Dark Dreams (49 page)

She felt her body respond, impossibly urgent. How could she expect him to understand when she didn’t? ‘Reothe, please.’

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘Not till the moment is right.’

A flash of anger ignited her. ‘I wasn’t asking –’

‘Yes, you were. I can feel how much you want me. It sears my senses. It always has.’

She shook her head. She did not like to think what his admission revealed.

With the nail of one finger he circled the damp patch of material around her nipple. ‘You taste so sweet.’

A clench of desire seized her. Unlike Tulkhan, Reothe would accept her for what she was. He would revel in her Otherness.

‘Even if I desire you, you must know I have made a vow. I am Tulkhan’s bond-partner.’

‘Only by necessity, and only after breaking your vows to me.’

‘Nevertheless, Tulkhan and I are bonded.’

‘Only until his death.’

Her mouth went dry. ‘You mean to kill him?’

‘I won’t have to. At most he would only live another twenty years. Fifty is a good age for a True-man. But you and I have another eighty years or more.’ He leant closer to her, brushing her cheek with his lips. ‘Imoshen, don’t deny what you know to be true.’

She drew in a shaky breath, senses scorched by his nearness. All those years alone...

‘You want me,’ Reothe whispered. His breath dusted her skin. ‘We would already have been together if the Ghebites hadn’t chosen to launch their campaign last spring. Don’t deny me, Imoshen.’

Drawing a deep breath she met his eyes as honestly as she could. ‘True, I want you. I may even love you a little, Reothe. But I gave my vow to Tulkhan, the truest of True-men. I am bonded till death parts us and I hope he lives another fifty years!’

She wanted to anger him. It was easier to keep her distance from an angry Reothe.

He lifted her free hand, stroking her bonding scar. ‘With me you can bond beyond death.’

‘No.’

‘I speak the truth. Test me.’

He was offering to mind-touch with her.

She wanted it. It was awful to acknowledge how much. She had been so lonely, shut out by Tulkhan’s resistance to her gifts.

Reothe smiled and leaned closer. Imoshen gasped as she felt the first tingle of awareness brush the surface of her mind. But that forbidden fruit was too sweet to taste without risking her strength of purpose, so she shut herself away from Reothe. It surprised her to discover that she could.

‘You may believe the T’En can bond beyond death, Reothe, but I do not want to end up like the Parakletos, a restless shade, bound between this world and the next. Besides, I gave my word to the General.’

‘You gave your word to a Ghebite, a man blinded by his upbringing, a man who does not understand your true value.’

‘Nevertheless, I gave my word.’

‘Under duress! Why does it always come back to this?’ Reothe sprang to his feet. ‘Why do you find it so easy to break your word to me?’

The baby jerked in her arms, responding to his tone. She changed Ashmyr to the other breast, reminded again of Reothe’s touch. Then she looked up to see him watching her, one elbow propped on the mantelpiece, a frown drawing his narrow brows together.

‘You gave your word under duress, Imoshen. I know you believed you were saving our people from further warfare, but it is coming...’ He stopped himself as if he was about to say more. ‘As for us, you gave your word freely to me, but you cannot say the same for that Ghebite. To which of us do you owe your true loyalty?’

She pressed the fingers of her free hand to her closed eyes, weary beyond belief. Every word he said made things more tangled. With a sigh she looked up. ‘There is no right, Reothe, only survival.’

A smile lit his face, igniting him from within.

‘What?’ She regarded him warily.

He crouched beside her, earnest and intense. ‘I’m glad you said it all comes down to survival. For I am also a pragmatist and I will do whatever I must to ensure the right outcome.’

Imoshen went cold. That wasn’t what she meant at all. Or was it?

Reothe stroked the baby’s foot. Ashmyr’s toes curled in response, eliciting a smile from the rebel leader.

A servant scratched on the door, then backed in carrying Imoshen’s meal.

Reothe rose, cupping her cheek with casual affection. ‘Eat up. You will need your strength. We ride tomorrow –’

‘South?’ It was out before Imoshen could stop herself.

An impish smile lit Reothe’s face. The more time she spent with him, the more she realised he was not like other men. Did Tulkhan find her as fey and disturbing as she found Reothe?

‘You will see.’ He left with a mocking grin.

The servant placed the dish on the table beside Imoshen. She dismissed him and tried the food. This time it was chicken and just as thickly spiced.

Reothe’s words returned to her. He would stop at nothing to regain Fair Isle. Hadn’t she vowed almost the same thing? She’d vowed her children would rule Fair Isle. Now that seemed a hollow goal. If Tulkhan fell she would not hand Ashmyr over to Reothe to rear as his tool. She refused to live out her days as Reothe’s puppet empress, with her son’s life hanging in the balance. If Tulkhan fell she would have to flee. If Tulkhan died...

Pain curled through her. It was impossible to imagine his brilliant mind and forceful personality gone forever. But he was as vulnerable as any True-man against Reothe.

Did contemplating the General’s death make her as bad as Reothe? No. Unlike him, there were things she would not sink to, such as invading people’s minds against their will.

What of the Basilica’s Archivist? True, that wasn’t against the woman’s will, but it had been without her knowledge.

Imoshen sighed then licked the spoon clean. Was evil only a matter of degrees and perspective?

According to different legends T’Imoshen the First had been either a glorious saviour of her people or an ignoble invader who stole Fair Isle from its inhabitants.

In time to come, would Imoshen herself be regarded as a turncoat who betrayed the last of her kind, or a devoted servant of Fair Isle whose statesmanship saved the island from destruction? It all depended on which victor wrote the history books.

She shivered.

Reothe or Tulkhan? A True-man who had invaded a peaceful people for gain and now strove to unite them, or a T’En warrior who would do any-thing to return the rightful rulers to power? Was there a difference?

And what of Fair Isle?

If only Reothe was totally despicable then she could hate him. But he was too much like herself...

Imoshen stood with her baby snuggled in the crook of her arm. Completely trusting, Ashmyr had dozed off while she pondered their fate. A glow of pure love filled her. What ever happened, he was hers to protect.

T
ULKHAN GLARED AT
Kalleen as he tossed Imoshen’s letter onto the table between them. ‘How can you claim you don’t know what she wanted?’

The opinion of T’Diemn was divided and rumour ran rife. Half the townsfolk believed Imoshen had run off to join the rebels, the other half sided with the General, believing she had been abducted.

‘I know as much as you, General Tulkhan.’ Kalleen bristled. ‘If you can read more into Imoshen’s letter, let me know.’

‘When we arrived at Umasreach Stronghold, she had already been abducted,’ Wharrd explained, a restraining hand on Kalleen’s arm. ‘So we hastened to T’Diemn.’

‘Then I am no closer to solving the puzzle.’ Tulkhan retrieved the letter and smoothed the fine paper.

‘What will you do, General?’ Wharrd asked.

Tulkhan tucked the letter inside his jerkin. ‘Go after her and my son.’

‘But it’s a trap!’

‘Of course.’

‘I will go with you.’

‘And I,’ Kalleen spoke up.

Tulkhan saw Wharrd’s face go grey. The bone-setter caught Kalleen’s hands in his. ‘You carry our child. I can’t risk losing you.’

The familiarity of it made Tulkhan wince.

Kalleen smiled sadly. ‘If you fail I will lose everything.’

Wharrd shook his head but she remained obstinate.

Tulkhan knew Imoshen would do what she thought was right and he was almost certain that would not entail running away to join the rebels. He had to believe in her. ‘I must organise my escort and plan my route.’

Tulkhan left Wharrd and Kalleen to sort out their differences. He strode down the corridors of the palace, throwing open the doors to his map-room.

‘General Tulkhan?’ A servant paused in the other entrance. ‘The Beatific is here to offer her support.’

He groaned inwardly. He did not doubt the Beatific was here to plant more insinuations about Imoshen’s loyalty. ‘Send her in.’

Tulkhan studied the woman as she approached the table.

‘Why does Reothe lure me north?’ he asked abruptly.

She looked surprised. ‘I have no idea. I am not a tactician.’

‘No?’

She had the grace to flush and look down.

Tulkhan spread the map on the tabletop and indicated the town of Northpoint. ‘This harbour offers excellent anchorage for deep-draught ships and it is barely a day’s sail from the mainland with the right wind. Why would Reothe ask me to meet him there when his noble supporters and rebel army are in the Keldon Highlands?’

‘Perhaps he feels the highlands are secure?’ the Beatific hazarded.

‘Could he be getting support from one of the mainland kingdoms?’

‘The mainlanders support a Dhamfeer?’ Scorn laced the Beatific’s voice. ‘Why do you think none of them honoured our alliances? They wanted to see Fair Isle humbled. And they fear the T’En.’

It was all too familiar. He had once thought that way.

‘That’s what I suspected.’ He rubbed his chin, glad to be rid of his beard. ‘Then it comes back to why. What does Reothe hope to gain?’

‘You are going to meet him?’ The Beatific regarded him closely.

‘Yes, I –’

‘It’s a trap.’

‘What Reothe doesn’t know is that I have a trap of my own to spring on him.’ He noted the way her eyes widened, but she remained otherwise impassive.

‘Really?’ she remarked. ‘How fortunate.’

Tulkhan nodded and hoped the message would disturb Reothe when it reached him. His only regret was that he didn’t have a trap – not yet anyway.

E
ARLY THE NEXT
morning Tulkhan set out with a band of hand-picked men and Kalleen, who could not be persuaded to stay behind. She had threatened to follow them, and in the end Wharrd had been forced to give in.

They could travel fast with only a small band. Commander Piers was to follow as soon as he could organise a company large enough to quell any ragtag rebels Reothe might have gathered around him.

Tulkhan hoped Reothe expected him to move slowly north with his main army. In truth he was prepared to move swiftly, strike fast and get out. At this point surprise was his only strategy.

He had lost his chance to seize the initiative by using Imoshen and the babe to lure Reothe out. In fact the T’En warrior had turned the tables on him.

Tulkhan raged at his impotence. He would not sacrifice Imoshen and his son.

It was eight days since she had been abducted. Reothe’s band might have reached Northpoint by now. The rebel leader had to be expecting support from one of the mainland kingdoms, otherwise he would have gone to ground in the Keldon Highlands. Yet who would deal with a Dhamfeer?

I
MOSHEN STOOD AT
the window looking down into Northpoint Harbour where a single merchant ship sat on the glistening sea.

Ashmyr stirred and grumbled, so she padded back to him. Like her own stronghold, the oldest part of Northpoint’s defences dated from the Age of Tribulation. Protected from attack by the sheer cliffs below, her room at the top of the tower was an ideal prison. Short of throwing herself to her death, there was no escape.

The Ghebite commander who had briefly ruled Northpoint had renamed T’Ronnyn’s Citadel after himself and filled it with luxurious booty, looted on his travels across Fair Isle. The bed was draped with brocade hangings and jewel-bright carpets lay three deep on the floor. Gilt-edged mirrors and paintings covered the walls. Crystal and fine porcelain littered every tabletop and sideboard. It was so opulent it was obscene.

But he had not enjoyed the luxury for long.

She chose not to ask what had happened to him. He had vanished along with his men. The servants were all loyal to Reothe, and the townsfolk they had passed on their way had seemed overjoyed to see the T’En warrior.

The baby whimpered. Imoshen picked him up.

‘Can I get you anything, my lady?’ Selita asked.

‘The key.’

Selita grinned impudently. She had overcome her initial shyness. If the girl hadn’t been her guard, Imoshen could have grown very fond of her.

Selita lay sprawled on the rug before the unlit fireplace, peeling a mandarin. Imoshen watched her, while soothing Ashmyr absently.

‘I don’t know why you are complaining,’ Selita remarked. ‘T’Reothe has forgiven you. He holds no grudge, despite the way you’ve treated him. Before the Harvest Feast you will be back in the capital, Empress of Fair Isle, and my people’s honour will be restored.’

Imoshen’s hand froze. The Harvest Feast was twelve days away. How could Reothe hope to reverse the Ghebites’ advantage in such a short time?

Her thoughts in turmoil, Imoshen resumed rubbing Ashmyr’s back.

Selita believed her people’s honour would be restored. She had to be talking about the Keld. Imoshen could just imagine the Keld’s stern matriarch Woodvine strapping on armour and riding into battle. According to Fairban, the Keld were ripe for revolt.

Imoshen joined Selita and sat down, resting her back against a heavy chest. Casually she settled Ashmyr across her lap.

Selita tossed her plait over her shoulder and nudged the tray of fruit towards Imoshen.

‘What pretty hair you have.’ Imoshen stroked the girl’s braid. ‘I knew someone once who had just this shade of coppery hair.’

It hurt her to recall Cariah. She had failed her friend. She must not fail her son or his father.

Selita changed position so she could face Imoshen. ‘Reothe said I wasn’t to let you touch me. He said you would seduce me. Were you about to trick me?’