She was involved in a six-sided T’En game of cards which appeared to involve more laughter than skill this night. In Gheeaba gambling was a serious business. A man’s honour was at stake. If his luck ran out he could lose his estates and his wives. Suicide might be his only option.
Imoshen and her partner were teamed against Cariah and Jacolm on one side, and Wharrd and Kalleen, who had returned from a tour of their estates looking like cream-fed cats, on the other. So far the luck had run Jacolm’s way and he was not averse to letting everyone know.
‘My Beatific and Empress-High outplay your hand of lesser nobles!’ he crowed.
Tulkhan walked around the table to stand behind Imoshen so that he could see her cards. In the long winter evenings he had learnt the basics of this game and understood the system of playing alliances against alliances, while supporting your partner and undercutting the other teams.
He took the opportunity to observe Imoshen, drinking in the curve of her cheek, the line of her pale throat, the unconscious grace of her every movement. His mouth went dry with longing.
When the round finished, the cards were pushed Imoshen’s way. Her partner Sahorrd reached for the pack, but she was quicker. Tulkhan knew she was unaware she had insulted him as she collected the cards. Her fingers moved deftly, shuffling and dealing. Watching the play, he looked for a chance to advise her, for any excuse to touch her, even if it was in a room full of people. But she won that hand and the next three, playing with an uncanny ability to guess which alliances her opponents favoured.
The shuffling and dealing made its way around the table again. Jacolm became progressively irritated, then belligerent as he received his new cards. At last he threw the painted paste-boards down in disgust.
Tulkhan stiffened. Was his commander going to accuse Imoshen of misdealing? In Gheeaba such an accusation would have occasioned a duel of honour. Silence fell.
Imoshen laid her cards face down. ‘Is there a problem, Lord Jacolm?’
‘No problem. I should know better than to play a game of chance with a Dhamfeer!’
Tulkhan tensed. The Ghebites within hearing went utterly still.
‘If you have something to say, say it,’ Imoshen told him calmly.
Tulkhan noted how Jacolm’s sword-brother, Sahorrd, shifted in his seat, turning his shoulder away from his card partner. With this movement he withdrew his support from Imoshen.
‘Well, Jacolm?’ Imoshen pressed, one arm hooked elegantly over the back of her chair. Was she deliberately insulting him by omitting his new title?
The man’s dark brows drew down as he flipped his cards over. ‘Look. It’s been the same rubbish for the past four hands. Why, I even have the T’En rogue again!’
Imoshen shrugged. ‘The fall of the cards –’
‘The cards fall in such a way that you win.’ Jacolm sat forward. ‘How else do you know what everyone holds in their hand?’
The spectators gave a collective gasp. Tulkhan sensed their speculative appraisal of Imoshen. Perhaps it was possible to use her gifts to manipulate the fall of the cards. He wondered whether he should intervene.
Several of his men looked past Imoshen to him, obviously expecting their general to respond. The day after tomorrow Imoshen would be his wife; any slight on her honour was a criticism of his. His body tensed but he ignored the instinctive urge to declare her innocent.
If a man were accused of cheating in Gheeaba, it would be up to him to prove his honour, but Imoshen was a woman and so unable to accept Jacolm’s challenge or offer challenge of her own. Tulkhan hesitated. There were no precedents to guide his actions.
‘You are mistaken, Jacolm,’ Imoshen said, voice icy. ‘I would never use my T’En gift for such a paltry purpose.’
Tulkhan saw the man flinch.
‘So you say,’ Jacolm sneered.
Imoshen made an impatient noise in her throat. ‘Cariah, have I been using anything other than my wit and skills?’
Tulkhan saw the red-headed beauty swallow and lift her chin. He could tell she was preparing to lie.
‘How would I know?’ Cariah gestured as if bored by the whole thing. ‘I have not seen Imoshen do anything other than count the cards and anticipate what people have in their hands by what they have played.’
‘Thank you for your support,’ Imoshen said dryly.
Tulkhan knew by her tone that Imoshen was rebuking Cariah, but he did not know why. If Imoshen was not cheating, why was Cariah lying? Before Tulkhan could ponder this, Jacolm rose, telegraphing his intention to challenge Imoshen’s word. To offer challenge to a mere female would demean Jacolm, but Tulkhan realised Jacolm’s honour would not allow him to back down.
Everything slowed as Tulkhan stiffened. Cheating or not, he had to defend Imoshen’s honour. He had to redirect the challenge.
Before Jacolm could speak Tulkhan stepped forward. ‘Are you offering insult?’
‘There has been no insult offered,’ Wharrd interjected soothingly. This was strictly true – no formal challenge had been laid down because Tulkhan had intervened before it could get that far.
Imoshen ignored Wharrd. Coming to her feet she glanced from Tulkhan to Jacolm. ‘What goes on here?’
‘I am merely asking this man if he offers challenge,’ Tulkhan ground out.
Jacolm’s resentful eyes studied the General.
‘If insult is intended, it is to me, not to you,’ Imoshen said.
‘Any insult offered my wife is an insult upon my honour. A challenge,’ Tulkhan told her. Then he returned his attention to Jacolm, trying to read the man’s next move.
Silently Sahorrd rose and moved around the table to stand behind his sword-brother.
With all his being Tulkhan willed Imoshen to remain silent. Anything she said now was bound to inflame Jacolm. Imoshen was but a heartbeat from death for Jacolm was one of Tulkhan’s finest swordsmen.
A muscle jumped in the man’s cheek. Tulkhan sensed he was close to losing control. There was no chance of a formal duel here. Knowing Jacolm, he would favour the soldier’s solution – challenge offered, accepted and honour decided on the spot.
‘There is no cause for insult to be offered. No need to challenge.’ Wharrd came to his feet. ‘I have been watching the cards. No one can cheat this old campaigner.’
This attempt at humour elicited no laughter but it did lighten the atmosphere.
Imoshen drew a slow breath. ‘And I choose to take no insult. Jacolm does not know me. I would never use my T’En gift on something so paltry – to save a life, yes, to win a game of chance, never!’
With a few brief sentences she had placed the man in the wrong and forgiven him. Tulkhan could sympathise with Jacolm as he bristled.
Cariah rose. ‘Supper is being served.’
The sudden influx of servants carrying trays of food broke the stalemate. Imoshen turned her back on Jacolm with deliberate casualness, but her expression when she met Tulkhan’s eyes was anything but casual.
She was furious. Not with Jacolm, with him.
Why? He had been about to defend her at the risk of losing one of his best men.
His body thrummed with unresolved tension as he escorted Imoshen to the sideboard where the servants had laid out the food. Every dish was a masterpiece of presentation, food sculpted to form animals, birds in flight, or intricate pieces of T’En architecture. Every morsel was a surprise to delight the palate.
Imoshen’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as she poured wine for them both, though no one but he saw this.
All around them people talked animatedly, but their chatter was too bright and their smiles forced. They skirted Tulkhan and Imoshen, while appearing to defer to them. At the same time the General knew that every ear was strained to catch their conversation and every malicious eye was trained on them to observe the undercurrents revealed by their gestures.
‘Wine, General?’ Imoshen offered him a crystal goblet.
His fingers tingled when they brushed hers and hi
s temples ached as though a storm were about to break. Experience told him the power was moving within her.
‘Since when did my honour cease to be my own?’ She spoke softly so that only he could hear.
‘The day after tomorrow you will be my wife –’
‘Bond-partner. Equal!’ she insisted softly, turning her back to their audience. In a gesture that appeared affectionate she raised her hand and brushed a strand of hair from his throat.
His body responded to her touch but he found it disturbing because her eyes, which only he could see, held ice-cold fury. She was deliberately masking the content of their conversation from those who watched them. Again he had to admire her, desire her... and fear her.
‘I will stand at your side, not behind you, General. If I am offered insult I will handle it, not you.’ Her eyes glittered with suppressed fury. ‘I am not your lapdog to be petted and protected from the real world.’
Her words hit their target. For an instant Tulkhan stood in her shoes. He saw her invidious position and empathised with her against his will.
With a nod of satisfaction Imoshen turned away and moved gracefully along the length of the sideboard. She nibbled this and tasted that, pausing to speak with minor church officials, then with Lady Cariah’s two sisters and the young Ghebite commanders who rarely left their sides. Those she exchanged pleasantries with smiled and deferred to her, but when she passed on Tulkhan saw their relieved expressions. Something twisted inside him. It shocked him to discover he pitied Imoshen, destined always to be an outsider.
Amid the general conversation he caught the tone of Jacolm’s voice. His man was still angry. Sahorrd and a few others stood with him talking intensely, their gazes on Imoshen.
Wharrd approached Tulkhan with Kalleen at his side. Tulkhan greeted them and they both glanced over at the angry group.
‘Jacolm’s a hothead,’ Wharrd muttered. ‘He’ll grow out of it one day.’
‘Or it will kill him,’ Tulkhan amended.
Wharrd met Tulkhan’s eyes in silent acknowledgment.
‘He’s lucky T’Imoshen didn’t take insult,’ Kalleen said.
Again Tulkhan felt that uncomfortable shift in his perception. To Kalleen that was the encounter in a nutshell. As far as she was concerned Jacolm was still alive to plot satisfaction only because he had not raised the ire of a full-blood T’En.
Tulkhan was reminded how little he knew of this place and these people. A prickling awareness of menace moved across his skin. If sufficiently angered what was a Dhamfeer capable of?
He had seen Imoshen furious and he had seen her frightened, but he had never seen her out of control. Or had he? He recalled a visual image so intense it seared his inner eye – two fighting birds exploding in a ball of fire.
Though Imoshen had refused to discuss the cockerel fight, he knew that she had been outraged by its barbarity. When she discovered his men betting on a fight to the death she had grown frighteningly still. He could see her now, standing across the pit from him, fierce eyes blazing. Then suddenly the birds had burst into flames. Was that evidence of Imoshen out of control?
Tulkhan wanted to find her, to warn her of Jacolm’s hasty temper and explain why honour was so important to his commander.
Searching above the heads of those present Tulkhan could not see Imoshen’s distinctive silver hair. Impatience drove him. He took his leave of Wharrd and Kalleen and crossed the room, having to pause to engage in conversation several times. He realised he was projecting the same casual air as Imoshen.
Deliberately stopping beside Jacolm, Tulkhan clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and passed a few innocuous words. They meant nothing. His real meaning was in the way he stood at their sides. He offered solidarity and he saw his men understood as their expressions eased, conveying their relief.
Leaving the crowded room, Tulkhan entered the relative quiet of the hall and felt the cool air on his face. One of Imoshen’s stronghold guard stood at the door. ‘Which way did Imoshen go?’
The young man stiffened and inclined his head to the left. Tulkhan set off, wondering what he had said to offend the youth.
He rounded a corner but did not see Imoshen. A servant approached. ‘Have you seen Imoshen?’
With a nod of his head the old man indicated the direction from which he had come. ‘T’Imoshen is with the Lady Cariah.’
Tulkhan managed a smile. He told himself it was a good sign that the old servant felt secure enough in his presence to reprimand him for not addressing Imoshen with sufficient reverence.
KEEPING A TIGHT rein on her anger, Imoshen had slipped from the crowded room at the first opportunity, intent on confronting Cariah, who had already left. Rounding a corner she saw the other woman. ‘Cariah, wait.’
From the way Cariah turned and met her eyes, Imoshen knew she had anticipated a confrontation.
A servant approached with a fresh tray of food. Imoshen nodded to an open door and the two women stepped into the darkened room.
The only light came from the building across the courtyard. It spilled through the room’s floor-length windows onto the polished floor and illuminated a graceful stringed instrument. As if drawn to this, Cariah glided over to stroke the sensual curve of the wood. Imoshen followed.
‘You alone could have defended me against Jacolm’s charge, Cariah. You chose not to.’ She tried not to sound as hurt and betrayed as she felt.
Cariah did not turn to face her, but looked out through the window, her voice the merest whisper. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘Confirm that I was not using my gifts to cheat at a foolish game of cards.’
‘You would have me reveal myself and risk ostracism, for what?’ Cariah demanded raggedly. Her tear-filled eyes reflected the light, beseeching Imoshen’s understanding. ‘Why should they believe me, if they will not believe you?’
Imoshen’s heart sank. She wanted to rail at Cariah, to complain at the unfairness of it all, but... ‘You are right.’
Cariah’s shoulders slumped.
Imoshen stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I will not betray your secret.’
Cariah shook her head. She pushed Imoshen away and sank onto the seat next to the instrument. ‘You make it hard for me not to love you.’
Imoshen gasped. ‘All I ask is that you be my friend.’
A short, bitter laugh escaped Cariah. She brushed the tears from her face, then her hands travelled over the instrument’s vertical strings, absently plucking them, drawing sweet notes into the air.
Imoshen watched Cariah’s graceful fingers, the elegant line of her throat. ‘How can you hide your power so well?’
‘Years of practice.’
A tense silence hung between them.
Then Cariah sighed. ‘My powers are negligible, so it was easy. I vowed when my mother died never to reveal the depths of my T’En inheritance. Can you imagine what it was like living in my own stronghold, constantly watched by Father and the servants, aware that one unconscious slip would see me a prisoner, locked away as my mother had been?’
‘I am sorry.’
‘So am I.’ Cariah caressed the strings. ‘I have only one acceptable power and I use it sparingly.’
Imoshen touched her fingers. ‘Play for me, Cariah. First as you would play for them, then for me alone.’ Cariah met her eyes, then nodded.
TULKHAN STRODE DOWN the dimly lit hall. The palace was so complex that if he did not find Imoshen soon he would not find her until she was ready to be found.
He froze as subtle T’En music drifted from the darkened room. Silently he slipped through the half-closed door. The room’s occupants were too absorbed to notice him. Curious, he stepped into deep shadow.
Imoshen was a tall silhouette outlined against the window. Cariah played an elegant stringed instrument. Fingers poised she paused, then ended the piece with a flourish. Tulkhan had learnt enough by now to know that the pauses were as important as the notes.
�
�This time I play for you alone,’ Cariah whispered. She stroked the strings with her fingers to create rippling waves of sound so sweet they flowed like water over Tulkhan’s skin, bringing tears to his eyes. He felt as if she were plucking the strings of his soul.
Cariah’s fingers grew still and silence followed. At last Imoshen let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘How can you hold it back?’
Silently Cariah looked up at Imoshen. Tulkhan could not see her face, only the back of her head.
‘Something so beautiful cannot be bad,’ Imoshen whispered.
Cariah stood. When she spoke her voice was cool, dispassionate. ‘I have chosen my path.’
‘But is it right to make yourself out to be less than you are so that you can be accepted?’
Cariah’s laughter sounded as sharp as breaking glass. ‘You can talk!’
Tulkhan saw Imoshen’s shoulders stiffen. The two women confronted each other. He did not understand the point of their argument.
‘I am out of my depth.’ Imoshen lifted her hands imploringly. ‘All I ask is your friendship and counsel.’
‘Is that all?’ Cariah shook her head slowly. The same hand which had drawn that hauntingly beautiful music from the strings lifted to tenderly caress Imoshen’s cheek.
The intimacy of the touch made Tulkhan flinch. When he had suspected Imoshen of taking lovers, he had never thought to be cuckolded by a woman.
‘Do you wonder that I must refuse?’ the redhead whispered.
‘Cariah,’ Imoshen pleaded.
‘No. You ask for more than I can give.’ Abruptly, she turned and strode towards the door, her eyes blinded by tears. Once Tulkhan had resented her, now he felt sorry for her.
The sound of her soft footfalls faded and Tulkhan returned his attention to Imoshen. She straightened, visibly gathering her composure, before walking towards him. As she stepped into the dim shaft of light Tulkhan moved, slamming the door closed. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, Imoshen’s had been turned to the light, but the sudden closing of the door caused her to dart sideways.
As suddenly as he had moved, she was gone.
Dark Dreams Page 16
