Strangely, Tulkhan couldn’t join in the jest. He felt as if he was watching everything happen to someone else, as if there was something he should be doing elsewhere.
He knew what it was. His blood was boiling for her. Perversely, he made himself stay in the great hall and jest with his men. He knew the value of bonding. He might be the son of the king’s second wife, but he was a soldier first and they respected him for that.
Slightly drunk, though not near enough considering the ale he’d consumed, he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. Wharrd was sleeping in the outer room, his limbs entangled with those of Imoshen’s small serving maid. Tulkhan stared morosely at them.
He could remember when his life was that simple, when he thought success on the field of battle would win him his father’s love and acknowledgment. Impatient with himself, he forged ahead, but in his slightly hazy state he stubbed his toe on the doorjamb. His curses woke Kalleen, who fled.
Wharrd sat up, his protest dying on his lips when he met the General’s eye.
“Bedding the enemy, now?” Tulkhan asked. It was meant to be a jest, but he saw the man flinch.
Wharrd opened his mouth but thought better of it, choosing not to make the obvious rejoinder. Tulkhan gave a rueful smile, acknowledging Wharrd’s unspoken comment.
“I should cut out my tongue,” Tulkhan muttered and tried to make amends. “Wine?” He’d had more than enough, but it didn’t ease the continuous ache that thrummed through his body. It seemed no amount of wine could dull that need.
The bone-setter nodded and accepted a mug. Tulkhan stirred up the fire and built it higher. He wouldn’t sleep tonight. To lie alone, without her in his arms would be hell. He could still smell her on his skin, feel her flesh on his fingers. The silken caress of her hair haunted him.
He clenched his fist and stared into the flames, resting his forearm on the mantelpiece. He’d forgotten the older man.
“I’ve seen you grow from a boy to a man. I’ve served you all these years, but now I want to step aside. This is how I see it,” Wharrd said suddenly. “I’ve followed the army for nearly thirty years. I was but a lad when I first saw men die. I’ve sewed men up, sawn off their arms and legs, watched them die in agony. I’m tired of it. I want a quiet little cottage somewhere, a wife who’ll warm my bed and my heart, who’ll give me strong, healthy children. And I pray to the gods they will never have to live through what I’ve seen.” He met Tulkhan’s eyes, his face an odd mixture of the defiant and apologetic. “I’m tired of fighting. I want peace.”
Tulkhan said nothing. The events of the night were pressing in on him. His most trusted friend was stepping down. His father was dead, his younger half-brother had become king. He had conquered every country from the north to Fair Isle. What was left for him?
Should he return to the mainland and lead the army into the Southern Kingdoms? What purpose would it serve? His father was dead. Even after all he’d achieved in his father’s name he had not won the old king’s love. Why should he lead an army to conquer land for his half-brother?
What then?
Should he build some ships and sail off to the archipelago in search of wealth? The idea did not cause his blood to ignite with passion. Personal fortune had never meant much to him.
For the first time in his life he felt lost, without purpose. An emptiness and a sense of dislocation filled him.
Yet all around him through the Stronghold he could hear the shouts of revelry, the laughter and music. The only thing worse than a rowdy drunk was a morose drunk and Tulkhan did not like his own company.
Imoshen prowled the moonlit room, cat-light on her bare feet. Kalleen huddled before the empty fireplace watching her. The rest of the Stronghold had cast care aside to indulge in the revelry.
“But something is wrong, I can feel it!” Imoshen spun around, her hands opening and closing agitatedly in futile fists. She strode to the window, but the sight of the twin moons offered her no comfort. “If only the Aayel were here. She could tell me what I feel.”
The little serving maid said nothing.
“Of course!” Imoshen spun to face her. “Bring me the scrying platter.”
While the girl hastened to obey, Imoshen took her knife and pricked her finger, squeezing several drops of dark blood to the surface. “Here. Kalleen.”
She knew she was worrying her maid and one part of her regretted this, but she had to do something. Her T’En senses screamed a warning.
The blood fell on the silver platter. Imoshen added a little water, watching the two liquids mingle. She walked to the moonlit window seat and leaned there in the embrasure, swirling the water lightly over the plate’s surface.
A scrying rarely worked for her. Tonight she couldn’t focus her thoughts. Dread of what she might learn and impatience with her lack of skill warred within her. She felt as if there was something important she was missing, something she should sense.
Kalleen hovered just out of reach, breaking Imoshen’s concentration. It was pointless! Dispirited, she stopped pushing for a vision and let her thoughts drift.
Too late now to flee with Reothe, she had made a commitment to save herself and her son as well as the people of Fair Isle.
Imoshen was about to throw the water out the window in disgust when something appeared in the plate. Bodies writhed, people fled in terror, women, children, horses screamed. Their stomach-churning cries filled her head. Acrid smoke from the burning buildings stung her throat.
Panic seized her.
They were being hunted through the streets. There was nowhere to run. Metal clattered on stone. Imoshen screamed. She fled with her people, her heart pounding.
One of the invaders grabbed her gown, tearing it. He trapped her arms. She was dead!
She writhed in his vicious embrace, a parody of love. She was silent, full of desperate fury.
She must escape but his grip was unbreakable.
Weeping. Someone was pleading, calling her name.
Another voice, this time masculine, pierced the screams of those around her.
“Imoshen!” The familiar deep voice was filled with concern.
She recognized the scent and realized it was the General who held her. With that knowledge the terrifying vision faded.
“Put out the fire!” he bellowed.
What fire? Imoshen strove to see through the gray mist which enveloped her.
The General was holding her against his body, her back pressed to his chest. She twisted in his arms and caught sight of Kalleen. The girl’s small, nimble figure darted forward, slapping the flaming bed curtains with a blanket.
Imoshen blinked, the last wreaths of gray mist fading as her sight returned. Her bedchamber was alight?
“What happened?” Imoshen tried to sidle out of Tulkhan’s grasp.
“You tell me.” He swung her around to face him. “Kalleen screamed for help. We found it like this!”
Imoshen thrust his hands aside and turned to survey the damage. It looked worse than it was. Wharrd and Kalleen almost had the fire out. Who would set fire to her bedchamber?
She had no idea.
Impatient with the blank in her memory, Imoshen paced across the room. Her bare toe caught the scrying plate. It went skittering across the stone like a live thing, flashing silver, clattering sharply. The sound scraped on her raw nerves.
Imoshen gasped. Her heart jumped, then began to pound rapidly. Kalleen yelped with fright. Wharrd cursed.
Imoshen shuddered as echoes of the slaughtered innocents’ screams filled her head.
What had she seen, done?
She turned to Kalleen, grabbing the girl’s wrist. “Tell me what happened.”
The little maid’s mouth twisted with reluctance. She fixed her golden-hazel eyes on Imoshen’s face, then glanced sharply toward the men and Imoshen instantly regretted her demand. The Ghebites were still their enemy. Kalleen’s instincts were correct, she did not want to reveal any weakness before them.
Wha
rrd pulled down the last of the bed curtains and rolled them up. They were still smoldering.
Forcing herself to behave calmly, Imoshen let Kalleen’s wrist go and stepped away, turning to the men. “Thank you for coming in. General, but everything is under control now. You may leave.”
He gave a short, impatient laugh. “You haven’t answered my question.” Abruptly he turned on Kalleen. “What happened, girl?”
She jumped with fright and looked to Imoshen for guidance, who knew instantly that the girl would lie for her.
Why? Why should she inspire such loyalty?
Imoshen put this thought aside and concentrated on rubbing her temples tiredly. The General would not be put off. He had come to her aid, saved her from something. What? She frowned. Perhaps he deserved an explanation.
“There are a dozen jumbled images in my mind. I remember standing by the window under the light of the twin moons and searching the scrying plate, but I saw nothing . . .”
Even as she spoke, the memory returned, cleaving her tongue to the roof of her mouth, closing her throat with fear.
“You began to scry,” Kalleen said softly. “Suddenly you dropped the plate and screamed ...”
“I saw genocide! Women, children running, being hunted down through the narrow streets and slaughtered. There was nowhere to run. Then I was running with them.
“One of the invaders lunged for me. His hand raked my shoulder. I tried to run between the blazing buildings toward the square. But it was a trap.” Imoshen bit her lip, aware that the General was watching her closely. It would not do to reveal the extent or, in this case, her inability to harness her gift. He already feared her T’En powers. What would he do if he thought she was unable to control it?
“You ran about the room, as if trying to escape someone,” Kalleen whispered.
“And then?” General Tulkhan prompted the little maid, who looked to her mistress for the signal to proceed. Imoshen nodded. A cold certainty settled in her chest. She was sure the bed curtains had not been set alight by natural means.
“Then?” Kalleen echoed, her eyes widening with terror as she remembered. “My lady did not know me. She screamed and the bed curtains burst into flames. I went for help.”
Several slightly drunk, but reasonably alert soldiers charged into the room half-dressed. One was naked except for his sword.
Tulkhan swore under his breath. Suddenly he swung his cloak from his own shoulders, to clasp it around Imoshen’s. Before she could speak, he was marching toward the men.
“What drunken revelry is this?” he demanded.
“We heard a scream. We thought it was another assassination attempt!”
“Nothing like that!” Tulkhan laughed, his voice rich on the charged air. “The Princess had a nightmare. She cried out in her sleep—”
“I smell burning.” One man eyed Imoshen suspiciously.
“I knocked over my candle. I’m sorry.” It galled her to let them believe she was such a poor creature that she was frightened of her own dreams, but she understood Tulkhan was containing the disturbance and knew she had to do her part.
He ushered the men out and shut the door, then turned to meet her eyes across the chamber. Imoshen realized the General had given her the Ghebite equivalent of her title. Did that mean he was acknowledging her as his equal? Did he even realize he had done it?
“Explain,” he growled.
“Explain what? I had a bad feeling. I did a scrying. I must have knocked over my candle.”
Kalleen went to speak but reconsidered. Aware of what the girl might have revealed, Imoshen was grateful.
Tulkhan strode toward Imoshen, his long dark hair streaming behind him with the speed of his approach. Her heart leapt to her throat. She felt an instinctive fear, mingled with admiration. Even now she wanted him.
His hands sprang to her neck. She flinched but held her ground as he tore the cloak off her shoulders. “‘Explain this!”
He spun her around to stand before the polished metal mirror. By the candlelight she could see nail marks on her bare shoulder. The material of her simple shift had been torn, rent as if someone had attempted to grab her and she’d only just eluded them.
Chapter Six
Fear made Imoshen’s skin go cold. Had the vision felt so real because it was real?
But how?
She did not know. Truly, her life had been in danger. Here was the evidence. Yet ... it had only been a scrying. Nothing like this had ever happened when the Aayel did her scryings. What had she done wrong? Why had the bed curtains burst into flames?
Confusion overcame her, robbing her of her confidence. Her heart sank. She was a danger to herself and those around her.
“By the Aayel!” Imoshen hissed. What was happening to her?
“Who attacked you?” Tulkhan demanded, his voice vibrating with repressed emotion.
Imoshen realized the General was holding himself on a very tight rein. It was clear he thought someone, perhaps one of his own men, had attempted to rape her. It was a logical assumption. She realized unless she wanted him punishing his men unfairly and causing further resentment, she would have to tell him the truth and that meant admitting her own lack of control over her gifts.
Imoshen hated to admit her weakness but there was nothing for it. She must face the consequences of her actions with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Kalleen, take Wharrd out and offer him some wine. I’m sure he could do with refreshment,” Imoshen ordered and walked to the empty fireplace. It was cold and dark, the wood laid ready to strike the tinder. She missed the fire’s welcoming warmth. When had they lit the candles? Last she recalled the room was bathed in moonlight.
As she turned to confront the General she saw a moment of silent communication pass between him and the bone-setter. Yes, she must remember that as kind as Wharrd was, he was still Tulkhan’s man sent to spy on her. Not that he needed to do much spying, Imoshen thought grimly, when she set her own bedchamber alight.
On his General’s signal, Wharrd left with her maidservant. Imoshen swallowed. Where to begin?
She didn’t want to meet Tulkhan’s eyes. Surely he would despise her for her weakness? She was torn. She only had to look at him to recall his arms around her. Her body thrilled at the memory, and ached for his touch. She frowned—at this moment the last thing she needed was this physical distraction. Suddenly she felt awkward, vulnerable because he had known her body and now he would know her weakness.
To hide her discomfort she resorted to social etiquette. “Wine?”
He waved a hand as if the answer didn’t matter then strode to the fireplace. Imoshen crossed to the low table and poured two goblets. Turning to offer him one, she saw him building up the flame. When had he had time to strike the tinder?
“I want an explanation now.” Tulkhan straightened up. He made Imoshen feel small and she wasn’t. She resented that. She enjoyed looking down on men.
Licking her dry lips, she began. “The Aayel could have explained it. She knew so much more than I. Maybe it is normal. But it never happened before. My scrying has been poor. Healing was always my gift.”
“You’re saying this wasn’t done by one of my men?” Tulkhan asked, obviously trying to contain his exasperation.
Imoshen touched his arm. She told herself it was to ask his forbearance, but the moment she felt the hard muscle under the fine material she knew she’d touched him because she had to. The warmth of his skin went through her fingertips, traveled up her arm and settled in her core. She felt a tingle of excitement move over her body. The intensity of her physical reaction startled her.
Her eyes flew to his and she knew he felt it too.
The General stepped away to pick up his wine. But she sensed he was using this to escape her.
“What happened tonight?” he asked. “Were you in danger—”
“Yes. Something went wrong.” Imoshen flushed. She had to tell him. He deserved the truth. “You asked if it was one of yo
ur men who attacked me. It wasn’t. But I think he was a Ghebite. He nearly caught me.
“I was in a narrow street. All about me the buildings were ablaze. The choking smoke ... I couldn’t breathe. It was so very real. I don’t know how ...” She heard her voice rise and bit her lip, taking a deep breath to regain control.
Someone hammered on the door. Imoshen gasped and stepped closer, clutching his arm. Tulkhan’s hand closed over hers. She snatched it away, already regretting her frailty.
With exaggerated patience General Tulkhan put his wine aside and cursed in three languages, making Imoshen smile. The hammering came again.
Their eyes met and something passed between them—a rueful acknowledgment of their situation. Whatever they might feel personally their positions meant they were always on duty, at the beck and call of their people.
“Come in?” Imoshen raised her voice.
The door swung open and half a dozen of the Elite Guard staggered in with a bloodied individual between them. She felt the General stiffen. Another assassination attempt?
“My Lady T’En?” The man writhed in his captors’ grasp, twisting to pin his one good eye on her.
Imoshen stepped forward. Suddenly all the unease she had been feeling settled into one lump of leaden fear in her belly.
“Put him down. Step back!”
Fear and fury made her voice ring like steel. The Elite Guard obeyed instinctively. Imoshen simply accepted their obedience, her mind on their captive. The man was bleeding freely but he was not badly hurt. She took her own goblet and sank to her knees, offering it to him. With a jolt she realized he was only a youth, not yet out of his teens.
“Lady T’En?” His fingers closed on her wrist as his eyes searched her face. “You must save T’Diemn. The Ghebite King surrounded it. Our Mayor parleyed for Terms. We laid down our arms and opened the city gates. They marched into our streets, into the palace.
Broken Vows Page 17
