‘Ask for any reward, anything.’ Tulkhan’s words were a breathy whisper.
‘Anything?’ Reothe leant closer, as though fascinated despite himself. ‘There is nothing you can give me, True-man. Mere-man. By this time next winter I will have the palace, Imoshen and Fair Isle. You are merely holding them in safekeeping for me.’ His hand passed over Tulkhan’s face to rest on Imoshen’s temple. A frown settled between Reothe’s narrow brows. ‘Why did you delay so long? I may be too late to escort her from death’s shadow.’
‘But you will try?’
Reothe gave a short, sharp laugh, his eyes as brilliant as the jewels they resembled. He searched Tulkhan’s face. ‘Did you know she saved my life the last time we were together?’
The General wanted to deny it. Reothe’s satisfied smile told him the Dhamfeer was enjoying his reaction. Tulkhan tried to control his emotions. But how could he bluff Reothe when the T’En could sense his feelings, possibly even catch a whisper of his thoughts?
With what he had learnt of Reothe during the mind-touch, Tulkhan understood that every word was a weapon designed to wound him. He recalled the old nursery rhyme about Dhamfeers and tried to armour himself against Reothe’s cunning.
‘The bond Imoshen and I share is older and deeper than yours, Ghebite.’ Reothe made the word an insult. ‘One day she will look into your True-man eyes and realise what you are. Mere-man. Her place is with me, and so I will save her, not for you, but for that day. And when it happens you will remember this moment.’
Tulkhan closed his eyes. It felt as though Reothe had revealed a greater truth, something Tulkhan had always known but refused to acknowledge. Yet Tulkhan did not believe in fate, and he did not believe Imoshen was destined to be with Reothe. A man made his own future.
‘You may feel a little pain. I haven’t done this before,’ Reothe warned.
Tulkhan met Reothe’s eyes and read something he didn’t want to acknowledge. Instead of mocking cynicism he saw a man who knowingly faced death, and for this he felt a grudging respect.
The Dhamfeer was naked now and insubstantial. Narrow parallel scars ran down his chest, weeping fresh blood. Had Reothe been wounded when he arrived? Tulkhan couldn’t remember. The glowing coals of the dying fire flickered through Reothe’s body as if he was consumed from within.
One part of Tulkhan wanted to shrink from the contact as Reothe stretched on the bed beside him. He felt the T’En male’s intense questioning gaze.
‘What?’ Tulkhan mumbled.
Those insubstantial fingers pressed his lips closed.
‘Pray to your gods that I succeed, Ghebite, because if I fail, you lose us both and possibly your own life, too, since I am going to anchor myself in you. Concentrate on that burning candle, do not let it go, and ignore me even if you find what I do disturbing.’
Tulkhan wanted to watch, to understand what was happening, but the words triggered a compulsion and his gaze focused on the flame at the end of the bed. He was fleetingly aware of Reothe’s presence at his side and then his insubstantial body moving over his own, settling atop Imoshen’s unconscious form.
Then the candle flame blurred and Tulkhan’s heart pounded in his chest. Lightness filled his body so that he felt dizzy and vague. Fear closed around his raging heart. He must not lose sight of that flame. If he did, they were all lost.
He was aware of a heaviness filling Imoshen’s body, then heat flashed through her limbs. She gasped as if in pain. Hope soared in him, sinking once again as she returned to the dreamless state.
The flame flickered and separated to become two points of light. Like the reflective eyes of a great white cat they stalked him. Terror filled Tulkhan’s chest. He could not scream, could not defend himself. Sweat broke out on his skin.
Malignant intelligence pursued him. He wanted to close his eyes to deny approaching death, but perversely he knew to break contact was to die. He dared not even blink. His eyes burned and his breath passed through his parched throat in short sharp gasps.
Abruptly the twin flames broke into a thousand sparkles like sunlight on water, blinding him.
Tulkhan opened his eyes to find the room dark except for the dim glow of the fire’s coals. The candles had all burned out. He felt so weak he could hardly move. But Imoshen lay warm in his arms, her body sculpted around his. She was pliable and dear to him. With a rush of joy he recalled how they would lie entwined like this after making love.
Experimentally he lifted a hand to stroke her upper back. Her skin no longer had that cool, marble-smooth feel. Hope flared within him, giving him renewed strength.
‘Imoshen?’ Rising on one elbow, he cradled her face in his free hand. ‘Answer me, Imoshen.’
She frowned and Tulkhan’s heart soared. Whatever Reothe had done, it had succeeded.
Trembling with relief he sat up, gathering her warm, body to his. Pure joy illuminated him. His fingers entwined in her hair as he cradled her face, kissing her temple, the hollow under her jaw.
The soft sound of protest she made in her throat was a blessing. He laughed, feeling tears on his cheeks.
‘Imoshen,’ he breathed, seeking her lips. She had come back to him.
Her mouth moved under his, her breath mingled with his. He could drink from her lips forever. He felt her smile.
Relief made him light-headed. He looked down into her face, seeking her dear familiar features, but her wine-dark eyes mocked him. The sad smile was not hers.
Cold certainty filled Tulkhan. ‘No!’ He pushed her from him, repulsed. The intelligence watching him from Imoshen’s eyes was not hers.
The room spun. He had to clutch the bed frame to steady himself. Still reeling he watched Reothe’s insubstantial form detach from Imoshen’s body. As his wraith rose above her, she sank onto the bed.
Then Tulkhan saw two people – the sleeping form of Imoshen, with Reothe’s wraith, kneeling over her.
Tulkhan could barely summon the strength to swallow. What he had witnessed this night was something no True-man should know. Yet he could not look away as Reothe stroked Imoshen’s face. His incorporeal fingers failed to brush a strand of hair from her lips. Tulkhan watched him dip his head, pressing his pale lips to hers.
It was too intimate a gesture for another to witness. He had to look away. When he looked back Reothe had turned to him, his face a deadly mask. Tulkhan scrambled off the bed and backed away staggering, his legs hardly able to support him. He wished for a weapon, though he knew it would do no good.
As the Dhamfeer stalked towards him, one part of his terrified mind noted that the bed and Imoshen’s sleeping form could be seen quite clearly through Reothe.
Perhaps the T’En’s gifts were wearing thin with use. Tulkhan hoped so. It would be a relief to know the creature had limitations.
Reothe stopped before him. ‘I have braved the Parakletos, searching death’s shadow to find her and bring her back.’
Tulkhan barely breathed. ‘I thank you.’
‘I didn’t do it for you.’
‘I know.’
Reothe turned to gaze at Imoshen. He said something in High T’En. It sounded like poetry or a line from a song.
The Dhamfeer returned his attention to Tulkhan, a lingering smile in his alien eyes. It was a smile that held painful self-knowledge. ‘You do not ask. It means, Those we love have the greatest power to wound us.’
‘Reothe.’ Tulkhan went to touch him but his hand slipped through the T’En’s body. ‘Can’t we find a middle ground?’
‘You would compromise?’ Reothe shook his head ruefully. ‘You don’t want to do a deal with me, True-man. I have already bargained away my soul.’
He lifted his face as though looking for something beyond Tulkhan. The Dhamfeer winced as the slashes across his chest deepened and the blood ran freely.
Even so, Tulkhan felt there was something in Reothe, something he recognised because something similar lived in him. It didn’t have to be this way. He went to tell the last T’En war
rior, but Reothe was gone.
Stunned, Tulkhan searched the room. His senses told him that he was alone with Imoshen again.
Wearily he went to the bed. It was the darkest part of the night, the time when sick folk died and babies were born, the predawn of a winter’s night.
As though waking naturally, Imoshen rolled over and stretched. Her eyes opened and she smiled as if recalling a pleasant dream. He made an involuntary sound in his throat. She looked at him.
There was no recognition.
Had Reothe stolen Imoshen’s memory? But no, now she recognised him. As memory returned, her face grew haunted.
She sat up abruptly. ‘Jacolm and Cariah!’
Tulkhan flinched. He had hoped to see pleasure light her face, not sorrow. Were they destined to bring each other nothing but pain?
Questions burned to be asked, but tonight he was not sure he could face the answers.
Imoshen’s chest hurt. Every muscle in her body ached, as if she had been tested to the limits of her physical endurance. The last thing she recalled was kneeling in the snow before the bodies of Cariah and Jacolm and saying the words for the dead.
‘How did I get here?’
‘I carried you. You’ve been unconscious all day and most of the night.’
Tulkhan was watching her closely. He looked very weary and she could sense a difference in him – he had been touched by something beyond a True-man’s understanding. ‘What haven’t you told me?’
He shrugged as if he did not know where to start.
‘You’re tired, come to bed,’ she urged, but he made no move to join her. ‘What is it, Tulkhan?’
‘You hide things from me.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘Why do you look at me like that?’
He sank onto the bed and she ached for him to take her in his arms.
‘You turned the bodies of Cariah and Jacolm to stone.’
‘Impossible.’ But even as she said it, she knew it was true.
‘It nearly killed you. When I brought you back here you were as cold as stone.’
She shuddered and reached for him but he did not respond. ‘Why won’t you hold me?’
‘Why don’t you ask how it is that you still live?’
She shook her head, drawing back to study his face. His eyes held a deep glittering anger. It frightened her.
He snatched her left hand and turned her arm over, inspecting her wrist, then held it up for her to see. ‘You say you do not use your tricks on me, then why is the bonding scar you share with Reothe hidden once again?’
Imoshen frowned. Had she been unconsciously cloaking the bonding scar from Tulkhan? ‘The scar is not what it seems...’
The General grew pale and he dropped her wrist. ‘Now that you admit it, it reappears.’
‘Not intentionally. I don’t mean to hide things from you.’
‘Were you in Reothe’s camp the night before our bonding? Did you save his life?’
Imoshen’s skin went cold and she opened her mouth to deny it but she could not lie.
‘Answer me!’ Tulkhan caught her shoulders, shaking her.
Tears stung her eyes.
He released her. ‘I must be mad!’
She drew back, seared by his derision. Deep sobs shook her. He would never trust her.
‘Imoshen...’ Tulkhan pulled her into his arms. ‘I thought you were dead.’
She felt his lips on her forehead and sensed his relief. ‘I don’t understand. Why does it hurt when I breathe? What happened here this night?’
Tulkhan was unwilling to reveal that he had been useless while Reothe had risked his life to save her. Before he could confess, Imoshen leant forward and licked his throat.
Her eyes widened. ‘I can taste Reothe on your skin.’
‘He was here.’
‘He couldn’t have been. It would take days for him to ride here.’
‘He didn’t ride. He wasn’t here in body.’ Tulkhan shrugged. He didn’t have the words. ‘Reothe said he felt your life force dim, that you were bound to him in some T’En way. It was he who saved you. I... I could do nothing for you.’
Imoshen shivered with fear.
‘Reothe said that I am only holding you in safekeeping, until he is ready to claim you.’
‘You mustn’t listen to him.’ Imoshen’s breath caressed the hollow under his jaw.
Then he felt her hands on him, needful and urgent. As her lips moved on his throat the knot of failure which had wound so tight inside him gradually eased.
‘Reothe can tell the absolute truth and make it sound like a lie so that you doubt your own judgment.’
Tulkhan wanted to ask her if she could do the same. But the warmth of her breath on his skin was overwhelming. It drowned all caution. The need in her was great, calling up an answering urgency in him. He wanted only to bury himself inside her, to forget everything but her touch. She was a balm to his bruised soul. Yet...
‘How could you give your bonding vows to me when you already had this?’ He grasped her left wrist.
Imoshen gave a little gasp. ‘Reothe cut our wrists before I could stop him. When he tried to say the words to complete the vow I refused.’ She searched Tulkhan’s face. ‘I have been true to you. I swear.’
He wanted to believe her. ‘I must be mad.’
He felt as if Reothe had stolen something intangible this night. Only Imoshen’s touch eased his hollowness and he gave himself up to her.
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN IMOSHEN WOKE late the next morning the bed was empty, although the scent of their passion still clung to her skin. Every movement was an effort as she forced her trembling body to perform the simple act of dressing.
She had searched her mind but there was no memory of Reothe’s presence, no memory of her time in death’s shadow other than what felt like fevered nightmares. Tulkhan had told her how Reothe had risked the wrath of the Parakletos to save her. She was beholden to him and she hated it.
‘T’Imoshen,’ Merkah cried. ‘You are up and dressed. Why didn’t you send for me?’
‘Where is the General?’
‘He left word that you were to go to him once you were ready.’
Imoshen nodded. Her arms hurt so much she could not lift them above her head. She asked Merkah to do her hair and sat before the mirror.
As the maid set about her task she gossiped. ‘It was such a surprise when the General told us you had recovered. The Beatific could not believe it. She was sure the baby would be dead –’
Imoshen gasped.
Merkah’s startled eyes met Imoshen’s in the mirror.
‘I suppose it is common knowledge, or it will be soon.’ Imoshen’s hand closed over her belly. She feared that the fragile life had been extinguished while she lay unconscious.
Stiffly she came to her feet. ‘Where is General Tulkhan?’
Before Merkah could reply a grey mist enveloped Imoshen’s vision. She felt her legs buckle and, when she could think clearly again, found herself sitting on the floor.
‘Stay here, I will bring a healer,’ the girl urged.
‘Nonsense. I’m fine.’ But Imoshen came to her feet slowly and waited a moment to be sure. She didn’t have time for physical weakness. ‘Now, where is the General?’
Merkah hesitated. ‘I will go with you.’
‘Very well.’
As they walked through the palace galleries, Imoshen noted there were very few servants, and the few she did see slipped away quickly. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘In the woods, viewing the beautiful stone lovers. Half the city has been through the palace grounds today. The queue runs right out the gate.’ Merkah paused by a window. ‘You can see it from here.’
Imoshen peered over her maid’s shoulder. A dark line of people snaked across the white snow.
They walked on in silence. Until this moment Imoshen had not really believed Tulkhan. But it appeared she had indeed turned the dead lovers to stone. Not only had she failed Cariah, she
had unwittingly revealed gifts that would make True-people fear her.
‘Here we are.’ The maid scratched on a door tang. At the sound of Tulkhan’s deep voice Imoshen’s face grew hot with the memory of their urgent lovemaking.
She lifted her chin and walked in. The General stood behind a large table covered with maps. Wine bottles, goblets and several ink wells held the curling edges flat.
Merkah shut the door as she withdrew.
The planes of Tulkhan’s face were tight with tension and he raised cold eyes to her.
Imoshen did not understand why he had distanced himself from her yet again. She let the tip of her tongue rest on her upper lip, tasting the air. Someone who didn’t like her had been in this room recently.
‘I have lain awake thinking,’ Tulkhan said. ‘You do not deny that you have been to Reothe’s camp. Tell me where it is.’
Imoshen’s heart sank as looked down at the maps.
‘You say I have your loyalty,’ Tulkhan persisted. ‘Prove it. Point out his camp.’
‘That was back at midwinter. If Reothe is half the tactician I believe him to be, he will have moved by now.’
Tulkhan did not seem disappointed. He slid something out from under a map and tossed it onto the table before her. The silver platter spun and settled heavily. ‘Then do a scrying to locate his camp.’
Imoshen looked at the plate’s dull surface. This was the scrying platter she had inherited from the Aayel. It annoyed her to think Tulkhan had asked Merkah to take it while her mistress slept. ‘You made me vow not to use my gifts.’
‘I’m making an exception. Do it!’
Pain unfurled inside Imoshen. He wanted to use her as a tool to locate and kill. How could this be the man who had held her so tenderly last night?
‘If you refuse, I will –’
‘Lock me up?’ Imoshen whispered. ‘Steal my child and wall me inside the palace somewhere, leaving me to starve to death?’
Tulkhan appeared shocked. ‘Do you really believe that of me?’
Imoshen shook her head and picked up the scrying plate. The skin of her fingers crawled with distaste. Gingerly she lifted them to her face and inhaled. ‘The Vaygharian has been here. Is that why you doubt me, General? Have you forgotten so soon that he poisoned your half-brother’s mind?’
Dark Dreams Page 26
