‘And soon to be King of Fair Isle,’ she agreed smoothly.
He caught her clever hazel eyes on him. Pinpoints of golden candlelight danced in her pupils. He reminded himself that he must not underestimate her simply because she was a woman. Imoshen had taught him that.
‘I must congratulate you on your forthcoming bonding, General.’
The words were innocuous enough, but there was something in her tone which warned him to be on his guard. Did he detect a trace of mockery? Did these people think him presumptuous to crown himself king?
Of course they did. He was barely three generations from his nomadic herdsman grandfather who, through his wiles and great stature, had united the Ghebite tribes.
‘Thank you,’ Tulkhan said, turning to watch Imoshen, who was making the robust Ghebite dance a thing of precision and grace. How could he wait for their bonding?
‘T’Imoshen is very... beautiful isn’t the right word. The T’En are too dangerous to be beautiful. They have a kind of terrible beauty. You never met the rebel leader, T’Reothe?’ The Beatific paused, making it a question.
Tulkhan shifted in his seat, trying to appear only mildly interested. He neither denied nor admitted meeting Reothe.
Deep in the Keldon Highlands, Tulkhan had inadvertently called on the Ancients by spilling blood on one of their sacred sites. Attracted by the surge in power, Reothe had appeared before him. The rebel leader had laughed when he had realised who Tulkhan was and cursed him, saying, I am your death. You do not know it, but you are a dead man who walks and talks.’
His words had often returned to haunt Tulkhan’s darkest hours.
‘I was surprised when the Emperor and Empress approved Reothe’s betrothal to Imoshen,’ the Beatific said. ‘By custom she would have taken the vows of chastity at seventeen when she made her Vow of Expiation. Instead the Empress informed me I was to witness the historic bonding of the last two pure T’En. They were to be joined this spring, did you know?’ She did not pause for him to reply. ‘Reothe could have looked to almost any woman for his partner, any woman but a throwback. He went to the Emperor and Empress for special dispensation. By the time I learnt of it, they had already agreed. It was so unexpected. The custom has always been to marry out, T’En male to True-woman. Imoshen the First made it mandatory. Do you know much of the T’En history?’
Tulkhan no longer pretended only polite interest. He spoke slowly. ‘There are rumours of great powers.’
She nodded. ‘T’En gifts can also be a curse. The first Imoshen and her shipload of refugees fled their homeland to escape persecution. She ordered the ship burned.’
‘I was told Imoshen the First was an explorer.’
‘With small children and old people?’ The Beatific smiled. ‘No, she rewrote our history for her own purposes.’
Tulkhan met the woman’s eyes frankly. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I have access to the journals of our early church leaders. When the first Imoshen set out to take this land, she was utterly ruthless. She had about her a band of devoted T’En warriors – the legendary Paragian Guard. They’d sworn a gift-enforced oath to serve her. Those who died in her service were destined to serve beyond death. They became the Parakletos.’ She made a furtive sign before resuming. ‘It was only through the dedication of this Paragian Guard that Imoshen the First was able to subdue the people. But once the island was taken, she disbanded the guard and ordered her own kind to mingle with the locals.
‘She took a vow of celibacy and all pure T’En females since have followed her example. Her only surviving daughter became Beatific. Imoshen the First bonded her pure T’En son to the old royalty, just as you are doing. But she did it for an even stronger reason.’
Tulkhan contained his impatience, very aware that this woman enjoyed playing him like a fish on a line.
‘Pure T’En are unstable. Even amongst Imoshen the First’s people there were not many pure T’En. Throwbacks like Imoshen and Reothe can inherit great gifts, but they are also cursed.’
‘Explain.’
The Beatific smiled. ‘Well, even the royal family were wary of Reothe. They were happy when he absented himself on long sea voyages of exploration and trade.’
‘Piracy, you mean. I have heard about his exploits.’
The Beatific held his eyes. ‘Reothe was acting under a charter from the Empress herself. His task was to harry the trade of Fair Isle’s enemies on the high seas. A small wealthy island such as Fair Isle must protect her trading interests or the greedy will think her weak. Reothe was a great sea captain. He explored the archipelago and opened new trade routes.’ She shrugged. ‘However, the pure T’En males are a danger to themselves and to those around them. Who knows what mischief Reothe might have caused if he had remained at court? As it was, the Empress had to remove one of her other adopted sons to preserve the peace. It is true that the Empress loved Reothe. She reared him from the age of ten, but as he matured, so did his powers. They first begin to manifest at puberty. The pure T’En have a range of gifts, from the ability to scry or manipulate the minds of others, to more practical abilities like healing. In the females the gifts are generally weak, but in the males they can be quite powerful. It was expected Reothe’s gifts would be strong, but he was adept at hiding them. The T’En have ever been a secretive race and Reothe was true to his blood.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Why, the Emperor himself confided in me that he feared Reothe might supplant his own children. And then there is the question of why the Emperor and Empress granted Reothe dispensation to bond with Imoshen. I advised them against it, but they were fixed on the idea, even though it flouted six hundred years of custom.’ Her brilliant eyes held his. ‘I often wonder whether Reothe used their trust and affection to sway their judgment.’
Tulkhan’s hand tightened on the goblet’s stem.
The Beatific sat back. With languid grace, she selected a cube of diced fruit, slipping the choice morsel between her lips. She dipped her fingers in the little bowl provided and wiped them fastidiously.
‘I can only speculate as to why the first Imoshen led her shipload of refugees from our homeland. But it has long been the role of the church to limit any damage the T’En might do. When the remaining Paragian Guard were disbanded, they chose to serve the church. They formed the T’Enplars, warrior priests sworn to uphold the sanctity of the T’En gifts, but it was from their very ranks that the first T’En went rogue.
‘Sardonyx led the revolt of sixty-four. His own cousin Empress Abularassa joined with the first Beatific to contain him. They created the Tractarians to balance the power of the T’Enplars. Balance, that is what En means in High T’En. After Sardonyx’s death, T’Abularassa built a tower in his memory. Sard’s Tower. Since then the families of the rogue T’En have commemorated their loss with a tower of tears, and the Beatific has been empowered to declare one of the T’En rogue if there is enough evidence of treason against the church and the Empress. For over five centuries the Tractarians have hunted down rogue T’En. You will have heard of the stonings?’
‘It’s been over a hundred years!’
‘I know. There has not been the need. After the last stoning no pure T’En males were born for over seventy years, and the Tractarians withered. But since Reothe came to maturity they have been revitalised under the leadership of Murgon.’ She gestured without actually pointing. ‘That’s him at the next table, third from the left. Tall thin man with the T’En eyes.’ She saw Tulkhan’s surprise. ‘Those of part blood are particularly sensitive to the use of the gifts.’
‘Would it not be simpler to kill all pure T’En babies at birth?’ Tulkhan asked.
‘We are not barbarians!’ Disgust made the Beatific’s voice sharp.
‘I meant why wait? Why not contain the threat?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Not all T’En go rogue. They, like all nobles, are taught that their duty is to serve Fair Isle. Their T’En gifts can serve True-men and women. Look at Imoshen’s
ability to heal. The people revere the T’En.’
‘In abstract?’
He surprised a smile from her, but she did not acknowledge his question.
‘General?’
Tulkhan looked up to see Imoshen’s flushed, smiling face. Guilt stirred in him. On Imoshen’s advice he’d signed the document that enabled the Beatific to retain her position of power, and now the woman was undermining Imoshen. Politics!
Disgust filled Tulkhan. He much preferred the knife-edge life and death decisions of the battlefield. At least when death held a blade to his throat it did not smile and whisper words of comfort.
Imoshen gestured to the small man at her side. ‘Let me introduce the first of the Keldon nobles to accept our hospitality. Lord Fairban.’
Tulkhan came to his feet. ‘So we meet again, my lord. This time in my keep.’
‘No one can say the Keld dishonour the laws of hospitality,’ Fairban bristled.
Tulkhan smiled grimly. ‘I’m sure you will find my hospitality everything yours was and more.’
Silence hung heavy between them as Imoshen glanced from one to the other.
‘General Tulkhan spent a night at my holdings while he was hunting rebels,’ the old lord answered Imoshen’s unasked question.
Imoshen’s eyes widened.
‘How are your beautiful daughters, Lord Fairban?’ the Beatific asked.
Under the cover of their conversation Imoshen turned to Tulkhan. ‘Come dance with me, General?’
‘No.’ Dancing was not something a general needed to be proficient in. Yet he longed to take Imoshen in his arms in front of everyone, to know that when he put his hands on her she was his.
What was he thinking? The Beatific had told him the T’En were unstable, a danger to others and themselves. Was Imoshen exerting some kind of mental pull on him?
‘General?’
Looking into her teasing face Tulkhan could not believe she was consciously manipulating him. The only power she had over him at this moment was the pull of his body to hers. But that was powerful enough and that was too much.
‘You mock me, Imoshen.’ He made his voice hard and contemptuous as he sat down. ‘What time does a general have for dancing? Ask someone else.’
She hesitated, her features briefly registering the humiliation of his rejection. Then she stepped closer, her voice dropping. ‘Since you don’t know the T’En dances, General, I could have the minstrels strike up a Ghebite jig.’
Just for a moment he thought he read something in her face beneath the teasing, a need. Perhaps she wanted him to step away from everyone else to be with her and her alone. He hesitated, surprised by how much he wanted to believe this. Shaking his head, he chastised himself.
A formal mask settled over Imoshen’s face. Twice he had rejected her before the Beatific, who was certainly listening in to their conversation. He wanted to recall his hasty words, but Imoshen was already moving gracefully aside. Only he had seen her quickly veiled disappointment, only he knew the hurt she hid as she stepped lightly off the dais to join the others.
Or did he? Perhaps he was just a lust-crazed fool projecting these finer feelings onto a manipulative Dhamfeer. He craved her, yet he knew she was his by necessity and not by choice.
Imoshen took several steps from the table, not really aware of where she was heading. Only pride made her approach a group on the dance floor. Unshed tears stung her eyes.
The General had not seen the malicious gleam in the Beatific’s gaze, but Imoshen had. That was good, she told herself, for now she knew that the leader of the T’En church had enjoyed her humiliation and was very likely working to undermine her. So be it, at least now Imoshen knew where she stood.
‘T’Imoshen?’
It was Cariah. Imoshen’s heart sank. Had Lord Fairban’s daughter seen General Tulkhan reject her? Imoshen turned expecting contempt, but found instead understanding.
‘The Ghebites want to start a fresh dance circle,’ Cariah said, slipping an arm through Imoshen’s. ‘And I need another female to make up the numbers.’
‘Then how can I refuse?’ Imoshen replied with a grateful smile. ‘When the rest of the Keldon nobles arrive we will have the numbers for the formal dances.’ And more tempers to soothe. But she did not add this.
Cariah met her eyes, a rueful smile lighting her face. ‘The Keld can be quick to take insult.’
Imoshen blinked. Had Cariah simply anticipated her, or did she have a little of the T’En gift for skimming thoughts? There was nothing in her expression to suggest it was anything more than a lucky guess.
‘True, they can be touchy,’ Imoshen said, ‘but then the Ghebites are so good at giving unintended slights.’
A chuckle escaped Cariah.
Imoshen slowed her step before they joined the circle. Instinct told her to trust this woman. ‘Cariah, I am all alone with no one to guide me in court protocol. Will you help me ease the transition of power? I need to find common ground for the Keld and the Ghebites.’
She saw her request had surprised Cariah, who hesitated mid-step then continued smoothly. ‘Commander Jacolm, your partner.’
It appeared to be an unfortunate choice. The man’s heavy black brows drew down, making it clear he would have preferred Cariah’s company. Imoshen’s stomach clenched – yet another rejection. Then she turned to see Cariah take her place in the dance circle with her father, Lord Fairban.
Cariah’s answer had been to act on her request.
When the music started Cariah caught Imoshen’s eye and for the first time since the Aayel’s death Imoshen did not feel cast adrift. Then the dance swept them apart as they circled their partners before moving to the next. If Cariah was prepared to do her part, Imoshen must do hers. As they changed partners she set about winning him over.
TULKHAN WATCHED IMOSHEN take Lord Fairban’s hand. The top of the man’s grey head came up to Imoshen’s chin, but Tulkhan could tell she was charming him with a word, a teasing smile. When she moved away to join the women who circled the men, Lord Fairban’s eyes followed her.
‘That is another of their tricks.’ The Beatific gestured briefly to the dance floor. ‘When they choose, the T’En can be delightful companions. The males make notoriously good lovers. But it is said they can only know true release in each other’s arms. Of course, with the women’s vow of celibacy that is impossible.’
Though his gaze never left Imoshen, Tulkhan was aware of the Beatific sipping her wine.
‘Discarding her vows of celibacy does not seem to trouble Imoshen,’ the Beatific observed.
Tulkhan snorted. He could not believe he was having this conversation with the leader of the T’En church. In Gheeaba there were no females in the church hierarchy and the priests were celibate. Recalling the earthy Harvest Festival at Imoshen’s stronghold, something told him celibacy was not a prerequisite for the priesthood in Fair Isle.
Did the Beatific have her choice of lovers? Turning to study her mature, sensual beauty he could well believe she did.
Imoshen laughed and his gaze was drawn irresistibly back to her. She looked over the heads of those around her and their eyes met. He realised she was willing him to share her amusement. An unexpected longing took him. He wanted to share her quick understanding, to know they had a special affinity.
The path he’d chosen would be a difficult one, but he would not relinquish Fair Isle and Imoshen at any price. If she was at his side and they were truly united in purpose, then it was not an impossible dream. He could have it all. He could hold Fair Isle and savour Imoshen’s willing companionship.
Second wife’s son, second best, supplanted heir. He desperately wanted the supremacy of Fair Isle, and Imoshen was the key. Politically he had to take her to his bed, but gut-deep he knew he would have had to have her even if it was political suicide.
What was he thinking?
If the Beatific was to be believed, a True-man could not even satisfy a female Dhamfeer. And he had arranged to marry the last
pure T’En female in a ‘bonding’ ceremony which would make her his equal in the eyes of the law, a law she had manoeuvred him into recognising.
He was not fool enough to let his lust rule his head. He did not doubt Imoshen’s devotion to Fair Isle, it was her commitment to him he was unsure of. Once his rule was cemented and accepted by the nobles of the Keldon Highlands, how long before she no longer needed him?
Perhaps she was merely buying time for Reothe to rebuild his forces. Cold suspicion shook Tulkhan. Were the last two T’En in league against him?
The dance finished and Imoshen returned to the seat on Tulkhan’s right.
Her smile faltered when she met his eyes. ‘What is it, General?’
Her hand rose to touch his arm, but he recoiled. She had used a touch like this to pluck the image of his mother’s lonely death from his mind and had used it against him. ‘Don’t touch me.’
Her expression hardened into a beautiful mask. Once again she was that alien, unknowable creature, the Dhamfeer.
Imoshen’s heart sank and she clasped her fingers tightly beneath the table. She didn’t need to touch the General to read his emotions. At this moment he feared and hated her.
She detected a slight movement to his left. The Beatific was devouring the succulent white meat of a roasted bird with dainty but decisive bites. Imoshen knew this woman had been planting seeds of doubt, poisoning Tulkhan’s mind.
Drawing a quick breath, Imoshen searched for a neutral topic of conversation. ‘With Lord Fairban’s arrival we can expect to see the rest of the Keld soon. It would be best to hold off awarding your men their estates until the nobles are here to witness the ceremony.’
Tulkhan’s wary eyes met hers.
She lifted a hand to deny any ulterior motive. It was simply good politics to assuage the older nobility’s feelings when investing new nobility.
‘Very well,’ Tulkhan conceded. ‘We’ll give them eight days.’
Imoshen had to be satisfied with that. He had said we, not I. Once they were bonded and Tulkhan lay naked in her arms she knew there would be no cause for mistrust. How could there be when they shared their bodies and their minds?
Dark Dreams Page 7
