Dark Dreams

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Every day Tulkhan watched Imoshen win over ambassadors from both the mainland and the archipelago, securing her position. If only he could be certain of her motivation.

  Tulkhan read the top letter. The man could read and write in three languages. The General fought a surge of annoyance. Few of his commanders could do more than sign their own names. If he foisted a Fair Isle scholar on them, they would be sure to take insult.

  ‘You’ll note I chose only men so as not to offend your commanders,’ Imoshen said, eager to convince Tulkhan. He looked up at her suspiciously. ‘Believe me, General, in all of Fair Isle you have no more loyal supporter than me.’

  ‘For the good of Fair Isle,’ he said, his Ghebite features impassive.

  ‘What? Yes, for the good of my people, and yours.’

  ‘And if you thought that T’Reothe stood a better chance of holding the island, would you throw your support behind him with as much ingenuity and vigour?’

  She gasped, denial leaping to her lips.

  ‘Think long and hard before you answer that, Imoshen,’ he warned, ‘because I can smell a lie!’

  She swallowed, resentment flooding her.

  ‘He was your betrothed,’ Tulkhan continued. ‘You broke your vows of celibacy to –’

  ‘I had given no vows of celibacy. I wasn’t old enough!’

  ‘It was expected.’ The General’s expression was implacable. ‘You thought little enough of your honour to break your vow to your betrothed.’

  Fury consumed Imoshen. ‘You stood at the gates of my stronghold with an army. You threatened to put my people to the sword. What would you like me to have done, sacrifice their lives for my personal honour?’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I took the path of peace.’

  ‘So, from your lips I hear it. You support me out of necessity.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Do you wonder that I question your loyalty?’

  ‘You twist my words.’ She held his eyes. ‘Whatever my reasons, I stand at your side now. The worm of doubt is in you, General, not me.’

  When he did not respond she gave him the formal T’En obeisance and turned to go, sadness welling in her.

  ‘I heard from Wharrd. He and Kalleen plan to be here for our bonding,’ Tulkhan said to her retreating back.

  Imoshen hesitated, then turned to face him. He sat sideways at the table, his long legs thrust out towards the fire. Even seated, he dominated the room.

  Their bonding...

  He was deliberately flaunting their imminent intimacy. She felt her cheeks grow hot. Her skin was so fair it was impossible to hide her reaction. She saw his features tighten.

  Daring him to comment, she held his gaze. The silence stretched. She sensed that he wanted something from her, but was unable to determine what.

  ‘Take these.’ He shoved the letters in her direction. ‘When my men assume control of their estates I will not be sending your watchdogs with them.’

  Rejection made her stomach clench. She picked up the sheaf of papers, straightening them. ‘The farmer folk speak their own language.’

  ‘They’ll find someone who can speak the trading tongue.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Enough!’ He gestured to the door. ‘My men would have nothing in common with your over-cultured scholars.’

  Deeply troubled, Imoshen returned to her room and left the letters on her desk. If her judgment was wrong in this, how could she trust her instincts? A wave of despair swamped her. She needed Cariah’s coolheaded counsel and went to find her.

  Heart thumping, Imoshen paused by the open doors of the crowded gaming salon. Slowing to a casual stroll, she wove through the tables.

  Catching Cariah’s eye, Imoshen used Old Empire signals to let her know that she wished to speak privately. With innate elegance Cariah made towards a door that led to the withdrawing room.

  ‘Lady Cariah,’ Jacolm called, ‘stay and give me good luck. Sahorrd and I are losing hand after hand.’

  ‘Later,’ Cariah answered as she joined Imoshen.

  ‘Why doesn’t he ask you to advise him on what cards to play? At least then he might win a game,’ Imoshen muttered.

  Cariah bit back a laugh. ‘Imoshen, you know he thinks the complexities of a card game too much for my feeble mind.’

  ‘How can you bear it? Prove him wrong.’

  Cariah’s lips parted in a sensual, feline smile. ‘When I am ready. Not everything can be achieved by direct confrontation. Now, what troubles you?’

  Through the withdrawing room window Imoshen could just make out the shapes of a formal garden with knee-high hedges and topiaried trees – a classic example of T’En order and formality.

  Jacolm and Sahorrd laughed raucously, crowing their victory over a turn of the cards. The sound rubbed on Imoshen’s raw nerves, fraying the edges of her control. She felt the T’En power move in her, shifting like a restless, eager beast. It was more than she could bear.

  ‘Do you fear your T’En heritage, Cariah?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Failing –’

  ‘Hush!’ The woman closed the connecting door, then returned.

  A dim light filtered through the stained-glass window, illuminating Cariah’s features as she spun to face Imoshen, her eyes luminous. ‘How can you speak of failure? Soon you will be co-ruler of Fair Isle. You are on the brink of achieving everything. Why, you even carry his child.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Cariah blinked. ‘Kalleen told me. Forgive me if –’

  ‘Kalleen did not know.’

  ‘She suspected. So I...’

  ‘You what?’ Imoshen pressed.

  Cariah silently lifted her hand and placed it palm down over Imoshen’s flat belly.

  ‘I felt the growing life,’ Cariah told her. ‘This child is historic.’

  Imoshen covered Cariah’s hand with her own and opened her T’En senses, willing herself to feel that same fragile life. Her heart rate lifted and that recognisable taste settled on her tongue, sharp enough to sting.

  Cariah gasped, pulling her hand away.

  ‘What?’ Imoshen asked, seeing Cariah’s startled expression. ‘You felt my T’En gifts?’

  Cariah nodded. ‘I’ve never come across it so strongly before. But then you are the first pure T’En I’ve known. T’Reothe’s voyages coincided with my times at court, so I never met him, although I did hear rumours.’ She shuddered. ‘You made my skin crawl.’

  Imoshen laughed. ‘If I don’t cloak it, even General Tulkhan knows when I use my gift on him, and he is pure Ghebite. I wanted to feel my child’s life force stirring. Was I going about it the right way? Show me.’

  Cariah shook her head slowly. ‘I am not tutored in the gifts; anything I know I deduced myself.’ She caught Imoshen’s hand and placed her palm upon on her belly. ‘By accident I felt the life force moving in you when we touched.’

  A strange tension gripped Imoshen, a skin-prickling awareness. Until this moment Imoshen had assumed only the pure T’En were gifted. It was said their part-T’En cousins had an affinity for the gifts, but... ‘You have innate power!’

  ‘No! Only a little. I got it from both sides of the family. One of Father’s ancestors trafficked with the Ancients. Don’t tell anyone, I –’

  ‘Cariah!’ Imoshen dropped to her knees, clasping Cariah’s hands to her face, kissing her palms. Tears of relief tightened her throat. ‘Teach me what you know. I have been so alone, so frightened. The Aayel died before she could instruct me. I feel the gifts stir in me. I fear what I cannot control.’

  ‘Hsst! You must not speak so.’ Cariah sank to kneel with Imoshen, casting a swift look towards the closed door. ‘They must never suspect.’

  ‘Suspect? They know I am a cursed with the gifts. How can they not suspect?’ Imoshen demanded. Then she saw Cariah’s expression and understood the other woman’s duplicity. It was her own power Cariah did not want revealed. ‘You live a lie, Cariah. You deny what you are!’

  ‘Don’t be so quick to condemn me, Imoshen.’ H
er beautiful face twisted with emotion. ‘I saw my mother sicken and die, locked away in the tower of my family’s stronghold because as much as my father loved her, he feared her more. I will not be an object of fear and hatred!’ Her face hardened. ‘At best I could coach you to hide your gifts, but you already know how to cloak them.’

  Guilt lanced Imoshen. How many times as a child had she longed to be accepted? What would she have done if she could have hidden her heritage? She could not judge her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me, Cariah,’ she whispered. ‘I did not think of your position.’

  Tears spilled over Cariah’s lower lids, chasing each other across her cheeks. She fought to hold back a sob. Her pain touched Imoshen. Lifting a hand, she smoothed the tear track from Cariah’s soft cheek. ‘Forgive my cruel words.’

  ‘Life is cruel!’ Cariah turned her face away, wiping the dampness from her cheeks. The bitterness in her voice surprised Imoshen. ‘We must take what we can, while we can.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’ Imoshen took hold of Cariah’s shoulders, turning her, willing the woman to meet her gaze.

  Cariah shook her head pityingly. ‘You are so young. One day you will see.’

  ‘No. I have to believe there is hope,’ Imoshen whispered, fervently. ‘If I did not, I could not bear to live. My family are all dead. The Aayel died so that I would live. I must believe we are capable of greatness –’

  Cariah kissed her.

  The gesture was so unexpected Imoshen froze, experiencing those soft lips on hers, salty with tears. The gentleness of the caress was unmistakable. Cariah offered love.

  Imoshen gasped and pulled away.

  Cariah sank back onto her heels. Her mouth trembled, unshed tears glistening in her pleading eyes. ‘Don’t reject me, Imoshen.’

  Stunned, Imoshen stared.

  Cariah’s hand lifted imploringly.

  ‘I...’ Imoshen floundered.

  Abruptly Cariah rose and stood before the mirror over the mantelpiece. In the dim light she made a great production of straightening her hair and smoothing her face to remove all traces of emotion.

  ‘I surprise you. You are unsophisticated. This was the way of the Old Empire,’ she explained with brittle casualness. ‘T’Ysanna was my first lover. She shared her men with me, taught me to enjoy them for what they could give but to look elsewhere for true love.’

  Imoshen could hear Cariah distancing herself while denying what had passed between them.

  With a smile Cariah returned to face Imoshen, offering a hand to help her rise. ‘Come, tidy your face. They will be watching us.’

  Imoshen stood stiffly, clasping Cariah’s hand. She refused to release it, instead she lifted it to her lips, kissing the soft skin. ‘Don’t draw away from me, Cariah. I am out of my depth. I need your counsel.’

  ‘You deny me in one breath then ask for my loyalty in the next.’ Cariah stiffened. ‘You are too cruel.’

  ‘HERE WE ARE. Just for you.’ The Keeper of the Knowledge beamed at Imoshen as he unwrapped the first of two packages. ‘You would not believe what I went through to hide these from King Gharavan’s men!’

  Imoshen gasped. She had never seen anything like it. The edges of the pages were thick with gilt, but it was the cover and spine which astounded her. She stroked the plush velvet, her fingers tracing the inlaid jewels. ‘This must date from the Age of Consolidation.’

  ‘Middle period,’ the Keeper nodded and gently unwound the calico wrapping of the second volume. ‘This one is even more magnificent.’

  ‘Pure gold?’ Imoshen laughed.

  ‘It is exquisite work,’ he said. ‘See the filigree, the granulation. This is real craftsmanship.’

  Imoshen had to agree. ‘May I?’

  He hesitated, unwilling to let the book pass from his hands to hers.

  ‘I will take care,’ Imoshen promised. ‘You know how much I value knowledge.’

  At last he left her alone to search the books’ indexes, but she was disappointed. Though the books themselves were invaluable works of art, they contained nothing more unusual than a collection of poems and a study of Keldon Highland customs. Still she would search them for any reference that might offer a clue to understanding her T’En gifts.

  Imoshen sighed, rewrapping the volumes. She felt so alone. Cariah had drawn away from her and she could not blame her. The noblewoman helped with the entertainments, but instead of sharing her private time with Imoshen she spent it with her lovers. Imoshen tried not to begrudge this, just as she tried not to resent Cariah’s popularity. It was curious. Lady Cariah of Fairban was enough like her sisters to be accepted. When she sang beautifully and danced with others from the Thespers’ Guild, no one acknowledged that it was her T’En heritage which enabled her to move them to tears of joy.

  In the days leading up to her bonding with General Tulkhan, Imoshen had walked the corridors of the palace with no one to call friend, cut off from Cariah and cold-shouldered by the General.

  Food had no flavour and her life was as grey as the ever-shortening winter days. By the cusp of spring the babe would begin to show and she would be even more isolated as everyone would see how she had flaunted tradition.

  ‘Finished already?’ the Keeper asked. ‘If you told me what you are after...’

  Imoshen shook her head. She did not dare reveal her real purpose. ‘Just curious. I am content to wander the library. You may go.’

  She knew the old man liked to spend his days in the kitchen, sipping mulled wine near the ovens where the heat warmed the ache from his bones. There he enjoyed the company of the cook and bored the scullery maids with his stories.

  He nodded and smiled, bright old eyes fixed on her.

  ‘He was very like you, earnestly studying the old tomes.’

  Imoshen’s mouth went dry. Only one other person was like her. ‘Reothe?’

  ‘He was a pleasure to teach.’

  Imoshen did not want to hear tales of Reothe’s boyhood. She did not want to dwell on how lonely he must have been. Knowing the high court, he would have been an object of pity and ridicule. Her heart went out to that boy, but Reothe was no longer a defenceless child and she would do well to remember that. ‘You were his tutor?’

  ‘Yes, before he went to the Halls of Learning.’ The Keeper’s face glowed with pride. ‘I have a copy of the treatise on philosophy he wrote when he was fifteen.’

  But Imoshen had no time for philosophy. She tried to sound casual. ‘Was there anything on the T’En that he particularly liked to read?’

  ‘Everything. He devoured everything on the T’En, then he moved on to the great library in the Halls of Learning. He was disappointed because they don’t study the T’En there, but his debates were legendary. When he took his place on T’Ashmyr’s stone there was standing room only around the library stoves!’

  Imoshen tried not to show her disappointment. ‘Can you show me the books about the T’En?’

  The old man laughed. ‘Every book mentions the T’En.’

  Imoshen looked down. She longed to trust the Keeper. But what would he say if she revealed she wanted to harness her gifts?

  ‘No matter how high he rose, Reothe never forgot his old teacher,’ the man continued fondly. He pulled something from inside his vest and unwrapped it. ‘When he returned triumphant from his first voyage to the archipelago he brought me this.’

  ‘What is it?’ Imoshen asked. ‘A religious artefact?’

  ‘A shrunken human head.’

  Imoshen shuddered. How primitive the dwellers of the archipelago were. Fair Isle was literally an island of culture in a sea of barbarism. She could not, would not let the heritage of her T’En culture sink into darkness.

  TULKHAN RUBBED HIS eyes wearily. The old city of T’Diemn could be made secure again because it had been designed for defence, but the new city sprawled in an ungainly manner over the surrounding fertile basin, making defence all but impossible.

  If he could have devoted himsel
f to the problem, he would have come up with a solution by now. But for the time being he had to devote his attention to the visiting ambassadors so he could observe the interchange between them, particularly the triad of prosperous mainland kingdoms which he had not conquered.

  He focused on the map of T’Diemn and its surrounds. Every street, every gate and spring was marked. It was all to scale, with the highest points in gradients of colour so that it appeared three-dimensional. There was no point in building fortifications around new T’Diemn if he did not include the hilltop to the south. Any general worth his salt would mount an offensive from that hilltop, yet it would mean taking the fortifications out to the hill since the outlying market gardens only reached its base, or pulling back and being prepared to sacrifice those people and their livelihood. Every decision was a compromise.

  The door to his map-room flew open. Imoshen stood there in nothing but a thin nightgown, her feet bare, her hair loose on her shoulders. Her cheeks were pale and her chest rose and fell as if she had been running.

  ‘You could not leave well enough alone, could you?’ she demanded. ‘You thought you knew better!’

  Tulkhan put the scriber down with exaggerated patience. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  Her eyes widened with fear.

  Tulkhan felt a prickling sensation travel across his skin. ‘What is it?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You had better come.’

  As Tulkhan collected his sword from the back of his chair, she made a noise in her throat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cold steel will not help,’ she whispered, then hurried off.

  He followed, lengthening his stride to keep up with her, while buckling his sword belt. ‘Should I call out my elite guard?’

  ‘Not for this.’

  The evening’s entertainments had finished long ago and the servants had cleared away. Only the occasional sconce of candles lit the way.

  Imoshen moved soundlessly. Tulkhan’s boots struck the tiles and then the wooden floor of the older wing. When Imoshen glided down the steps to the Tribulation Portrait Gallery, Tulkhan fought a sense of foreboding.