Dark Dreams (12 page)

When Imoshen looked up, he could not fail to recognise the intelligence in her wine-dark eyes.

‘Yes?’ he prompted.

‘Tomorrow you reward your faithful men with lands and titles.’

‘There’s no need for more delay. The nobles from the Keldon Highlands have arrived.’

‘There is some resentment –’

He snorted. His men had been restrained in claiming their rights as the conquering army. He opened his mouth to say as much but Imoshen anticipated him. Or did she skim the surface of his thoughts? He could not tell.

‘True, to the victor go the spoils, but we are trying to smooth the transition, General.’ A rueful smile tugged at Imoshen’s mouth. ‘I have been researching T’En investiture. I think it would help reconcile the people if we were to use the old formalities.’

‘Good idea,’ he agreed swiftly, her talk of research reminding him of something. ‘I heard some tale of the river being diverted from its original bed, past the walls of old T’Diemn. Surely it is only a tale?’

‘Not at all. T’Diemn used to flood, so T’Imoshen the Third’s brother diverted the River Diemn to run on three sides of the walls of old T’Diemn. Scholars have pinpointed the day he became Emperor as the beginning of the Age of Consolidation. Much was achieved. They built the river locks, and the port facilities were improved by dredging.’ Imoshen’s bright eyes fixed on him. ‘But that’s enough of a history lesson. If I have your agreement I’ll organise the investiture and ensure the ribbons of office and deeds are ready.’

‘A T’En investiture rather than a Ghebite?’ Tulkhan muttered. ‘Very well. I would have the men swear on something other than my faithless half-brother’s kingship.’

Imoshen’s fingers tightened on his arm. ‘Honour knows no nationality, General. Your men serve you because they respect you.’

Her words warmed him. ‘You are right, a man’s honour knows no –’

‘You mistake me,’ Imoshen corrected swiftly. ‘The full quote translates as,
Honour knows no nationality or gender
.’

Tulkhan frowned. ‘You never miss a chance to remind me that you are heir to so much T’En culture. Scholars who studied the Age of Consolidation? Diverting the River Diemn? What next, flying machines?’

Imoshen’s eyes flashed as she opened her mouth to reply.

‘General Tulkhan?’ a voice interrupted. ‘Would you take a partner for a game of chance?’

He wanted to ignore them and confront Imoshen, but he forced himself to turn.

‘Sahorrd,’ he greeted him. ‘What game?’

The tall commander grinned. ‘Something T’En. Lady Cariah is organising the teams. Jacolm and I agreed to play as long as the loser does not have to compose a rhyming couplet!’

Tulkhan had to smile. He remembered his own dismay when he had discovered the variety of forfeits T’En games entailed. To his Ghebite eyes the intricacies of T’En culture were often absurd.

Imoshen slid her hand from Tulkhan’s and lowered her voice. ‘Join the game. I have much to do before the investiture. When I find the plans for old T’Diemn I will show you. River locks, dredging and more besides. Then mock the T’En if you can!’

She gave him the formal bow of leave-taking and left.

With her challenge still ringing in his ears, Tulkhan reflected that Imoshen was always careful to accord him the honour of his uncrowned position when others were there to observe, but she was quick enough to forget it when it suited her.

T
ULKHAN WRIGGLED HIS
toes in his new formal boots and grimaced – velvets and silks when he was just a simple soldier – but the people expected him to dress like a king for the investiture of his commanders. A small boy fidgeted as he waited at Tulkhan’s side with the first of the ribbons and deeds on a silver platter.

Imoshen signalled for silence in the great hall. She was dressed in white samite, the heavy silk threaded with silver. A small skullcap of woven silver formed a net over her hair, ending in delicate chains tipped with rubies which caught the light as she turned her head. A single ruby hung in the middle of her forehead, echoing the colour of her eyes.

As she lifted her arms the pale winter sun broke free from the clouds and a finger of multicoloured light pierced the nearest stained-glass windows, illuminating her. The air was heavy with expectancy. Anyone who could wrangle a place, from guildmaster to noble, soldier to entertainer and T’En church official, was present. A hush fell over the great hall.

The small boy by Tulkhan’s side made a strangled sound in his throat, then sneezed loudly. An agonised blush flooded his smooth cheeks. As Tulkhan gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he met Imoshen’s smiling eyes.

First to be ennobled and receive his estates was Wharrd. That Imoshen had given this honour to the veteran bone-setter pleased Tulkhan.

Wharrd strode up the two steps onto the dais. Even on the same level he had to look up to Imoshen.

Tulkhan waited ready to receive the oaths of service. There had been time for only a quick explanation of his part in the ceremony. Pomp and ceremony had always bored him, and his thoughts returned to the challenge of making T’Diemn impregnable, until Imoshen’s words pierced his abstraction.

‘You are being raised to this position so that you may serve the people of Fair Isle.’ Imoshen went on to list the requirements of Wharrd’s position. Tulkhan listened with growing surprise as his bone-setter promised to rebuild his estates’ hospices and schools where none would be turned away.

Now he understood Imoshen’s manoeuvrings. Anger stirred in him. The last T’En Princess was trying to educate the barbarian conquerors in her ways.

Wharrd signed his name to the land deed. Unlike many of Tulkhan’s men, the bone-setter could read and write. In the Ghebite army verbal oaths were sworn before witnesses, for few of his commanders could do more than make their mark. At this rate a farmer who worked a noble’s fields would have more education than his liege lord.

Once the document was signed, Imoshen draped the first of three ribbons across Wharrd’s chest.

‘In accepting the ribbons of office you accept what they signify. White for purity of purpose, to serve selflessly.’ Her voice carried throughout the silent great hall as she draped the red across his chest. ‘Red to signify the blood you have shed and are willing to shed to protect your people and all the people of Fair Isle.’ When she took the third ribbon, a black one, Wharrd looked at Tulkhan questioningly. But the General had no answers.

Imoshen continued inexorably. ‘Black to signify death which comes to us all, no matter how high we are raised in this world.’

Wharrd’s mouth opened in silent surprise. Ghebite ceremonies did not mingle a man’s inevitable death with his promotion. This was a strangely humbling ceremony.

‘Now give your oath to the General,’ Imoshen whispered to Wharrd, who was fingering the three ribbons.

Recollecting himself, the veteran stepped sideways to drop to one knee before Tulkhan. He gave his oath of allegiance, then hesitated. On impulse Tulkhan drew his sword, folding both hands over the hilt.

Wharrd touched the embossed seal-ring Tulkhan wore on his right hand. It carried his father’s symbol of a rearing stallion. There were only two such seal-rings in existence, and the other was on King Gharavan’s hand.

Following Ghebite custom, Wharrd kissed the sword’s blade. When the man rose, Tulkhan could tell it had been the right gesture.

Kalleen stepped forward as Wharrd retreated. It was clear to Tulkhan that Imoshen meant to reward Kalleen before his men. They would see it as a calculated insult. Tulkhan caught Imoshen’s eye, sending a silent warning. Two bright spots of colour blazed in her pale cheeks.

‘Step forward, Kalleen,’ Imoshen said. ‘Your personal bravery saved my life when King Gharavan would have had me executed. Before everyone here I acknowledge that debt and honour my obligation. If you or yours are ever in need I can be called upon.’

Then to Tulkhan’s surprise Imoshen repeated exactly the same formalities with the farm girl who had once been her maid, making it clear that in the eyes of T’En church law and state, Kalleen was Wharrd’s equal.

A finger of sunlight moved across the dais as the ceremony wore on. At last Tulkhan sheathed his sword and offered Imoshen his arm. She took it, casting him a swift glance to gauge his mood. He smiled grimly.

She had orchestrated the contents of the oaths for her own purposes. Her people’s war swords may have been sheathed when she surrendered her stronghold to him, but the battle continued. Only now she fenced with protocol.

M
UCH LATER, AS
the tables were removed and the musicians in the high gallery began to play, Imoshen looked for Kalleen.

‘My lady?’ Imoshen gave her former maid the correct T’En obeisance for an equal, then straightened to meet Kalleen’s gaze.

Excitement and disbelief danced in the girl’s hazel eyes. Imoshen smiled. It was like one of the epic poems. The farm girl had risen to become Imoshen’s maid and then Lady Kalleen of Windhaven. Kalleen’s delight, however, was tinged with sadness. On arriving in T’Diemn Imoshen, had sent a rider to contact Kalleen’s family to share her good fortune, but they had been unable to find anyone from her village who had survived the invasion.

The little maid flushed, stroking her ribbons and the seal. ‘If only my family had lived.’

‘We are each other’s family now.’ Imoshen hugged her.

Kalleen bit her bottom lip and brushed angrily at her tears, giving a shaky laugh. ‘No one in the servants’ wing will talk to me after this. They’ll think I’ve grown too grand!’

‘What do you care? From this day forward you’ll live in the nobles’ wing.’ Imoshen took her hand. ‘You must promise never to tell me what I want to hear, only what I need to hear.’

‘Spoken like a true empress,’ Cariah said as she approached.

‘Now you are telling me what I want to hear!’ Imoshen chided.

Cariah laughed.

Imoshen grew serious. ‘I’m concerned about the General’s lord commanders. They will need guidance when they take control of their new estates.’

‘Why not appoint a church official to advise them?’ Cariah suggested.

Imoshen frowned. She did not want to give the Beatific any more power than she already had.

On the other side of the gallery Tulkhan watched Imoshen’s expressive face, trying to guess her thoughts.

Lord Commander Jacolm nudged the General’s elbow. The man’s heavy eyebrows lifted suggestively and he gestured towards the trio. ‘A woman like that redhead makes a man glad he’s not a eunuch!’

Tulkhan grinned.

‘It’s the Lady Kalleen for me,’ Wharrd admitted. ‘It has been since we first took Umasreach Stronghold. I’d have married her without the Windhaven Estate. As far as I’m concerned, our bonding day can’t come too soon.’

He said this with such relish that Tulkhan smiled. If only he could look on his and Imoshen’s approaching bonding with the same unreserved enthusiasm.

‘I usually like them with a bit of meat on their bones,’ Jacolm remarked as if he were talking about a brood mare. ‘But that head of red hair promises a fire a man could warm himself in!’

Wharrd chuckled. ‘Beware you don’t get burnt!’

Jacolm insisted he knew how to handle himself and their banter turned crude even by soldiers’ standards.

Tulkhan studied the three women. Little Kalleen was a lively thing and the Keldon noblewoman was a beauty, but neither of them stirred him like Imoshen did. He wondered what three such disparate women could possibly be talking about. What did the women of Fair Isle chatter about while their men discussed matters of state?

At that moment, Imoshen and her two companions turned and glanced in Tulkhan’s direction, their expressions disconcertingly intense.

Imoshen’s perceptive eyes met his and he felt a tug. Tulkhan found himself walking towards her, wending his way through the revellers.

Imoshen stepped away from her companions, her gaze fixed on his face. ‘General, I want to speak with you about your lord commanders. They will need help when they take over their estates.’

‘Don’t worry yourself about my men,’ Tulkhan said. He turned to the redheaded beauty. ‘Lady Cariah, you know my finest swordsman, now Lord Commander Jacolm.’ As he suspected, Jacolm lost no time asking her to dance.

Wharrd spirited Kalleen away, leaving Tulkhan alone with Imoshen. It was the outcome he had both wanted and dreaded.

Imoshen’s hand closed on his forearm and he responded immediately. Surely she must feel it too. Was he an open book to her, so transparent that she laughed at his hopeless craving for her?

He slipped her hand from his arm, intending to put her away from him, but instead he pulled her closer. ‘Let’s dance.’

‘I thought you said you couldn’t dance.’

‘I lied.’

Imoshen laughed and shook her head.

He stared down into her upturned face, feeling a smile on his own lips. Why couldn’t life be simple? If only he was a soldier and she a camp-follower. He would lead her away to a secluded corner and seduce her. Already he felt his body reacting to the thought of her uninhibited response.

Tulkhan knew Imoshen wanted him. He could feel it now in the way she melded against him. How could he wait until their official bonding day when his body raged at him to claim her?

‘Not long till midwinter,’ Imoshen whispered.

Furious, Tulkhan stepped back. She had invaded his mind again.

‘What is it?’ Imoshen asked, disconcerted.

She looked so innocent. Was she unaware of what she was doing even as she invaded his privacy?

‘I have no time for this. I have matters of state to deal with.’

Imoshen watched the General stalk off, his back stiff with tension. What possessed him? Here she was trying to help his men assume control of their estates and he would not even listen to her.

Annoyance flashed through her but it was tinged with regret. She had to admit that she’d felt a heady rush of desire when he held her. And now her body thrummed with a need that made his rejection doubly cruel.

I
MPATIENCE DROVE
I
MOSHEN
as she glided across the empty anteroom to the door of Lady Cariah’s private bedchamber. She scratched on the door tang, her comb sending its delicate clear notes ahead of her as she pushed the door open. ‘Are you feeling better, Cariah?’