DARK DREAMS Page 7

  Tulkhan no longer pretended only polite interest. He spoke slowly. “There are rumors of great gifts.”

  She nodded. “T’En gifts can also be a curse. The first Imoshen and her shipload of refugees fled their homeland to escape persecution. She ordered the ship burned.”

  “But I was told Imoshen the First was an explorer.”

  “With small children and old people?” The Beatific smiled. “No, she rewrote our history for her own purposes.”

  Tulkhan met the woman’s eyes frankly. “How do you know this?”

  “I have access to the journals of our early Church leaders. When the first Imoshen set out to take this land she was utterly ruthless. She had about her a band of devoted T’En warriors—the legendary Paragian Guard—who had sworn an oath to serve her. Those who died in her service were destined to serve beyond death, bound by their oath. They are the Parakletos.” She made a furtive sign before resuming. “It was only through the dedication of this Paragian Guard that Imoshen the First was able to subdue the people. But once the island was taken she disbanded the Paragian Guard and ordered her own kind to mingle with the locals.

  “She took a vow of celibacy and all pure T’En females since have followed her example. Her only surviving daughter became Beatific. Imoshen the First bonded her pure T’En nephew, Aayel, to the old royalty, just as you are doing. But she did it for an even stronger reason.”

  Tulkhan contained his impatience, very aware that this woman enjoyed playing him like a fish on a line.

  “Pure T’En are unstable. Even amongst Imoshen the First’s people, there were not many pure T’En. Throwbacks like Imoshen and Reothe can have great gifts, but they are also cursed.”

  “Explain.”

  The Beatific smiled. “Well, even the royal family was wary of Reothe. They were happy when he absented himself on long sea voyages of exploration and trade.”

  “Piracy, you mean. I have heard about his exploits.”

  The Beatific held his eyes. “Reothe was acting under a charter from the Empress herself. His task was to harry the trade of Fair Isle’s enemies on the high seas. A small wealthy island such as Fair Isle must protect her trading interests or the greedy will think her weak. Reothe was a great sea captain. He also explored the archipelago and opened new trade routes.” She shrugged. “However, the pure T’En males are a danger to themselves and to those around them. Who knows what mischief Reothe might have caused if he had remained at court. As it was, the Empress had to remove one of her other adopted sons to preserve the peace.

  “The Empress loved Reothe. She reared him from the age of ten, but as he matured so did his gifts. They first began to manifest at puberty. The pure T’En have a range of gifts, from the ability to scry and manipulate the minds of others, to the more practical gifts, like healing. In the females the gifts are weak, but in the males they can be quite powerful. It was expected Reothe would be strong in one area, but none of us knew the extent or specialization of his gift. The T’En have ever been a secretive race and Reothe was true to his blood.”

  She lowered her voice. “Why, the Emperor himself confided in me that he feared Reothe might supplant his own children. And then there is the question of why the Emperor and Empress granted Reothe dispensation to bond with Imoshen. I advised them against it, but they were fixed on the idea, even though it flouted six hundred years of custom.” Her brilliant eyes held his. “I often wonder whether Reothe used their trust and affection for him to sway their judgment.”

  Tulkhan’s hand tightened on the goblet’s stem.

  The Beatific sat back. Languidly she selected a cube of diced fruit, slipping the choice morsel between her lips. She dipped her fingers in the little bowl provided and wiped them fastidiously. “I can only speculate as to why the first Imoshen led her shipload of refugees from our homeland. But it has long been the role of the Church to limit any damage the T’En might do. When the remaining Paragian Guard were disbanded they chose to serve the Church. They formed the T’Enplars, warrior priests sworn to uphold the sanctity of the T’En gifts, but it was from their very ranks that the first T’En went rogue.

  “Sardonyx led the revolt of sixty-four. His own cousin, Empress T’Abularassa, joined with the first Beatific to contain him. They created the Tractanans to balance the power of the T’Enplars. Balance, that is what En means in High T’En. After Sardonyx’s death, T’Abularassa built a tower in his memory; Sard’s Tower. Since then the families of the rogue T’En have commemorated their loss with a tower of tears, and the Beatific has been empowered to declare one of the T’En rogue if there is enough evidence of treason against the Church and the Empress. For over five centuries the Tractarians have hunted down rogue T’En. You have heard of the stonings?”

  “It’s been over a hundred years.”

  “I know. There has not been the need. After the last stoning, no pure T’En males were born for seventy years, and the Tractarians withered. But since Reothe came to maturity, they have been revitalized under the leadership of Murgon.” She gestured without actually pointing. “That’s him at the next table, third from the left. Tall thin man with the T’En eyes.” She saw Tulkhan’s surprise. “Those of part blood are particularly sensitive to the use of the gifts.”

  “Would it not be simpler to kill all pure T’En babies at birth?” Tulkhan asked coldly.

  “We are not barbarians!” Disgust made the Beatific’s voice sharp.

  “I meant, why wait? Why not contain the threat?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not all T’En go rogue. They, like all nobles, are taught that their duty is to serve Fair Isle. The T’En gifts can serve True-men and women. Look at Imoshen’s ability to heal. The people love her and she is a visible symbol of our past. We revere the T’En!”

  “In abstract?”

  He surprised a smile from her but she did not acknowledge his question.

  “General?”

  Tulkhan looked up to see Imoshen’s flushed, smiling face. Guilt stirred in him. On Imoshen’s advice, he’d signed the document that enabled the Beatific to retain her position of power, and now the woman was undermining Imoshen. Politics! Disgust filled Tulkhan. He much preferred the knife-edge life and death decisions of the battlefield. At least when death held a blade to his throat, it did not smile and whisper words of comfort.

  Imoshen gestured to the small man at her side. “Let me introduce the first of the Keldon nobles to accept our hospitality. Lord Fairban.”

  Tulkhan came to his feet. “So we meet again, my lord. This time in my Keep.”

  “No one can say the Keld dishonor the laws of hospitality,” Fairban bristled.

  Tulkhan smiled grimly. “I’m sure you will find my hospitality everything yours was and more.”

  Silence hung heavy between them as Imoshen glanced from Tulkhan to Lord Fairban.

  “General Tulkhan spent a night at my holdings while he was hunting rebels,” the old lord answered Imoshen’s unasked question.

  Imoshen’s eyes widened.

  “How are your beautiful daughters, Lord Fairban?” the Beatific asked.

  Under cover of their conversation, Imoshen turned to Tulkhan. “Come dance with me, General?”

  “No.” Dancing was not something a general needed to be proficient in. Yet he longed to take Imoshen in his arms in front of everyone, to know that when he put his hands on her, she was his.

  But what was he thinking? The Beatific had told him the T’En were unstable, a danger to others and themselves. Was Imoshen exerting some kind of mental pull on him?

  “General?”

  Looking up into her teasing face, Tulkhan could not believe she was consciously manipulating him. The only power she had over him at this moment was the pull of his body to hers. But that was powerful enough and that was too much.

  “You mock me, Imoshen.” He made his voice hard and contemptuous as he sat down. “What time does a general have for dancing? Go ask someone else.”

  She hesitated, her fe
atures briefly registering the humiliation of his rejection. Then she stepped closer, her voice dropping. “Since you don’t know the T’En dances, General, I could have the minstrels strike up a Ghebite dance.”

  Just for a moment he thought he read something in her face beneath the teasing, a need. Perhaps she wanted him to step away from everyone else to be with her and her alone. He hesitated, surprised by how much he wanted to believe this. Shaking his head in disbelief, he chastised his weakness.

  A formal mask settled over Imoshen’s face. Twice he had rejected her before the Beatific whom he was sure was listening in on their conversation. He suddenly wanted to recall his hasty words but Imoshen was already moving gracefully aside. Only he had seen her quickly veiled disappointment, only he knew the hurt she hid as she stepped lightly to join the others.

  Or did he? Perhaps he was just a lust-crazed fool projecting these finer feelings on a manipulative Dhamfeer. He craved her, yet he knew she was his by necessity not by her own choice. True, she had agreed to bond with him when he publicly claimed her. But what real choice had she had?

  Imoshen took several steps from the table, not really aware of where she was heading. Only pride made her approach a group on the dance floor. Unshed tears stung her eyes.

  The General had not seen the malicious gleam in the Beatific’s gaze. That was good, she told herself, at least now she knew where she stood.

  “T’Imoshen?”

  It was Cariah. Imoshen’s heart sank. Had she seen General Tulkhan reject her? Imoshen turned to face the woman’s contemptuous gaze but found in it understanding instead.

  “The Ghebites want to start a fresh dance circle,” Cariah said, slipping an arm through Imoshen’s. “And I need another female to make up the numbers.”

  “Then how can I refuse?” Imoshen replied with a grateful smile. “When the rest of the Keldon nobles arrive we will have the numbers for the formal dances.” And more tempers to soothe. But she did not add this.

  Cariah met her eyes, a rueful smile lighting her face. “The Keld can be quick to take insult.”

  Imoshen blinked. Had Cariah simply anticipated her, or did she have a little of the T’En gift for skimming thoughts? There was nothing in her expression to suggest it was anything more than a lucky guess.

  “True, they can be touchy,” Imoshen said, “but then the Ghebites are so good at giving unintended slights.”

  A chuckle escaped Cariah.

  Imoshen slowed her step before they joined the circle. Instinct told her to trust this woman. “Cariah, I am all alone with no one to guide me in court protocol. Will you help me ease the transition of power? I need to find common ground for the Keld and the Ghebites.”

  She saw her request had surprised Cariah, who hesitated midstep, then continued smoothly, “Commander Jacolm, your partner.”

  It appeared to be an unfortunate choice. The man’s heavy black brows drew down, making it clear he would have preferred Cariah’s company. Imoshen’s stomach clenched, yet another rejection. Then she turned to see Cariah take her place in the dance circle with her father, Lord Fairban.

  Cariah’s answer had been to act on her request.

  When the music started Cariah caught Imoshen’s eye and for the first time since the Aayel’s death, Imoshen did not feel cast adrift. Then the dance swept them apart as they circled their partners before moving to the next. If Cariah was prepared to do her part, Imoshen must do hers. As they changed partners she determined to be charming.

  Tulkhan watched Imoshen take Lord Fairban’s hand. The top of the man’s grey head came up to Imoshen’s chin, but Tulkhan could tell she was charming him with a word, a teasing smile. When she moved away to join the women who circled the men, Lord Fairban’s eyes followed her.

  “That is another of their tricks.” The Beatific gestured briefly to the dance floor. “When they choose, the T’En can be delightful companions. The males make notoriously good lovers. But it is said they can only know true release in each other’s arms. Of course, with the women’s vow of celibacy, that is impossible.”

  Tulkhan was aware of the Beatific sipping her wine thoughtfully, though his gaze never left Imoshen.

  “Discarding her vows of celibacy does not seem to trouble Imoshen,” the Beatific observed casually.

  Tulkhan snorted. He could not believe he was having this conversation with the leader of the T’En Church. In his own country there were no females in the Church hierarchy and the priests were celibate. Recalling the earthy Harvest Festival at Imoshen’s Stronghold, something told him celibacy was not a prerequisite for the priesthood in Fair Isle.

  Did the Beatific have her choice of lovers? Turning to study her mature, sensual beauty, he could well believe she did.

  Imoshen laughed and his gaze was drawn irresistibly back to her. She looked over the heads of those around her to him and met his eyes. He realized she was willing him to share her amusement. An unexpected longing took him. He wanted to share her quick understanding, to know they had a special affinity.

  The path he’d chosen would be a difficult one, but he would not relinquish Fair Isle and Imoshen at any price. If she were at his side and they were truly united in purpose, then it was not an impossible dream. He could have it all. He could hold Fair Isle and savor Imoshen’s willing companionship.

  Second wife’s son, second best, supplanted heir. He desperately wanted the supremacy of Fair Isle. And Imoshen was the key. Politically, he had to take her to his bed, but gut-deep he knew he would have to have her even if it were political suicide.

  What was he thinking?

  If the Beatific was to be believed, a True-man could not even satisfy a female Dhamfeer. And he had arranged to marry the last pure T’En female in a “bonding” ceremony which would make her his equal in the eyes of the law, a law she had maneuvered him into recognizing. Yet he was not fool enough to let his lust rule his head. He did not doubt Imoshen’s devotion to Fair Isle, it was her commitment to him he doubted.

  Perhaps she was merely buying time for Reothe to rebuild his forces. Unlike her pragmatic acceptance of him, Imoshen had discarded a life of celibacy to take Reothe as her betrothed. Cold suspicion shook Tulkhan. Were the last two T’En in league against him?

  The dance finished and Imoshen returned to the seat on Tulkhan’s right.

  Her smile faltered when she met his eyes. “What is it, General?”

  Her hand lifted to touch his arm but he recoiled. She had used just such a touch to pluck the image of his mother’s death from his mind and use it against him. The old woman had died of the fever, alone and uncared for, while he was on campaign. As a woman past child-bearing age she had been worthless in the eyes of Ghebite society, yet even now her lonely death stung him. “Don’t touch me!”

  Imoshen’s expression hardened into a beautiful mask. Once again she was that alien, unknowable creature, the Dhamfeer.

  Pulling her hand away from the coppery flesh of Tulkhan’s arm, Imoshen clasped her fingers tightly beneath the table, hiding her tension. She didn’t need to touch the General to read his emotions. At this moment the Ghebite feared and hated her.

  Why?

  She detected a slight movement to his left. The Beatific was devouring the succulent white meat of a roasted bird with dainty but decisive bites. Immediately, Imoshen knew this woman had been planting seeds of doubt, poisoning Tulkhan’s mind.

  Drawing a quick breath, Imoshen searched for a neutral topic of conversation to restore communication. “With Lord Fairban’s arrival, we can expect to see the rest of the Keld soon. It would be best to hold off awarding your men their estates until the nobles are here to witness the ceremony.”

  Tulkhan’s wary eyes met hers.

  She lifted a hand to deny any ulterior motive. It was simply good politics to assuage the older nobility’s feelings when investing new nobility.

  “Very well,” Tulkhan conceded. “We’ll give them a week.”

  Imoshen had to be satisfied with that. H
e had said we, not I. Once they were bonded and Tulkhan lay naked in her arms, she knew there would be no cause for mistrust. How could there be when they shared their bodies and their minds?

  Beckoned by Wharrd, Tulkhan left her. She watched as he spoke with his bone-setter. Both men wore the dark breeches and boots of the Ghebite soldier. Tulkhan favored a red velvet thigh-length shirt. A heavy belt, worked with gold filigree inlaid with niello, was slung low on his narrow hips. He wore his thick, straight hair loose on his shoulders, while two long plaits threaded with small gold beads fell from his temples. By old empire standards, he wore too much vibrant color and too much gold ornamentation, yet he looked utterly at ease in his barbarian splendor, dwarfing and overwhelming the more soberly dressed males of T’Diemn.

  “The General struts like a peacock, yet he puts our men to shame,” the Beatific remarked.

  Startled, Imoshen met her eyes.

  “I must be growing used to the Ghebite love of display,” Imoshen said to fill the silence. Alone with the Beatific, now was her chance to find the woman’s Key. Other than healing, Imoshen’s gifts were weak. The Aayel had been good at reading people to discover their secret fears and desires, but though Imoshen had attempted this many times, it was only on first meeting General Tulkhan that she had successfully plucked the Key image of his dying mother from his mind.

  Since coming to the palace, she had been forced to develop her ability to read people. Every day, she soothed tempers and assuaged hurt feelings. Everyone had a weakness, everyone could be reached.