Dark Dreams (25 page)

Now she stared at him as if she didn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. What other excuse did she have for appearing unannounced in his bedroom?

Unless it was to bed him? Tension fed by weeks of frustration thrummed through his body. ‘Either you are here to kill me or to bed me. Which is it?’

With understanding came anger and Imoshen stalked towards him, magnificent and furious. Her long hair hung around her body like a cloak. Every instinct told him to flee. It was only by exerting his will that he remained outwardly impervious.

‘You seek to provoke me, Tulkhan. Haven’t I proved my loyalty to you time and time again?’

He stared up into her face. With a jolt he noted the tears shimmering unshed in her eyes.

‘Then why are you here?’

Her hands trembled as she pushed the hair from her face, muttering under her breath. He didn’t need to understand High T’En to know she was cursing him.

Spinning on her heel she stalked off, all wounded dignity despite her nakedness. He was on his feet before he knew it, lunging forward to catch her around the waist. Her skin was icy cold. She arched against him, her body an exclamation of silent fury. The wiry strength in her surprised him.

Anticipating her reaction, he lifted her off her feet, still writhing, and threw her onto the bed. She twisted in the air like a cat, landing on her hands and knees, her hair splaying around her in an arc.

A shiver of instinctive awe rippled through him in response to her Otherness. She had never looked more Dhamfeer.

He tore at his vest. It was an elaborate brocade garment and the thin laces snapped easily.

Her eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’

He didn’t bother to answer. The vest hit the floor. She scurried across the bed but he tackled her before her feet could hit the ground on the far side. They twisted, wrestling.

It struck Tulkhan that she did not mean to harm him. She used her strength only to repulse him, forbearing to deliver the killing or maiming blows to his eyes or throat he knew she could deliver with ease.

By the time she lay beneath him, both of them were panting with exertion, their faces only a hand’s breadth apart.

‘This is a lie,’ he said and lowered his head to inhale her scent. It hit him like a physical thing. When he went on his voice was hoarse. ‘You could have blinded me and escaped. You are here beneath me because it is where you want to be.’

She gave a wordless moan and lifted her face to his. He felt her smooth cheek on his throat, her soft parted lips as she traced the length of his jaw with her tongue. An involuntary shudder of pure desire went through him, triggering an answering shudder in her. His heart rate lifted another notch.

‘Imoshen.’ Her name was an invocation, drawn from him against his will.

His lips sought hers and instead he found a cheek wet with tears. Stunned, he shifted his weight onto his elbows and studied her tense face. What he saw made him smile. Her eyes were fierce, denying the tears on her cheeks and the trembling of her chin.

Silently he sat up so that she was free to climb off the bed, but she threw herself forward into his arms.

There was no mistaking the sincerity of her embrace as she wound her arms around him. He could smell fire and blood in her hair. ‘Where have you been this night, Imoshen?’

She shook her head, either unable or unwilling to answer.

He cradled her against his chest, dragging the covers over her cold limbs. ‘What –’

‘Don’t ask.’

There was such sorrow in her voice he could not pry. So instead he held her close until the trembling ceased.

Tulkhan realised he was whispering Ghebite endearments, things his mother used to croon to him, things he’d long forgotten. But now he recalled his mother’s hands on him and her loving touch when he was too young to leave her side to live in the men’s lodge. How strange – finding Imoshen had forced him to face his mother’s loss, and in facing it he had found her again.

Imoshen pulled away from him, brushing the tears from her cheeks. The light from the open window had grown stronger and Tulkhan knew the servants would be coming soon. They must not find her in his chambers.

He went to warn her, but she placed her fingers to his lips. ‘Hush.’

There were smudges of tiredness in the shadows beneath her eyes. Why did she look so haunted?

‘We have little time,’ she whispered. ‘Know this, Tulkhan of the Ghebites. I will bond with you this day.’

He had to smile. All of Fair Isle knew that.

‘No.’ Her face was serious. She took his hand, placing his palm on her chest where he felt her heart beating strongly. ‘I bond with you, here and now. I swear it. We don’t need the church or a thousand nobles to witness this. It is between you and me.’

Tulkhan understood. The utter simplicity of Imoshen’s vow went straight to his core.

He lifted her free hand, kissing her sixth finger. What was that scent?

He held her eyes. ‘Know this, Imoshen of the T’En. I will bond with you from this day forward.’

Silently she eased her fingers from his to slip her hand inside his shirt. He felt her cold palm over his heart. His own hand rested on her chest, mirroring the gesture. It felt as if he held her rapidly beating heart in his hand. And, as she looked into his eyes, he felt his heart’s rhythm change until their two hearts beat as one, resonant and strong.

Imoshen nodded once as if satisfied, then slid off the bed. ‘I must go.’ But she hesitated, looking down at him.

At that moment she seemed fragile. Tulkhan didn’t want to part now, to spend the rest of the day looking at her, unable to touch, unable to share this intimacy until the last ceremony was over late tonight.

A noise in the hallway alerted him. ‘Be careful, the servants come.’

A sweet sad smile illuminated her face. ‘They will not see me.’

He knew it was true. He was mad to love a Dhamfeer.

T
HE DAY OF
the Midwinter Feast dawned bright and cold as Kalleen and Cariah helped Imoshen prepare for the bonding ceremony.

‘There...’ Cariah stepped back to admire Imoshen’s hair. A circlet of gold studded with yellow amethysts sat on her brow, and a thin gold net set with amethysts at every joint held her heavy hair in place. A second outfit was laid out on her bed for the coronation this afternoon.

Imoshen adjusted Tulkhan’s bonding gift. ‘The weight of this torque will give me a headache by midday.’

Kalleen smoothed her slim hands over Imoshen’s gown of exquisite gold lace worn over an underdress of black satin. ‘You are lucky you are tall. The babe does not show yet.’

‘Does everyone know?’ Imoshen asked ruefully.

Kalleen wrinkled her nose. ‘It is the right and proper way to go to your bonding, rich with child, my lady.’

Imoshen shrugged to ease the tension in her shoulders. Kalleen still addressed her as
my lady
, only now it sounded like a term of endearment.

After this day she would be the Empress, she supposed, though by Ghebite custom General Tulkhan would accept the kingship, which in turn made her his queen. Imoshen grimaced. She did not feel royal. She felt dizzy with trepidation.

‘Your hands are so cold.’ Kalleen rubbed them between hers and blew on the icy fingers. ‘What is it?’

Imoshen shrugged. She felt Cariah’s sharp eyes on her. She had bathed Reothe’s scent from her skin, but he remained in her thoughts. It felt as if she had left a piece of herself behind in that camp amid the hot pools. No matter how she rationalised it, she hated having to leave him. It had been a cruel choice. Yet she believed it was for the best. For all his talk of equality, Reothe threatened to dominate her in ways Tulkhan did not. She felt as if she had abandoned her younger, naive self when she had abandoned Reothe last night.

This very morning Tulkhan had sworn to bond with her, and she knew would stand true to his oath. Yet, as the day progressed, he was sure to draw away from her. If only she could get close to him, intimately close. She knew that if she could slip into his mind when he slipped into her body, she could imprint herself on him and... But no, that would not be right. What good was love if it was not freely given?

‘What troubles you, Imoshen?’ Cariah whispered.

‘Tulkhan does not love me!’ It was out before she could stop herself.

‘He wants you,’ Kalleen said. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You are to be bonded –’

‘You speak of bonding in the old way of the country folk,’ Cariah corrected. ‘In bondings of state the best you can hope for is companionship, and if you are very lucky a little fondness. Don’t despair, Imoshen, love may follow, especially since his body pulls him to you. Make use of it.’

Cariah’s Old Empire tone made Imoshen flinch. ‘My parents raised me with the old values. Their bonding went beyond the flesh to their souls. From what I now know of life in the Empress’s court, I’m glad my family avoided it.’

‘You can’t avoid your responsibilities,’ Cariah said.

‘Enough, Cariah.’ Kalleen squeezed Imoshen’s hands. ‘It will be for the best. I have seen how Wharrd has changed since we were bonded. The General will grow to love you.’

Imoshen sighed. ‘I am being foolish. Forgive me. As Cariah says, this is a bonding of state. Sometimes when I look into the General’s eyes I think as much as he desires me, he hates me.’

Kalleen and Cariah exchanged swift glances, their silence damning. Imoshen stifled her dismay. The murmur of the approaching noblewomen who would be escorting her to the great hall filled the pause.

‘They come,’ Cariah said. ‘Stand tall. Don’t let them suspect.’

Kalleen hugged Imoshen. ‘I wish you happiness. You have been so good to me.’

The women entered and for the rest of the day Imoshen knew she would have no peace.

F
OR
I
MOSHEN THE
bonding ceremony felt unreal, as if it were happening to someone else. For one thing it went on longer than was traditional because both churches played a role. The Cadre performed his with bad grace, having been relegated to giving his blessing before the Beatific oversaw the vow-giving in the manner of a Fair Isle bonding.

Standing next to her, Tulkhan seemed alien and distant in his barbarian splendour. He wore the ceremonial belt over a red velvet tunic with black sable trim. His long hair fell free down his back and two plaits hung from his temples, threaded with fine gold beads.

As the two of them clasped hands and the Beatific tied a slender red ribbon around their wrists, Imoshen recalled how Reothe had used the old form of bonding, cutting their skin and pressing their wrists together. When their blood mingled she had refused to make the vow. With the words unsaid they were not bonded by the laws of their church. Yet her unruly body had responded to Reothe by breaking the old bonding scar. She shuddered.

Hands still joined, they accepted the bonding chalice. Imoshen offered it to Tulkhan. When he had taken a sip he offered it to her, turning it so that her lips touched where his had. The memory of drinking from Reothe’s lips made her dizzy.

The Beatific retrieved the chalice, then the moment came for Imoshen to make her vow to Tulkhan before the gathered nobles and town officials. It was a relief to say the words. This final step was irrevocable. It freed her from Reothe’s claim. It must!

There was still the long noon feast and then the coronation ceremony to be endured, but tonight when she lay with General Tulkhan their joining would erase all thought of her once-betrothed.

A
S THE PALE
winter sun set on the great dome of the Basilica, Tulkhan and Imoshen faced the Beatific on their knees, ready to accept the coronation symbols of the Emperor and Empress.

They had crossed the square and entered the Basilica as supplicants, barefoot and bare-headed, but after the ceremony they would leave in the coronation chariot as befitted their new roles.

It was this aspect of their bonding which troubled General Tulkhan. The ornate coronation made him deeply uncomfortable. He was sure the Keldon nobles considered him a barbarian upstart, and with all this pomp and ceremony he felt he was being distanced from his own men. He wished this T’En rite over. But first Imoshen must be accepted by the Orb before she could be Arbiter of Truth.

With deep reverence the Beatific donned gloves so that her flesh did not defile the relic. She unlocked a delicate cage and withdrew the Orb. According to legend, it came from the land beyond the dawn sun. Tulkhan stared at the fragile glass and wondered cynically how many times it had been replaced in six hundred years of journeys and battles.

Imoshen seemed nervous. Her face was paler than usual and she wore Old-Empire make-up which heightened her T’En characteristics. The torque he had given her was nowhere in evidence, indeed her whole outfit was different from the gold and black of this morning’s bonding ceremony. Now she wore a white underdress overlaid with fine silver lace. Her hair was loose on her shoulders like a satin cloak, and her head, like his, was bare, ready to accept the crown.

Her eyes closed briefly as she prepared herself. The tang of her T’En gift registered on Tulkhan’s tongue, making him wonder about the source of the Orb’s power.

Imoshen raised her arms, hands cupped to receive the Orb. It left the Beatific’s grasp, falling into Imoshen’s. The instant her bare fingers touched the Orb’s surface it flared brightly, surprising Tulkhan.

A gasp of reverence escaped the masses gathered behind them. The Orb had responded to Imoshen’s T’En blood.

The Beatific removed the Orb and replaced it. Then she returned her attention to them, ready to finalise the coronation. An awed silence fell as the Beatific raised the twin crowns for public blessing.

Stiff with inactivity, Tulkhan waited impatiently with Imoshen at his side. Self-derision twisted within him. Whether he called himself King or Prince, he would never be as respected as the rulers of the Old Empire. He ground his teeth.

‘What is it?’ Imoshen mouthed softly, though she continued looking straight ahead.