DESPERATE ALLIANCES Read online

  As soon as the servants left, Kalleen climbed on the bed next to Imoshen. She stroked the baby’s fine hair wonderingly. “People kept stopping me to touch him. I can’t believe he nearly drowned. How could you let... I mean—”

  “I am not all powerful, Kalleen.” The near loss was still too immediate for Imoshen. Her voice shook as she tried to speak dispassionately. “The General was in the boat, about to be rowed out to the ship and exchanged for the mercenaries, when it happened. The Vaygharian was acting as go-between. He always hated me, and in a moment of spite he snatched Ashmyr and threw him into the sea.” She closed her eyes, seeing her son fall into the mist-shrouded bay, hearing that terrible small splash.

  The shock had unleashed her gifts. In white-hot fury she had turned on the Vaygharian, driving him to suicide. When Reothe had sought to console her, she’d refused to believe that Ashmyr was dead. Lashing out, she had crippled Reothe’s gift. “I ran to the wharf’s edge and called on Tulkhan to save our son.”

  “But Ghebites cannot swim.”

  “I helped him.” How simple it sounded. But only in desperation had Tulkhan dropped his guard and accepted the mind-touch, letting her guide his body.

  “My sweet boy,” Kalleen whispered, cupping one tiny foot, which had escaped the blanket. His toes curled in reaction, making her smile. “It was lucky Tulkhan reached him in time.”

  But he hadn’t. Ashmyr had been dead when Tulkhan passed him up to Imoshen. In desperation she had called on the Ancients to restore Ashmyr’s life. That she held her living son in her arms was due entirely to those old powers, and her willingness to make a bargain.

  Servants arrived with the copper bath, and others followed with buckets. In the old tower they did not have the luxury of hot water piped to each floor.

  Kalleen took the drowsy baby, tucking him in his basket. Still weak, Imoshen was grateful for her help. It was wonderful to sink into the warm, scented water.

  The General returned while Kalleen was rinsing Imoshen’s hair. Without explanation he went to stand before the windows, his hips resting on the sill, his arms folded across his broad chest. The light from behind hid his expression, revealing only the glint of his eyes as he followed Imoshen’s every move.

  Very aware of him, she bent her head as Kalleen twisted her long damp hair into a knot. Kalleen sent Imoshen a questioning look, but she had no answers. She stood with one hand on Kalleen’s shoulder for support. The little woman gently rubbed scented soap into her skin.

  Imoshen’s body grew hot under Tulkhan’s gaze. The water sluiced over her, little droplets falling to the floor before the fireplace. Her pulse throbbed through her limbs.

  Still, Tulkhan said nothing, neither leaving nor sending Kalleen away.

  Dizzy and breathless, Imoshen stepped from the tub. Kalleen wrapped the bathing cloth around her, patting her dry. She undid Imoshen’s hair and let it fall heavy and damp to her hips. Imoshen knelt before the fire as Kalleen finger-combed her hair, spreading it to dry.

  Hardly able to swallow, Imoshen dared a quick look at the General. He stood rigid, his eyes devouring her.

  When Kalleen began to divide Imoshen’s nearly dry hair to plait it, Tulkhan straightened. “Leave us.”

  Kalleen looked to Imoshen, who nodded.

  Alone with the General, Imoshen’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up. His 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 the 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. He pressed his lips to her forehead, large hands cradling her head.

  Letting her barriers down, she sought his essence. She knew him now, having shared his mind when she urged his body to swim. He had trusted her enough to save his life and rescue their son. But she had barely touched his awareness when his barriers clamped into place.

  “No, Imoshen. You promised not to try this.”

  “I thought with what we had shared...” She hesitated. He was pulling away from her physically as well. “Tulkhan?”

  He stood before her, arms out. “I am but a True-man, Imoshen. Accept me for what I am.”

  “We could share so much more!”

  “Where would it end? When I am your puppet king?”

  She shook her head, cut to the quick. “Never, Tulkhan. I respect you too much—”

  “Then respect my wishes in this one thing.” He caught her hands in his. “Imoshen?”

  She looked down at his strong hands, scarred by years of battle. Respect his wishes in this one thing... but it was such a central thing. By denying her T’En nature he was denying an intrinsic part of her. Could she live with that? Did she have a choice?

  She searched his face, aching for him to hold her.

  “Imoshen!” He pulled her close. His mouth was bruising on hers, his hands almost too hard. It was as if he was trying to erase her doubt with the force of his passion. If this was all they could share, then it had to be enough.

  Tulkhan stepped off the mercenary ship’s gangplank to find Imoshen gone. Wharrd answered his unasked question. “The Princess went to inspect the hospice. I insisted she take three Elite Guards.”

  Tulkhan was not really surprised. Considering Imoshen’s gift was one of healing, she was a natural choice for patron of the hospices, and she had been raised to believe the Empress’s duty was to serve her people. Still, he did not trust these people. They had been too quick to support the rebels. “Which way?”

  But he needn’t have asked. Shouts and splintering wood urged him to hurry. Hastening up the steep lane, he followed the sounds to their source, a grand building faced with the same white stone as the Citadel.

  He stepped over the debris and thrust the double doors of the hospice wide open. The public hall was festooned with market paraphernalia. “What’s going on here?”

  Tulkhan’s Elite Guards greeted his arrival with relief. They were no match for Imoshen in full stride. With their sleeping son strapped to her chest, she was berating a little man.

  At the sound of Tulkhan’s voice she spun to face him. “This is, or was, the hospice. They have turned it into a market!” Imoshen rounded on the man. “This building was dedicated by Imoshen the Third to serve the sick. The Church should never have allowed this.”

  “The priests were killed in the invasion, like the hospice healers. Our markets burned down, so we—”

  “I heard how your township suffered in the initial invasion,” Imoshen said soberly. “But now I want the hospice restored. I will send for more healers.” She gestured to the Elite Guards. “See that this building is emptied and cleaned.”

  Tulkhan’s men bristled. They were warriors, not common laborers. Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, the General swung a bale of wool onto his back. “Where do you want this, Imoshen?”

  She smiled her thanks. “Outside. They can rebuild their markets.”

  “Why rebuild? When another invasion threatens?” someone muttered.

  Imoshen silenced the traders with a look. “When Tulkhan’s army arrives, he will sail across the T’Ronynn Straits to forestall Gharavan’s invasion. Thanks to the Protector General, your town won’t be a battleground again. You can not only rebuild the markets but your lives!”

  Much heartened, the townsfolk joined the General and his men in dismantling the stalls. When this was progressing wel
l. Tulkhan joined Imoshen. “Now I understand why this building bears the T’En royal sign over the door and not the anchor and sword of the great merchant houses.”

  “Do not mention that symbol to these respectable townspeople. They will not thank you for reminding them of their pirate ancestors.” She met his eyes with a rueful smile. “There are many minstrel tales about T’Ronynn and his T’En brothers. They were given a Charter to keep the Pellucid Sea free of pirates. It was not long before they were more feared than those they hunted. Most of Northpoint are descended from them, though they’re too proud to admit—” She frowned, her gaze going past him. “You, child. Come here.”

  A scruffy urchin approached, her eyes fixed on the ground. Unlike the mainland towns, where gangs of homeless children roamed the streets, there were few poor in Fair Isle.

  Hugging her son to her chest, Imoshen knelt in her fine velvets to feel the child’s thin legs. “This girl’s broken leg has not been set properly. That’s why she limps.” Imoshen’s eyes glistened with real anger. “Who is responsible for her?”

  A tall man, his red hair silvered at the temple, put aside a crate of late-ripening melons. He raised both hands to his heart and then his forehead, giving the deep obeisance reserved for the Empress. The child sidled over to him like a puppy. His head remained bowed. “I fear Almona followed me.”

  Imoshen straightened. “Why haven’t you sought treatment for her leg?”

  “It had already knitted poorly when I took her in. It was beyond the skills of all but a T’En healer.” He raised wine-dark eyes to Imoshen. Tulkhan stiffened. It always startled him to find half-breeds. “Her parents are dead.”

  “But families and friends have always taken in orphans,” Imoshen said. “Children are valued in Fair Isle.”

  “Whole villages have been wiped out.” The man’s large hand cupped the child’s face, lifting her chin so that she raised the same garnet eyes to Imoshen. “And no one wanted a half-breed like her. I have taken in seven others.”

  Suddenly Imoshen grasped his hand, turning it over. Drawn by her pained expression, Tulkhan moved closer. With a jolted he realized the farmer had five fingers on each hand, plus a stump where the sixth finger had been chopped off.

  “I have read of these mutilations during the Age of Consolidation,” Imoshen muttered. “But I did not think to see such barbarity in my time. Who did this to you?”

  “My parents. Out of love. They witnessed the stoning of the last rogue T’En. Rather than abandon me at birth, they—”

  “That was over a hundred years ago!” Tulkhan objected.

  “I carried both the T’En traits, too close to a Throwback for comfort. Everyone knows the males are dangerous. So...” He shrugged eloquently.

  Tulkhan caught Imoshen’s eye. Everyone believed the males more powerful and so they were, but only if the females’ greater powers weren’t triggered by the birth of children. This knowledge had been hidden until it was lost to memory because Imoshen the First had ordered all pure T’En women to take a vow of chastity.

  With the General in his power, Reothe had revealed it was only Imoshen’s belief that his gifts were greater than hers that made her his captive. The irony of it had delighted Reothe. Now Imoshen stood beside Tulkhan, his bond-partner and mother of his child, powerful enough to cripple a T’En male. Tulkhan looked on her with fresh eyes.

  “But to cut off a child’s sixth fingers. So cruel!” Imoshen’s arms closed over her son protectively. Her shoulder met Tulkhan’s chest as she stepped back, and he felt the tension in her. With her ability to skim minds, he guessed she had absorbed the mutilated man’s memories, and this was confirmed when her trembling hand sought Tulkhan’s. With the T’En gifts came strength but also vulnerability. He squeezed her fingers and she cast him a grateful smile. She turned to the farmer. “Your name?”

  “Eksyl Five-fingers.”

  “Let it be known that all unwanted children are welcome here. Food and bedding will be sent from the Citadel. I will be back tomorrow to begin the healings. Then I will see what I can do for Almona. There is nothing I can do for you. I’m sorry.”

  “All I ask is your blessing, Empress.”

  He sank to one knee and Imoshen raised her left hand, the one closest to her heart. She placed the tip of her sixth finger in the center of his forehead. “You have it, Eksyl Malaunje Protector.”

  Later, as they walked up the rise to the Citadel, Tulkhan remarked, “Malaunje? I don’t know that word.”

  “It is an old High T’En word. It means half-breed, but the connotations were different then. Once the T’En were respected and the Malaunje were their closest kin.”

  Nowadays it was a curse to be born a Throwback, and Malaunje children were unwanted. Tulkhan noticed how Imoshen brushed her lips across Ashmyr’s soft head. He did not want his son to be ostracized.

  “How long before you leave to confront your half-brother?” Imoshen asked.

  “I sail as soon as Commander Peirs gets here with the army and the ships are prepared,” he said, and she licked her lips as if she might say something. “What?”

  Imoshen smiled sadly. “Nothing. I know you must go. It is just that I—”

  “Had a premonition of disaster?”

  She laughed. “Nothing so dramatic. Mine is a purely selfish motive. I will miss you, General!”

  Chapter Two

  With the arrival of his army, General Tulkhan was ready to go to war. Imoshen matched him stride for stride on the Citadel’s parapets, but once he set sail her position would be precarious. Though she was co-ruler of Fair Isle, Tulkhan’s men feared her.

  Behind her, the General’s commanders vied for position with his Elite Guard. Not so eager, the dignitaries of the township kept a cautious distance. Like Imoshen, they were trapped by their position. During the General’s conquest their port had borne the brunt of the invasion. Now they played host to Tulkhan’s army while his half-brother brooded across the straits, threatening a spring invasion.

  The last of the sun’s setting rays illuminated the top of town’s-gate tower, leaving the township shrouded in twilight. The General came to a stop, looking down on his army, a sea of upturned faces illuminated by torches in the square below. Seeing him, his men shouted his name, striking their sheathed swords on their shields. Tulkhan, clap, clap... Tulkhan, clap, clap.

  Imoshen gasped, assaulted by a wave of devotion. She could taste the army’s hunger to shed blood in Tulkhan’s name. Reeling in her T’En senses before she was overwhelmed by the Ghebites’ emotion, she focused on the township that spilled down to the harbor. This had been a wealthy, complacent port. The four-story mansions of the merchant aristocracy were built of the same white stone as the Citadel, and the great families strove to outdo one another so that each building was more ornate than the last.

  In spring two years ago, the invading Ghebites had ransacked and looted in a frenzy of greed. The inhabitants had fled, only to return and rebuild when the General took Imoshen as his bond-partner. Now they crowded every available balcony and window. Families even perched on the rooftops to witness this historic occasion.

  Tulkhan signaled for silence and raised his voice. “Tomorrow we sail across the T’Ronynn Straits to crush my half-brother once and for all!” The General took his infant son from Imoshen’s arms, holding the boy so that all could see him. A wail broke from the startled babe. “In crushing Gharavan I ensure Fair Isle for my heir, for all our sons!”

  A cheer and then scattered chanting followed. Tulkhan’s men picked up the hungry rhythm, making Imoshen shiver. Retrieving Ashmyr, she soothed the fretful baby. “You seem as eager as your men to shed your half-brother’s blood!”

  “I must destroy Gharavan. He will not rest until he has avenged the insult.”

  “What insult? He was the one who arrested you on trumped-up charges of treason, forcing you to claim Fair Isle for yourself.” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “You should have killed him when I urged you to!�
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  Tulkhan tensed. “If I killed so readily, you would not be alive. I would have had your kinsman smothered before he could recover his sorcerous powers!”

  Imoshen’s heart faltered. “Reothe is no danger.”

  “For now... No, our greatest threat is my half-brother.” Tulkhan indicated the west, where the mainland lay, then smiled wolfishly. “Gharavan has made a fatal mistake. I’ve learned he is accompanied only by his courtiers and one company of Ghebite soldiers. The mercenaries he hired outnumber his men ten to one, and paid killers can be bought by the highest bidder.”

  “Is that what you intend to do, buy their loyalty?”

  “I may not need to. In all the years that I led the Ghebite army, I lost a few battles but never a war.” Tulkhan spoke simply, stating a fact. “There is no profit for the mercenary who fights on the losing side. They will switch allegiance and leave Gharavan defenseless.” He sobered. “No, I don’t look forward to shedding my half-brother’s blood. But tonight we celebrate because, as my old tutor used to say, a battle is fought in the field but a war is won in the hearts and minds of men!”

  Something stirred deep within Imoshen. She had to admire Tulkhan’s head for strategy, even if it had been the downfall of the T’En.

  The General held her gaze, his black eyes impenetrable. “I have no illusions, Imoshen. I leave Fair Isle seething with revolt. My spies tell me the remains of Reothe’s rebels are hiding in the hills outside Northpoint. I must ensure my hold on Fair Isle while I am away.” He faced his commanders and Elite Guard, drawing his sword and planting it between his feet. “Wharrd?”

  The grizzled veteran approached, going down on one knee.