evening unbonded. Tomorrow promised to be a full day with the bonding ceremony in the morning and the joint coronation after the midday meal. She longed to know whether her bonding with Tulkhan would bring peace to Fair Isle, and feared what would become of Reothe. The temptation to do a scrying was intense but she lacked control.

And she was still no closer in her quest for knowledge of her gifts. Though the Keeper of Knowledge had provided her with a raft of ancient documents, she could find no histories of her people and no treatises on the T’En gifts. If only Imoshen the First’s journal had not been destroyed!

‘There, T’Imoshen.’ Merkah stepped back with a pleased expression and waited expectantly.

Imoshen studied her reflection. She looked quite unlike herself. The maid had created a hairstyle worthy of the high court. Imoshen’s hair had been smoothed over padding on the crown of her head to create a fan of silver satin. A single deep blue sapphire hung in the centre of her forehead. She had argued against a diadem of zircons, preferring the simplicity of a single sapphire echoing the deep blue of her underdress.

‘I look so... grand,’ Imoshen said. ‘Thank you.’ But she could see it wasn’t the response Merkah had hoped for.

Recommended by Kalleen, the girl was a capable maid, but Imoshen couldn’t let her guard down with her. She longed for her old friend’s company.

‘You may have the rest of the evening to yourself.’ Imoshen rose.

‘Very well, T’Imoshen.’ Clearly disappointed, Merkah knelt to adjust Imoshen’s brocade tabard, which had been embroidered with the finest thread of spun silver. It hung to Imoshen’s knees over the velvet undergown.

As Merkah rose she tripped. Imoshen caught the girl’s arm but she pulled away sharply.

Just as quickly she offered an abrupt obeisance of apology. ‘Forgive me, my lady.’

‘It does not matter,’ Imoshen whispered. But it did. It hurt when people pulled away from her touch.

She pretended to adjust her neckline in the full-length mirror. The truth of her position was not pleasant. In desperation the people might reach to her for reassurance, but in everyday life she was a pariah. In the Age of Discernment, enlightenment in Fair Isle did not extend to the T’En. ‘You may go, Merkah. Join in the festivities.’

The maid gave Imoshen the traditional deep obeisance without meeting her eyes and silently withdrew.

Imoshen paced the room. She was ready before time because she had chosen not to attend the afternoon’s formal entertainment. She had thought she needed time to compose herself for this evening and tomorrow, but now she was restless.

Surely it would not hurt to walk the corridors of the palace? She could pretend she was making a last-minute review of the arrangements for the festivities. Sweeping out into the long gallery, she strode off.

The palace of a thousand rooms was full. The Keldon nobles had all brought their own retinues, and entertainers of every kind were housed in the servants’ quarters. Mainland ambassadors and nobles had been arriving steadily for the past ten days. This in itself was a good sign. It meant their rulers were willing to acknowledge General Tulkhan’s sovereignty of Fair Isle. From conversations with various parties Imoshen had learned that the General was well known and respected. Even the ambassadors whose countries had been annexed to Gheeaba spoke well of him.

She’d had to exercise diplomacy while greeting the ambassadors from the mainland triad. When the Empress had called on the southern kingdoms to honour the old alliance, they had claimed they could not mobilise their armies against the Ghebite invasion in time. Yet now they boldly presented themselves as though their excuse was not paper thin.

Imoshen suspected Tulkhan had received news of his half-brother from the copper-skinned men of the mainland’s north. As far as she knew Gharavan had retreated to lick his wounds, though unsurprisingly no one had been sent from Gheeaba to bring them news. If the lack of an ambassador from his homeland troubled Tulkhan, he did not reveal it, least of all to her.

A familiar arrogant voice echoed up the grand staircase from the marbled foyer below. Imoshen’s skin went cold. Hardly daring to breathe, she peered around a column.

Kinraid the Vaygharian! The sly manipulative traitor himself.

This was the snake who had convinced Gharavan to turn on Tulkhan. Unbidden, the memories swamped her. When she had not been in her stronghold to greet the Ghebite king and his Vaygharian adviser, they had declared her a rebel. In reality she had been abducted by one of Reothe’s men, Drake. She had escaped and returned to her stronghold only to find the King and his Ghebites feasting in her great hall.

Within a day Tulkhan had returned from the Keldon Highlands after failing to capture Reothe. Seeing his chance, Kinraid had claimed that if the General were truly loyal to King Gharavan he would return at once to hunt the rebels.

When Tulkhan refused to leave until spring melted the snow in the high passes, Kinraid had marched into Tulkhan’s bedchamber where Imoshen and the General lay entwined. Kinraid had laughed as his men beat Tulkhan senseless in front of her.

But, when Kinraid’s bare flesh had touched hers, she had seen his death. The Vaygharian would meet his end in flames of agony.

Kinraid’s voice jolted her and she looked down to see him dressed in the formal robes of the Vayghar, complete with sculpted beard and beaded hair. He was accompanied by several men in the same ornate costumes of Vayghar merchant princes. They carried themselves with assurance, full of their own self-importance. Imoshen had seen the same stance in other ambassadorial groups.

She flushed. How dare Kinraid presume on the immunity of ambassadorial status to invade her palace? The General must be warned. Swiftly, Imoshen left the upper gallery and sped to the salon.

When Imoshen saw the General’s familiar profile she had to smile. He was watching a performance which the audience needed an appreciation of ritualised song and dance and a knowledge of T’En history to understand. The General would find it a terrible bore.

Imoshen could not catch Tulkhan’s eye. Frustration churned in her. She must warn him, but it was against her people’s strictest traditions to disrupt a performance. She must attract his attention by other means.

As Tulkhan watched the play, he marvelled that anyone could keep a straight face while decked out in such a ridiculous costumes. How they balanced on one leg while completing the delicate arm movements was beyond him. When a cymbal tinkled, the Keldon nobles clicked their fingers appreciatively.

Several of his men glanced his way. He bit his lip to hide a smile and thought about tomorrow’s arrangements. Soon Imoshen would be his by every law known to man. Despite his impatience, dread made his heart beat like a drum, for no True-man had bonded with a pure T’En woman in over six hundred years. What had Imoshen the First tried to hide with her vow of celibacy?

Something stirred his senses. He felt as if silken fingers had stroked his skin. The touch was so sensual he had to swallow. Pinpricks of sensation dusted his lips. He wanted to find Imoshen and kiss her. The back of his neck tingled.

Very slowly, he turned.

There she was, standing in the entrance with her intense eyes focused on him. Curse her!

She beckoned, her expressive eyes troubled.

He sprang to his feet, weaving through the clustered tables and chairs, heading towards her like a dog called by its master. Fury built in him.

Wharrd met his eyes, looking for an unspoken signal to accompany him. Tulkhan shook his head. He did not want the world to know the Dhamfeer had tweaked his leash.

‘General,’ Imoshen whispered. She caught his hand and drew him with her, hastening across the wide gallery into a window embrasure where they could talk in private.

Though she radiated anger, it was not directed at him.

‘I’ve seen Kinraid,’ Imoshen whispered. ‘He dares to come here as an ambassador of Vayghar. What will we do?’

Before he could answer, the regular thump of booted feet on the gallery’s parquetry floor interrupted them. Tulkhan moved out of the embrasure to see a self-important servant escorting five richly dressed Vaygharians, Kinraid amongst them.

He sensed Imoshen at his side and he was surprised to realise he found her support reassuring.

Kinraid stepped from the ranks and gave a formal bow of greeting. He offered a sealed scroll. ‘We meet again, General Tulkhan. I am ambassador to the Vayghar and these are sons of the merchant council, princes in their own right, come to celebrate your coronation.’

Tulkhan accepted the scroll and broke the seal, reading it swiftly. Imoshen peered over his shoulder.

As Vayghar’s official representative, Kinraid could not be refused a welcome without insulting the trading nation. The princes were there to add weight to his reputation. Tulkhan did not want to insult one of the most powerful countries on the mainland. He felt Imoshen’s tense hand on the small of his back.

‘Welcome, Vaygharians.’ He gave a small inclination of his head, the barest minimum for civility, then held Imoshen’s gaze. ‘T’Imoshen, would you find a suitable apartment for the Vaygharian entourage, and arrange for their seating during tomorrow’s ceremony?’

He knew Imoshen would understand the political necessity of acknowledging the Vaygharians, but it was clear she didn’t like it. He grasped her arm, willing her to rely on his judgment. If he sent the Vaygharians packing on the eve of his coronation, how would the other ambassadors react?

Only this morning he’d had news confirming that his half-brother was bitterly plotting revenge. It was not enough that Gharavan had inherited the extended Ghebite Empire, benefiting from years of Tulkhan’s faithful service. He wanted Fair Isle too.

Tulkhan feared his half-brother, with good reason. He knew the strength of the army Gharavan could raise. If he had been in the King’s position he would have mobilised a massive force by calling on alliances and auxiliary troops from the annexed countries. He would have struck swiftly and without mercy. Rebellion had to be put down before it could spread. Only one generation separated Gheeaba’s annexed kingdoms from freedom, and they did not wear the yoke of servitude willingly.