Dark Dreams (20 page)

They continued on, Tulkhan guiding his mount through the gates to the palace grounds.

‘There is a T’En saying that loosely translates as,
A person who has nothing will risk everything
,’ Imoshen told Tulkhan. ‘Give your commanders and the Keldon nobles a say in the ruling of Fair Isle. As Fair Isle prospers under your rule they will also prosper, and their goals will become yours.’

‘Truly the T’En are a devious race.’

They had reached the palace. Imoshen slipped from his thighs, landing lightly on the stone paving. ‘There is another T’En saying,
Do not use a battle-axe to kill a fly
.’ She grinned. ‘It is more poetic in High T’En.’

He felt himself smile. ‘These are dangerous flies.’

Imoshen gave him the lesser obeisance and walked off. Tulkhan swung his leg over the horse’s back and dropped to the ground. Regretfully, he watched Imoshen enter the palace. He would welcome their intimacy if only she were not pure T’En.

I
N THE DAYS
leading up to their bonding Tulkhan gave Imoshen’s words much thought. While his father had been King, he had gathered about him capable men, rewarding them to ensure their loyalty. There was merit in this but Tulkhan did not see how he could implement it.

While his men would not listen to the advice of a woman, he did not suffer from this prejudice. He only felt truly alive when he was in Imoshen’s company. It appalled him to discover he craved her presence like a drug.

Now he hesitated on the brink of approaching her card table. The older Keldon nobles had retired when the Beatific left, leaving only the younger members of the court. A buzz of conversation rose from the other tables: the players consisted of visiting aristocrats from mainland kingdoms, politically minded church officials and several bizarrely dressed individuals from the islands of the archipelago. The evening’s entertainment had continued later than usual, leaving Tulkhan bored and irritable.

Imoshen never bored him.

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 his 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?’