Dark Dreams (3 page)

It was imperative he hold Fair Isle, for he could not return to his homeland. Imoshen had advised him to kill his half-brother, but he had not been able to execute the boy who had been more like a son to him. Gharavan’s betrayal still stung, for Tulkhan had loved him even though his half-brother’s birth had meant his disinheritance.

Years of devoted service had earned Tulkhan the respect of his men and the command of the Ghebite army, but they could not make him the son of the King’s first wife.

He had planned to kneel before his father as conqueror of the legendary Fair Isle. For hundreds of years this island had been growing rich on the trade routes between the mainland to the west and the eastern archipelago. Protected by its vigorous merchant navy, Fair Isle was the envy of the bickering mainland kingdoms. And Tulkhan had meant to present this island kingdom to the King.

But the invasion had gone sour. His father had fallen on the battlefield leading a secondary attack on the island. Tulkhan had sent Gharavan his fealty and continued the campaign, ultimately winning Fair Isle for the new Ghebite King.

And how had he been rewarded for his loyalty? Tulkhan skirted Gharavan’s treachery like an open wound, returning to practical, tactical matters. After his half-brother’s betrayal, Tulkhan had banished the young King and claimed this island, effectively exiling himself and his warriors from Gheeaba forever. He and his men were outcasts, Fair Isle their only home. And he could not hope to hold the island without Imoshen’s support.

Tulkhan stepped back, sheathed his sword and offered Imoshen his hand. With a tug he pulled her lightly to her feet. In that instant, before she could mask it, he saw the hunger she felt for him. An answering need moved him. It was there between them, this primal pull, body to body.

He’d been a fool to think casual bedding would be enough. He licked his lips. Their bonding day could not come soon enough.

Unaware of these undercurrents, his men signalled their approval with the Ghebite battle cry.

Imoshen glanced at them, then back to Tulkhan. ‘Thank you for the lesson in swordplay, General.’ Once more the T’En royal, she gave him the obeisance between equals, inclining her head and raising one hand to her forehead.

When she met his eyes, he thought she seemed pleased. Why?

‘Now I must issue invitations for the celebration tomorrow night. The townspeople have heard that you signed the document acknowledging church law, but when they see you sitting down with the head of the T’En church, they will really believe it.’ She turned away from him.

Bemused, Tulkhan watched her leave the courtyard. Imoshen had deliberately humbled herself before his men, yet she had done it on her own terms. The old wives’ tales were right, truly the Dhamfeer were a devious race.

I
MOSHEN RETURNED TO
her chambers, where she discarded her soiled shirt, wincing as she peeled down her trousers. Confronting Tulkhan was worth the pain.

Her mother had been right, she was a wilful creature.

Imoshen faltered, but there was no time to mourn her family, all lost on the battlefield. If they had agreed to take her with them, she would have died fighting by their side. But no, they had said she was too young at seventeen. Yet they had left her to run the family stronghold, responsible for the lives of a thousand people, her great-aunt her only support.

Hot tears of anger stung Imoshen’s eyes. Even in death, her parents had not wanted to acknowledge their daughter was a throwback, a descendent of the legendary T’En. She brushed the tears away and glared at the marble bathing chamber. A bitter laugh escaped her. Soon she would be bonded with the General, a co-ruler of Fair Isle. Her parents could never have foreseen that.

But her great-aunt had. The only other member of their family to be born pure T’En, her great-aunt had devoted her life to the service of the church and on her hundredth birthday had been rewarded with the title of ‘Aayel.’

It had been her great aunt who advised Imoshen to surrender Umasreach Stronghold and accept terms. Even so, their lives had hung by a thread. As the last remnants of the old royal line, their very existence would have fostered insurgence. To ensure their survival, they’d needed a lever on their captor. The Aayel had used her mind-reading gift to discover the General’s secret fear and most fervent desire. In Gheeaba, a man’s virility was judged by how many sons he produced. Tulkhan’s only marriage had been annulled when his wife did not produce a child within three years. The Aayel had directed Imoshen to seduce Tulkhan and ensure she conceived a boy.

It had seemed an impossible task, yet, when it came to consummating the Harvest Feast, the General had played into Imoshen’s hands. Every year the fertility of the land was ensured with a ritual consummation. Usually a young man and woman from one of the local villages were chosen, but the General had claimed Imoshen and she had told him the moment she felt his son’s life flare into being.

However, she would not have lived to conceive this child if the Aayel had not saved her life by sacrificing her own.

When the rebels’ assassination attempt on Tulkhan had failed, he had ordered the execution of the last of the old royal line. The Aayel had chosen to assume blame, absolving Imoshen, and had then taken her own life in an abbreviated form of the T’En ritual suicide.

Grimly Imoshen stared at herself in the silver-backed mirror. She hoped that if she was ever faced with such a choice, she would be as brave.

Tentatively she touched her flat belly, shaking her head in wonder. Her child broke with six hundred years of tradition. Pure T’En women were supposed to be chaste, devoting themselves to the church. Yet she should not feel as if she was committing a crime, for before the invasion the Empress of Fair Isle had granted dispensation for her to break with custom and bond with the only other full blood T’En, Reothe.

Imoshen swayed, sinking to her knees. She must not think of her betrothed and what might have been. When she had surrendered her stronghold to the General, she had believed Reothe dead and that, as last surviving member of the royal family, her duty was to help her people survive the Ghebite invasion. However, she had soon discovered that Reothe was very much alive. He had slipped into her chamber one night at Landsend Abbey, intending to complete their bonding vows, escape with her and retake the island.

Imoshen’s left wrist tingled and she lifted it to her mouth. Licking the bonding scar, she urged it to fade. To remember was to feel, and she did not want to recall Reothe’s arms around her, or his determination as he cut his wrist, then hers, to mingle their blood. She had not wanted to refuse him, but she had been unable to sanction more bloodshed. Reothe represented her lost dreams. Her loyalty must be to the people of Fair Isle and the General.

She looked down at her left wrist where the scar was all but invisible. So much rested on her. She had to believe she had made the right choice.

‘How can I be your maid if you won’t let me serve you?’ Kalleen demanded, running into the room.

With a relieved laugh, Imoshen came to her feet. ‘Soon you will be the Lady of Windhaven and have servants of your own.’

The girl used a choice farmyard word. ‘I’m not the Lady of Windhaven yet.’

‘It is only right that your loyalty and bravery be rewarded,’ Imoshen said. She suspected there would be many who resented seeing a farm girl elevated to the nobility. But it was thanks to Kalleen that she and Tulkhan had ended Gharavan’s brief reign.

Kalleen gasped as Imoshen turned. ‘That bruise on your ribs... Did the General do that because you dared lift a sword to him?

Imoshen sighed. ‘Does everyone know already?’

‘The Ghebites are saying that if you had been properly disciplined you would know your place. They say the General should beat you every day until he breaks your spirit.’

Imoshen cursed softly under her breath.

‘Should I unpack the Empress’s formal gowns for tomorrow night?’ Kalleen asked, practical as always. Imoshen thought of the fearful town dignitaries, of the General’s wary eyes; of the Beatific, the enigmatic leader of the T’En church.

Imoshen sighed. Her only experience of the Empress’s court had been a short visit the summer before Tulkhan attacked. At the time she had not been aware of the subtle power interplay between the church and the Empress. She had simply accepted that the church venerated the T’En as sacred vessels and in return the T’En served the church. But since entering the capital as Tulkhan’s captive, she had sensed a wariness in the woman who should have been her closest ally.

Imoshen turned to Kalleen. ‘For the celebration I must remind them of the Old Empire. I must be T’Imoshen, the last T’En Princess. So yes, unpack the formal gowns and jewellery.’

‘It is lucky the Empress was nearly as tall as you,’ Kalleen said as she left.

Imoshen sank into the warm bath with a sigh of relief. The General might scorn Fair Isle’s aristocracy and their complacency after six hundred years of uninterrupted rule, but he could not fail to be impressed by hot running water.

‘M
Y LADY’S IN
the bath, General Tulkhan,’ Kalleen protested, darting forward as if she intended to restrain him. ‘You can’t go in.’

‘Then you’d better tell Imoshen to come out, because I want to speak with her.’

Radiating disdain, the maid bundled up Imoshen’s clothing and retreated to the bathing chamber.

When Tulkhan heard their voices, he imagined Imoshen, her pale flesh glowing from the hot bath as she dressed indignantly. He smiled to himself. Confronting Imoshen was always invigorating, any excuse would do.

Already once today she had stood before him, disarmed but not beaten. He should have refused to let her touch the Ghebite sword, yet he could not resist her challenge, and because of this he’d just broken up a fight between the palace stable workers and his own horse handlers.

‘General Tulkhan?’ Imoshen greeted him, weaving the ends of her long silver hair into one thick plait.

He turned, aware of her frank gaze. Clearly it did not trouble Imoshen that the damp robe clung to her body. The knowledge that it would soon be his right to join her in the bathing chamber made Tulkhan short with the maid. ‘You are dismissed, Kalleen.’

Instead of obeying him, she looked to Imoshen, who nodded. This irritated Tulkhan intensely. The palace’s army of servants were always deferring to Imoshen.

‘You wanted to speak with me?’ she asked.

‘I will assign several of my elite guard as your private escort when you leave the palace.’

‘I have my own stronghold guard,’ Imoshen said. ‘Besides, I can look –’

‘Hear me out. By raising a sword to me you have broken Ghebite law and –’

‘You hear me out, General. This is not Gheeaba. In this land anyone can bear arms in defence of themselves and their loved ones.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Imoshen. My army is quartered in T’Diemn. They hear garbled stories of how you insult me by taking up arms against me. The customs of Fair Isle confuse them. Every day they see women walking about the streets, running businesses, sitting in tea-houses and taverns, laughing and talking.’

‘So?’

Tulkhan repressed a wave of frustration. ‘In Gheeaba a woman covers her face to walk out in public. Don’t look outraged. It is just the way things are. My men don’t know what to make of women who look them in the eye and laugh.’

‘Do them good!’

‘Imoshen, be serious.’

She bit back a smile. ‘I am listening, General. Surely in the years you’ve been on campaign your men have seen how other countries live.’

‘Less than you’d think. We travelled as an army and camped as an army. They are good men, but simple. Even Wharrd is wary of you, and he has worked at your side helping with healings.’ Tulkhan could tell his argument had not convinced her. ‘By the gods, Imoshen, I am trying to honour you. If my elite guard escorted you, it would be the same as if I was at your side. It would look right to my men.’

She sighed. ‘That may be, but it would not look right to the people of Fair Isle. Your elite guard would offend them. They expect the Empress to be approachable. And even though I do not claim this title, it is how they see me. From the poorest homeless worker to the master of the greatest guild, I must be accessible to them all. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’

‘Wait.’ He caught her arm as she brushed past. ‘I just broke up a fight in the stables. Some hot-heads were brawling in defence of your honour. This time there was nothing worse than a few bloody noses, but I cannot be at your heels every time you step out of the palace.’

She laughed and flicked free of his grasp with one easy movement. ‘I am not so useless that I need protecting from my own people, or yours. Now, I must attend to the invitations.’

‘Imoshen!’

She waited, regal and amused.

‘All it takes is one zealot with a knife. You could be killed.’

All amusement left her face. She held his eyes, hers sharp as garnets. ‘It is the same for every ruler. I have faced death many times since I surrendered my stronghold to you, General Tulkhan. You, of all people, must be aware of that. But this has not stopped me performing my duty.’

He wanted to deny that he had been ready to order her death on more than one occasion, but he could not.

She leant closer and raised her hand in what he thought was a caress, but instead she plucked a straw from his temple plait and tossed it into the fire. ‘Don’t worry, General. I will be on my guard.’

Imoshen walked off but she was not oblivious to the General’s displeasure. Since they had arrived in the capital, she had watched Tulkhan study the palace and its people. He was quick to learn and adapt. He would not insist on assigning an elite guard to escort her if she could convince him otherwise.

She paused at the entrance to her chambers, where one of her people stood, and smiled at the youth, remembering how twenty men and women from her stronghold guard had accompanied her to the capital at a moment’s notice. When Tulkhan had banished Gharavan, he’d had to move quickly to seize power.