DESPERATE ALLIANCES Read online

  In a land of enchantment and betrayal,

  an empress sworn to a new future must face the

  world she left behind....

  With her wine-dark eyes and silver hair, Imoshen is the last T’En empress—blessed with exotic beauty and an extraordinary gift for healing. Once the enemy of the fierce Ghebite General Tulkhan, Imoshen surrendered herself and her island to the powerful invader to save her people. But what began as a political alliance blossomed into a passionate love, and now they share both a kingdom and a newborn son.

  Yet Imoshen’s past still comes back to haunt her, as the T’En renegade, Reothe, refuses to relinquish his once betrothed. Believing Tulkhan will reject Imoshen if she carries another man’s child, Reothe uses T’En trickery to seduce her; but Tulkhan’s love proves stronger. Angered and betrayed by Reothe, Imoshen still cannot bring herself to forsake her fellow T’En. For Imoshen is hungry for the ultimate intimacy—the sacred mind-touch that she can share only with Reothe. It is a longing that could jeopardize her heart—and perhaps even the future of Fair Isle....

  A FATEFUL REUNION

  Alone with the general, Imoshen’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up. Tulkhan’s eyes, black as obsidian, bored into her. She sensed the force of his emotion barely contained. Would he reject her because she had not fought off Reothe?

  He offered his hand, palm up. Her skin looked pale against his, and his flesh felt hot as his fingers closed around hers. Pulling her to her feet, he drew her into his arms. She welcomed his touch. Without a word he sought her lips, hungry and demanding. Tears of relief stung her eyes.

  She had been so afraid he would reject her. Pressed to the length of his body, she felt the strength in him, but she wanted more. She ached to share the absolute intimacy of mind-touch. Only when he opened to her would she know how he truly felt. She needed to be absolved by his love.

  She gasped as he lifted his head.

  His great body trembled and his ragged breathing made her heart race.

  Also by Cory Daniells

  Broken Vows

  Dark Dreams

  To my friends and colleagues who have helped

  bring the T’En trilogy to life

  Chapter One

  Torn by conflicting loyalties, Imoshen knelt by Reothe’s bed. With the arrival of evening, scented candles burned in the chamber that had so recently been her prison. The tower room had been stripped of its rich hangings and, in the space of one day, their positions had been reversed.

  She should let Reothe die, for if he regained his gifts he would be too powerful to contain. But to stand by and let someone die when she could heal him went against her instincts. All day she had fought to save him, easing his pain with herbs and, when this failed, drawing on her innate healing powers.

  “Here, sip this.” She lifted Reothe’s head and held the tisane to his lips. His suffering had pared back his features, emphasizing his high forehead, narrow nose, prominent cheekbones. He grimaced at the bitter taste but obediently drained the goblet. She smoothed the damp silver hair from his pale forehead, and his hand squeezed hers in gratitude. Her heart contracted.

  After what he had done she should hate him, but she could not. He was the last of her kind. Both Throwbacks to the T’En race that had settled Fair Isle, they were marked by their wine-dark eyes, vivid coloring, and six-fingered hands. Last survivors of the old royal line, they were gifted with the powers that were both a blessing and a curse. And since the Ghebite General had conquered their island kingdom, they had both clung to life with determination and, when necessary, guile.

  Anger ignited Imoshen, for she had succumbed to Reothe’s trickery. Last night he had come to her in General Tulkhan’s form, slipping into her arms and planting a seed of dissension that she feared would drive Tulkhan from her. He would never accept another man’s child.

  The General’s bone-setter cleared his throat. “Some warmed wine, Princess?”

  With an effort she grasped the bed upright and came to her feet. “Thank you. I think the worst is over.”

  “I will watch him. Get some rest,” Wharrd urged.

  “Yes.” However, she remained, staring down at Reothe. She had to admire his daring. In a decisive gamble he had kidnapped Imoshen and her son, luring the General into a trap. In exchange for a mercenary army, Reothe had offered to deliver Tulkhan to King Gharavan. The Ghebite king was Tulkhan’s younger half-brother and legitimate heir, but any love he bore Tulkhan had been eroded by the General’s popularity and military success.

  With the mercenaries and his rebel army, Reothe could have retaken Fair Isle. He had come so close to making the exchange that Imoshen shuddered.

  This time last year she would have given anything to see Tulkhan in chains, but now the thought brought her no joy. How ironic that after surrendering her Stronghold, she had set out to woo the conqueror, only to fall in love with the man.

  Through the partially open door General Tulkhan watched Imoshen tend his deadly enemy. Only last night, when Tulkhan had been held captive in the tower’s dungeon, Reothe had come to him with Imoshen’s scent on his skin, boasting that she carried his child.

  Fury surged through Tulkhan. As a tactician he knew, if he was to hold Fair Isle, Reothe must die. But it was the thought of another man’s hands on Imoshen that made Tulkhan resonate with rage. Reothe would die this very night!

  As Imoshen bade Wharrd good night, Tulkhan stepped into the shadows behind his guards, who were playing dice. Blinded by exhaustion, the last princess of the T’En walked by, her straight nose and determined chin a beautiful mask. The General wanted to break her terrible composure. He wanted her to beg his forgiveness and declare her love for him. But he let her pass, a stiff-shouldered, tall figure with a deceptively fragile air. Something twisted inside Tulkhan. How could she betray him after everything they had shared?

  Imoshen climbed the stairs to her room, numbed by the speed of events. Even the knowledge that her life would be forfeit if the Church learned she had used her gifts to kill a True-man left her unmoved. She longed to hold her infant son and rejoice in Ashmyr’s innocence. But now that simple joy was a double-edged sword, for she carried a child she had not chosen to conceive.

  Resentment urged her to take control. Every midwife knew the herbs. One draught of womansorrow would dislodge this babe and circumvent Reothe’s trickery.

  She staggered, reaching for the dressed stone wall. In a flash of understanding so intimate that she felt nauseous, Imoshen realized she could not do it. She sank onto the stair, her head in her hands. As a healer she was devoted to preserving life. But it was more than that—she was a mother. Tears burned her eyes. Just as Ashmyr, her son, was an innocent pawn in the game of power, this child was innocent of its father’s treachery. She would defend this babe with her life.

  But the General would never accept Reothe’s child. Taking a deep breath, she stood and straightened her shoulders. Despite everything, she must make Tulkhan understand.

  Primed for murder, Tulkhan pushed the thick oak door open, revealing the injured man. Wharrd looked up, a single candle flame illuminating his sun-lined features. Silently, the bone-setter greeted Tulkhan and led him to the canopied bed, raising the candle. By its flickering light the rebel leader lay vulnerable.

  “I have never seen an injury like this. The whites of his eyes are blood red. And it is almost as if he can sense the Princess; since she left he has faded rapidly.” Suddenly, Reothe’s body convulsed. A moan was torn from him and he lay panting, his skin glistening. “He sinks deeper still and radiates heat like a forge. I doubt he’ll last the night.”

  “Then he will save us the trouble of killing him!”

  Wharrd met Tulkhan’s eyes.

&n
bsp; “Not only is he the last male of the old royal line, but he is pure T’En. If he recovers his sorcerous gifts he will unite Fair Isle against me.” As Ghebite war general, Tulkhan had made many hard decisions, but betraying Imoshen’s trust went against the grain. “Better to suffocate him now and face Imoshen’s wrath.”

  “Why face her anger when you could console her?” Wharrd suggested. “As I watched Imoshen battle to save her kinsman, I felt for her, knowing that we could not let him live. Like you, I sought a soldier’s clean solution, but after consideration I offer you a courtier’s solution. My herbal knowledge comes from the mainland. Pains-ease is odorless and swift, and in his state a double dose would snuff his flame.”

  Tulkhan’s mouth twisted with repugnance. “A courtier’s solution!”

  “Imoshen trusts you, and this way—”

  “She will not know that I have betrayed her trust,” Tulkhan acknowledged. Wharrd was right, yet the General felt this subterfuge diminished them both. He longed for an honorable solution that would not conflict with his warrior code, the Gheeakhan. Finally, he expelled his breath. “So be it. I have fought beside you these eleven years, Wharrd, and never thought to see you murder a sick man. Never did I think I would give you such an order.”

  Wharrd looked down.

  “Just do it and do it quickly,” Tulkhan ordered. “I’m going to see Imoshen.”

  On the mainland much was whispered about the mysterious T’En of Fair Isle. Tulkhan was only just beginning to understand their strengths and weaknesses. They called them Dhamfeer in his own language, and the priests believed them closer to beasts than to True-men.

  The General should have been repulsed by a woman who stood as tall as a tall True-man, whose milk-white skin and garnet eyes proclaimed her tainted T’En blood, but he found Imoshen’s refusal to admit him her master exhilarating and her Otherness fascinating. He had discovered that this proud, passionate woman was far more dangerous than any mainland myth. Tulkhan could not pinpoint when it had happened, but in the space of one year she had ensnared him, heart and soul. Imoshen was his addiction and he ached to confront her again. As conqueror of Fair Isle he had dictated the terms of surrender. Imoshen had negotiated many concessions for her people. But tonight she would be the one to make concessions.

  The soft sound of running feet made him stop.

  “General Tulkhan?” Kalleen gasped. The little True-woman wore nothing but a nightgown, and her hair hung loose to her waist, glowing like honey held to sunlight. Though she was no longer Imoshen’s maid, she would let no one else serve her lady. “It’s Imoshen, she—”

  Mouth dry, Tulkhan rushed past her. Striding to the door, he threw it open. Imoshen lay crumpled on the brilliant carpet like an abandoned toy. “What happened. Kalleen?”

  “She had just passed the baby to me when she convulsed and fell to the ground.”

  Crossing the room, Tulkhan spared one glance for his son, who slept in his basket. “Imoshen, can you hear me?”

  She did not respond.

  He slid his arms under her and stood, fear making the movement effortless. Even as he carried her to the bed he felt the heat rise from her skin. “Did she give any sign that she was sickening?”

  “She was very quiet. I thought her tired after nursing T’Reothe all day.” In her distraction, Kalleen gave the prisoner his royal title. Kalleen touched Tulkhan’s arm. The expression in her hazel eyes made his stomach clench. “I believe this is no ordinary fever. Before it came on, there was that tension on the air. You know the way it feels when Imoshen uses her gifts?”

  Tulkhan nodded briefly. For him, forewarning came as prickling of the skin. His concern deepened. Once before, when Imoshen had suffered as only the T’En could, Reothe had saved her. Imoshen had been granted dispensation to forgo her vows of chastity and take Reothe as her betrothed. That was before the General had invaded Fair Isle, and though Imoshen had since bonded with the General, Reothe claimed the last two pure T’En were bound in ways a True-man could not understand. Cold certainty gripped Tulkhan. “Wait here.”

  He ran down the steps, forcing himself to stride past the guards as though Imoshen’s life didn’t hang in the balance. He found Wharrd leaning over the unconscious man, trying to get him to swallow something. “Stop. Kill him and you kill Imoshen!”

  Wharrd straightened, letting Reothe sink onto the pillow.

  “She lies upstairs in the same state. I fear...”

  Wharrd gave a grunt of understanding and glanced at the mixture in the mug. Tulkhan realized that with one act of treachery he could be free of both the dreaded Dhamfeer. The thought revolted him.

  Grabbing the mug, he strode to the oriel window and flung the potion into the night. Far below the Citadel’s tower, where the rocks met the sea, the waves would obliterate all trace of “the courtier’s solution.”

  Closing the window, Tulkhan turned to Wharrd. “Through Imoshen I command the loyalty of her people. Without her at my side, the highland nobles would rise up in revolt. They know that since my half-brother turned on me I don’t have the backing of the Ghebite Empire, and without it I cannot hope to put down a rebellion.” Battle strategy was second nature to Tulkhan, but in his heart he had to admit that, though he had taken the last T’En princess as his wife out of political necessity, it was not cold necessity that took him to her bed, nor simple lust that bound him to her. “I need Imoshen.”

  “To hold Fair Isle you need the Princess, but that means”—Wharrd gestured to the unconscious man—“letting this snake live.”

  They both stared at Reothe. Once Tulkhan would have given almost anything to have Reothe in his power; now he felt no surge of victory. “Come and see if there’s anything you can do for Imoshen.”

  In the room above, Kalleen was sponging Imoshen. “Wharrd!”

  “Kalleen.”

  In that one exchange Tulkhan heard their love confirmed. A stab of guilt assailed him, for he knew Wharrd wanted nothing more than to retire to his estates with Kalleen.

  Wharrd examined Imoshen. “She appears to suffer just as he does. I fear there is nothing we can do but watch and wait.”

  “I will watch over her,” Tulkhan said. “Take my son for the night.”

  He wrung out the damp cloth while they collected the baby. Consumed with fear for Imoshen, Tulkhan hardly heard them slip away. His hands trembled as he blotted the beads of perspiration from her forehead.

  She lay unaware of him, her pale skin flushed, silver hair spread across the pillow. She gave a soft moan, and her lids moved as if she was watching events played out on another plane. When he felt the tension of her gifts, frustration ate at him. He was only a True-man. Reothe, however ... But try as he might, Tulkhan could not revive his anger.

  “Ahh, Imoshen, how could you betray me?” he whispered. He had to believe that she had not gone willingly into Reothe’s arms.

  Threading his fingers through hers, the General pressed her hot skin to his lips, savoring the satiny texture. Loving Imoshen might yet be his downfall, but that did not stop him from willing her to live with every fiber of his being.

  * * *

  Imoshen woke with the dawn and silently gave thanks for escaping death’s shadow. The last thing she recalled was sensing the approach of the vengeful soul of the True-man she had killed. She had managed to pass her son to Kalleen before the man’s shade had latched on to her. Cruel in death as he had been in life, the Vaygharian had tried to drag her through death’s shadow with him. Only her fierce will had saved her.

  In her study of the T’En, she had never read about this phenomenon. Reothe’s experience was greater than hers; she needed—

  “Imoshen?”

  “Tulkhan?” Her voice was a mere thread. She had not expected to find the General by her bed. His unshaven beard looked dark against the coppery skin of his jaw. His temple plaits had unraveled and his long black hair hung disheveled around his broad shoulders. She longed to smooth the lines of worry from between his br
ows, but he had avoided her since they took Reothe captive yesterday morning.

  Anticipating that Tulkhan was here to argue for the rebel leader’s execution, she began to prepare her reasons for sparing Reothe, but the General clasped her hand, saying, “I prayed the fever would break, but when it did you went so cold and still, I feared you would never wake.”

  “Water,” she croaked. He helped lift her head to take a sip. Sinking back onto the pillow, she was touched to see him so careworn. “You stayed by me; thank you.”

  “Ah, Imoshen.” He brushed this aside gruffly. “They will come soon, wanting to know how you are. I must be frank. After Reothe’s capture the town seethes with rumor. You cannot deny your powers when your features proclaim your T’En blood. But for my men to accept you, they must believe these gifts nothing more than the useful ability to hasten healing.”

  “As you see, even my healing gift deserts me if I overextend myself,” she whispered, then wished she had not reminded him that she had spent the previous day by Reothe’s bedside. Tulkhan must wonder why she hadn’t fought off Reothe’s advances. If he discovered how Reothe had tricked her, he might march down the tower steps and kill the rebel leader with his bare hands.

  “I am no fool, Imoshen. That was more than a passing fever. You suffered something only the T’En can endure.”

  “True,” she admitted, but would not elaborate.

  “Very well.” He stood, expression unreadable. “When you are ready we will tour Northpoint. I must speak with the captains of the mercenary ships. The people must see that we are united and our heir unhurt.”

  Imoshen sat up, alarmed. “Where is Ashmyr?”

  “With Kalleen. I will send for her.”

  But the little True-woman was already at the door with a hungry baby, issuing orders to draw a bath. Imoshen hardly noticed Tulkhan slip away. Joy blossomed within her as she cradled her son and bared her breast, marveling at the boy’s perfection. His lids were closed, the better to concentrate on feeding, hiding his wine-dark eyes. Thick black lashes formed crescents on his pale cheeks. She touched his hand, and his six fingers closed around her little finger. Imoshen gave thanks for his precious life from the bottom of her heart.