Imoshen laughed softly. ‘You would have to convince the master-pyrolate himself and that would be no easy task. When they are apprenticed they take a vow of secrecy.’
She pulled him around to face her, pressing her strong body against him. Fey laughter danced in her eyes. ‘Kiss me under the fountains of golden light, General.’
So General Tulkhan of the Ghebites claimed Imoshen, last T’En Princess, savouring the impossibility of the moment.
AS THE CORONATION feast wound down, Tulkhan stretched, easing the tension in his shoulders. Imoshen was his now by every law of man, and by the gods he wanted her.
‘A word, Protector General?’
Tulkhan turned to see the self-important Ghebite priest. He contained his annoyance and stepped back so that their conversation would be more private. ‘Yes, Cadre?’
The smaller man glanced over his shoulder at Imoshen who was playing an elaborate game with a young Keldon noble.
The complexity and variety of games played by the people of Fair Isle never ceased to amaze Tulkhan. He supposed they had to find some way to amuse themselves. Too much peace, he thought sourly.
‘Did you know she holds the records of all property ownership?’
Tulkhan grimaced. Obviously the Cadre was not talking about Imoshen. ‘The T’En church has always held the records.’
‘It is run by a woman!’
‘It is their way.’
‘It is not our way!’
Tulkhan looked down at his indignant priest. ‘And this is not our land. But we will make it so.’
‘Then relegate the Beatific to a lesser function. Give me the task and I will reorganise their church.’
Tulkhan almost laughed. ‘Why should they give up what they have?’
The Cadre stiffened. ‘Half of them are women, only women!’
This time Tulkhan did laugh. He gazed at Imoshen who was now performing an elaborate sequence of movements which could have been a dance. ‘There is no only.’
Anger hardened the Cadre’s features. ‘You let your lust rule your head.’
‘You let your anger rule your tongue.’ Tulkhan warned. The Cadre went to apologise but the General waved him aside. ‘No. Go now. We will speak again later.’
Tulkhan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Obscured by shadows, he observed the game and the purpose finally struck him. Imoshen and her opponent were performing a series of dance moments. At the end of each sequence they added another movement.
The two competitors had to remember the whole sequence, perform it and add another each time. The first one to make a mistake lost.
He wished the game would end so he could lead Imoshen away. They had done their duty. Didn’t she want him as badly as he wanted her?
‘Protector General?’
‘Beatific.’ He straightened, cloaking his uneasiness.
She returned his acknowledgment with the elaborate obeisance reserved for the Empress and Emperor. Was she mocking him or did she seek reassurance because he had been speaking with the Cadre?
But the Beatific said nothing, instead her gaze followed his, and he realised he had looked past her to Imoshen.
‘T’Imoshen is at her most charming. Unfortunately, it is an illusion. Forgive me, I am going to speak plainly. You are Ghebite and a True-man. Do not be lulled into a false sense of security. Imoshen is not one of us. The T’En are both more and less than True-people.’
Tulkhan did not want to hear this tonight. He wanted that part of Imoshen which was only too real and womanly, her quicksilver passion. But he had to placate the head of the T’En church. He met the Beatific’s eyes expecting her to give another vague warning about Imoshen’s gifts. What could she possibly say that he hadn’t already thought of in the dark lonely nights?
‘The flame burns bright attracting the moth but venture too close and it will be consumed. You may think you can warm yourself at Imoshen’s fires and escape unscathed. But T’En work their way beneath your guard. Believe me, I know.’ The Beatific’s hand closed on his arm. Her smile was luminous with painful self-knowledge. ‘Reothe and I were lovers. He coached me, helped me attain this position.’
Tulkhan was stunned. A married Ghebite woman would face death if she admitted this. An unmarried Ghebite woman would kill herself if defiled by a man.
‘I went to hear Reothe debate in the great library of the Halls of Learning. His passion for knowledge and truth was inspiring. I was fascinated by the brilliance of his mind. It drew me with such intensity I had to walk away.’ She shook her head wryly. ‘I think that was why he first pursued me. It annoyed him to have someone walk out while he was speaking. When he came after me I should have been on my guard but I lied to myself. He was only seventeen, I was nearly ten years older. I let myself believe I could enjoy him and remain aloof.’ She sighed. Tulkhan did not want to hear this, yet he knew he must. ‘At that time I was working my way up through the church hierarchy. Knowing what I know now, I believe he saw ability in me and wanted a lever on the T’En church for the future. Reothe plans for the long term, you see, and he is utterly ruthless.’ She held Tulkhan’s eyes. ‘He was under the Empress’s protection, related by blood to her and her heirs, but that was not enough for him.’
Tulkhan said nothing. He suspected the Beatific would continue until she got the reaction she wanted from him.
‘You know he and the Empress’s heir, Ysanna, were lovers. Reothe wanted control of the royal family.’ The Beatific shrugged. ‘The Empress loved him when he came to her as a tragic youth. She reared him with her own children. Ysanna played her suitors off against Reothe. Could they sail, ride, hunt or write poetry as well as he? He never committed himself to Ysanna, for there were those who did not wish to see him the future empress’s bond-partner. When he asked Imoshen to bond with him it was the lesser of two evils, or so they thought.’ She fixed troubled eyes on him. ‘You don’t know what the T’En can do. With every touch they cement their hold on you, slipping insidiously into your mind, sifting for what they can use to further their own ends.’
Tulkhan nodded once, reluctantly. This time when he looked into the Beatific’s face he understood that despite everything she still loved Reothe.
‘What better way to control someone than through love?’ she whispered.
Something twisted inside him. Hadn’t Imoshen said the very same thing?
‘She is not like that.’ It was an instinctive denial.
The Beatific smiled tolerantly. ‘Imoshen is T’En. They protect themselves. Reothe was a youth in a palace of intrigue, searching for a way to ensure his safety. You can forgive them anything. I know I did.’
Tulkhan sensed movement. The game had broken up and Imoshen was coming towards them, laughter dancing in her eyes. He watched that joy turn to wariness as she read his expression.
Before he could move, the Beatific glided forward, spoke softly to Imoshen, then made a formal obeisance and left.
Imoshen joined him and paused a little beyond touching distance. ‘Well, General?’
‘Protector General.’
She eyed him thoughtfully. He could tell she was trying to understand him. A True-woman would have tried to read his face and stance, Imoshen resorted to her gift. The overflow of her power made his skin crawl, yet he still wanted her.
‘Bed.’ The word left his lips unbidden.
‘Yes.’
In a blur they slipped away unnoticed. Tulkhan knew Imoshen was cloaking them, but he did not care. A madness was upon him. The passage was long and echoed with the night’s revelry. The servants were absent from their posts, even the stronghold guard.
Chapter Eleven
IMOSHEN FELT LIGHT-HEADED. Her feet seemed to fly over the glossy parquetry floor. She could see the same strange excitement in Tulkhan’s eyes. It was heaven to escape the confines of their official roles. She had waited too long for this.
She could wait no longer. With a wordless cry of challenge she took to her heels. She heard
the General give chase and laughed, increasing her speed.
Habit led her to her own bedchamber, even though they should have entered the grand suite reserved for the Emperor and Empress.
There was no fire or light in her room. She sprang to one side of the door and pressed her back against the wood panel. Her heart thundered, echoing the rapid thud of Tulkhan’s boots.
He thrust the door open and charged in, stepping out of the shaft of light immediately. She saw his body grow still as he listened for her. He was the perfect warrior, poised for the hunt. She could not resist baiting him.
Silently she slipped her shoes from her feet, then slammed the door shut and tossed the shoes to different ends of the room, presenting Tulkhan with three sources of movement.
She heard him spin, heard his muffled curse.
With a laugh she sprang on his back. He staggered under the impact before regaining his balance.
She held an imaginary knife to his throat. ‘Yield, you are my captive, General!’
‘Never!’ He hauled her over his shoulder.
She slammed onto the floor, the air driven from her lungs. Sparks floated in her vision and she gave a painful laugh. Then she felt a real blade at her throat and froze.
Her world swung crazily. Did he mean to kill her and blame it on assassins?
‘I thought we were past this?’ Imoshen played, for time. She heard him chuckle but it was edged with anger. Instinctively she clasped his bare arm, seeking his motivation.
The General sprang away, muttering Ghebite curses. She heard him walk towards the fireplace where the makings of a fire had been prepared but not lit. In a moment he had struck the spark and ignited the tinder.
She rolled into a crouch and watched as he lit the candles on the mantelpiece. ‘What did the Beatific say to you?’
The broad planes of his Ghebite features were illuminated by the flickering flames, but his expression revealed nothing. Looking down at her his dark eyes were hooded, cloaking his expression even further. Again Imoshen felt the urge to touch him and discover his thoughts.
‘It is time I made one thing clear,’ he said.
She felt uneasy but kept her tone light. ‘And what would that be, General?’
‘We are no longer captor and captive. Come here.’
Though she was prepared for a battle of wits, her treacherous body was preparing for him. Every caress of her satin underdress was a foretaste of his touch.
She could sense the impregnable layers of his formidable will shutting her out. ‘Speak, General.’
He grimaced. ‘Why don’t you touch me and learn what you want to know?’
‘You don’t like it when I do that.’
‘No. Yet I can’t live without touching you.’
It was a raw admission. Something inside her clenched with an answering need.
‘I know. It is the same with me.’ Heat stung her cheeks. It was hard admitting this to a distant Tulkhan. She would much rather embrace him and let him feel how much she wanted him.
‘You say you already carry my child. I need never touch you again. I could walk from this room and our bonding would be nothing but a marriage of state,’ he told her, yet his voice vibrated with repressed passion.
Pride made Imoshen school her features and call up an amused smile. ‘You could try, but I doubt it would be workable.’
‘No. This last small moon has proved that. I could not see you every day and want you as I do. Not without...’
Triumph flashed through her and he ground to a halt, visibly angered.
‘Then you’ll just have to accept me for what I am, General.’
‘No. Either you vow never to invade my mind and use your T’En gifts on me, or I will turn my back on you.’ His expression was implacable. ‘I will have you escorted to the Beatific. Surrounded by a thousand priests and watched over by the Tractarians, the rebels won’t be able to touch you or use you. The people will think you safe and I won’t be tortured with the constant reminder of your presence.’
‘Murgon’s Tractarians.’ How she hated those priests, betrayers of their own kind. A deep anger coalesced in her. Was she such a loathsome creature that she must be shut away from the light of day? She wanted to strike the General, to make him suffer the same pain she endured. He had admitted he craved her body, yet in the very next breath he had revealed his revulsion for her T’En traits.
Instinctively she weighed the odds. Physically he might be stronger than her, but was his will equal to hers? If it came down to this, only one of them would survive, and she would never give up.
Yet... she could not bring herself to hurt him. The thought of causing General Tulkhan pain caused her pain. Her feelings for him made her weak and she despised herself for opening her heart to this Ghebite.
Imoshen sucked in her breath, feeling the inrush of air chill her teeth and tongue. How had it come to this?
‘Do you understand?’ he demanded. ‘I will not have the privacy of my mind invaded.’
She nodded, numbly. Yes, she understood that fear only too well. It was why she feared Reothe. But she did not seek to manipulate Tulkhan, and he should know this. It was the threat of incarceration which cut deepest. The General would use Fair Isle’s own weapons against her – the Beatific and the Tractarians.
‘You misjudge me, Tulkhan,’ she said, hardly able to speak for the knot of sorrow which filled her throat. ‘I might have offered such a vow freely. But –’
‘But?’
She wanted to defy him, to declare that she would not be bullied. She wanted him to back down. With a flash of insight she understood what she really wanted was for him to accept her without reservation. But he was a Ghebite, and a True-man, with all the limitations of his birth and culture.
‘Imoshen?’ The word was barely audible. ‘I will not be your puppet.’
Then she understood his deepest fear, and in understanding it was able to reach inside herself for a deeper compassion. ‘You underestimate yourself and me. If it will satisfy you, I promise not to invade your mind except in an emergency. I won’t let you come to harm if I can save you.’
When she held his eyes Imoshen thought she saw a flash of remorse.
‘You would swear to this?’ he asked finally.
She nodded.
He took her hand to place it palm down over her belly. ‘Swear on this life.’
Imoshen felt an odd little flare inside her. ‘I swear on the life of my... our unborn child not to use the mind-touch on you, except in an emergency.’
‘Or any other T’En gift – no compulsions, no tricks of any sort,’ he prodded.
Imoshen gave a moan of protest.
Tulkhan felt it like a knife slicing his soul. He had not thought it would cost him so dearly. He could see he had hurt her by devaluing her trust. With this vow he had reduced what they might have shared. But he had to have peace of mind. ‘Well?’
‘You are denying what I am!’
‘If I cannot trust you, I will not touch you.’ He steeled himself against her pain. ‘The choice is yours.’
It was a bluff, but Imoshen could not know that. He had no choice where she was concerned. She was a compulsion which drove him to madness.
‘You would have me deny myself to be with you? Is that truly what you want?’ Her tortured eyes searched his face.
He wanted to tell her no, that she was everything to him and the rest of Fair Isle could rot. But even now he could not be sure that this feeling wasn’t prompted by some T’En trick. ‘Make this vow or there can be nothing between us.’
‘I will make this vow, General.’ Imoshen shuddered. ‘But until the day you free me from it, it will stand between us.’
Despite the warmth of the fire a shiver passed over his skin. He could not imagine a day when he would willingly lay himself open to her gifts. ‘The vow?’
‘I vow on the life of our unborn child not to use my T’En gifts on you, except in dire emergency.’ Her lips twisted in a parod
y of a smile. ‘Will that satisfy you, General Tulkhan?’
He could feel the anger vibrating in her. His body was totally attuned to hers and he sensed the power building.
‘You are angry with me. I’ll leave you alone tonight.’ He raised her hand and brushed his lips across her inner wrist. It was a gesture he had seen the Keld use, one which could be formal or very intimate.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay, but he made himself walk away. When the time came he wanted theirs to be a joyous union.
‘Tulkhan...’
He turned to see her standing before the fire in her finery, her face taut, tear tracks in her ceremonial make-up. He waited.
‘Would you have me beg?’ The words were torn from her.
Her desperation called to something primal inside him. Yes, he wanted her to beg for him, to welcome him. He was greedy for her.
She lifted one hand in supplication.
As he approached she turned away, unwilling to reveal her naked need. He took her shoulders in his hands, feeling the tension in her body. An answering tension ignited him.
He noticed the delicate lace of her overdress had torn and that made him recall throwing her over his shoulder to the floor. He winced, sure he would find bruises on her tender flesh when he removed her formal robes. How could he treat her so roughly when she carried his child? Yet she demanded he give no quarter and she appeared to take no hurt.
Silently he lifted her thick hair to undo the lacing at the back of her neck. The silver tabard slipped from her shoulders and fell to her feet, glittering in the ruddy firelight. When he released her hair it ran through his fingers like silk. Unable to stop himself he stroked it, feeling the tension drain from her. Gradually she relaxed into him, her back pressed to his chest.
His arms slid around her body, pressing her closer so that she could feel his growing need. Her hips melded against his, her welcome unmistakable.
A spasm of naked desire made him arch in response.
‘The body’s needs are powerful,’ she whispered, but he had no time for words.
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