Dark Dreams

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Imoshen had intended to hold herself in reserve. Deep inside her a little knot of cold resentment burned to be expressed, but when he tilted her face with infinite tenderness and his lips claimed hers, she experienced a rush of completion.

  The love she wanted to deny welled up, swamping her defences so that she gave herself utterly to the moment, luxuriating in his ardour.

  Eagerly she turned within the circle of his arms to slide her hands inside his shirt, exulting in his hot flesh, the hard planes of his chest. His great heart hammered, pacing her own.

  Impatient, she tore at the lacing of his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders to reveal his coppery skin, criss-crossed by the fine silver scars of old wounds. To think one of those wounds might have been fatal and she would never have known him.

  In that moment, he was unutterably precious to her and as necessary to her as the very breath she took. The realisation was luminous in its intensity.

  His calloused hands closed on her, rasping across her shoulders as he fought to undo the ties of her underdress. In a fever of desire she came to his aid and they discarded their formal garments.

  When her gown pooled at her feet he stepped back, a ragged gasp on his lips. Suddenly shy, she felt his gaze on her like a physical thing, illuminating her. Hardly able to breathe, she dared raise her eyes to his. Naked need suffused his features.

  Wordlessly she opened her arms to him and he came to her. She pulled him down before the fireplace, accepting him even as she sank into the fur. There was nothing but this moment, nothing but this man.

  MUCH LATER, AS they lay on the furs before the fire, it struck Tulkhan that for the new rulers of Fair Isle, they had chosen to consummate their marriage in primitive surroundings, ignoring the royal chambers, rich with every decoration and comfort.

  ‘Why do you smile?’ Imoshen’s skin was flushed, only a smudge of colour remained of her formal make-up and her hair lay damp and knotted, a riot of pale silk.

  Tulkhan shook his head slowly and she blushed. Their lovemaking couldn’t have been more perfect. Recalling it made him feel almost reverential. How could two people know such ecstasy in the union of their bodies and yet be strangers?

  All this long day and for the long days leading up to it, he had waited for this night. Replete at last, the tension drained from him.

  Imoshen heard Tulkhan’s breathing grow deep and regular. Propping her weight on one elbow, she watched him as he succumbed to sleep.

  Relaxed like this he looked much younger. His dark hair mingled with the dark fur. Drawn, she leaned closer to feel his warm breath on her face. With each exhalation she inhaled his breath, willing him to become a part of her. A delicious languor stole over her body as she absorbed his being, focusing on his essence. A tingling awareness of their two separate entities surfaced in her mind’s eye and she...

  Cold reality shocked her from this pleasant intimacy. She had vowed not to use her gifts. Reluctantly she relinquished the sweet contact. She hadn’t known she meant to bind him to her. It had been an instinctive act.

  Pulling away, she studied the perfection of his sleeping profile. When had his broad cheekbones and coppery skin become her ideal of male beauty? It had been a gradual thing, a shift in her perception.

  A little worm of anger writhed within her. How dare he threaten her? She searched her mind for the trigger and recalled the General’s closed face as she approached him as he stood with the Beatific.

  What had the Beatific told Tulkhan?

  He stirred in his sleep. She could trawl his sleeping mind without him knowing. Why stop there? Why not plant ideas, compulsions, even suspicions which she could later use?

  Bitter self-knowledge shook her. It would be easy to make the attempt and far too easy to justify her actions. After all, she was only protecting them both from the Beatific’s machinations.

  She fought the urge to use her gifts, trembling with the effort. Finally the compulsion eased.

  No wonder General Tulkhan did not trust her, she hardly trusted herself!

  Imoshen sat up and hugged her knees, looking into the dying flames. It appeared she and the General were destined to share the kind of bonding True-people shared, one that went deep on a physical level but excluded the mind-touch. Was it enough?

  He wanted her. He made her body sing. She even suspected General Tulkhan could grow to love her. But he expected her to live a half life. Could she be satisfied with that?

  No.

  Imoshen knew with utter certainty that she had to have it all. Tulkhan had to not only accept her T’En gifts, he had to embrace them, or she would grow to despise him and herself.

  Unlike Cariah, she could not be less than she was.

  TULKHAN WISHED HE could have slipped away with Imoshen as Wharrd had done with Kalleen, to forge their bonding in private, but royal bondings required celebration and their duties never ceased.

  He watched Imoshen perform the elaborate warmed wine ceremony. In front of each person stood a small porcelain cup, decorated with delicate High T’En symbols. The aromatic wine steamed on the still air. It was time to speak.

  When Imoshen caught his eye, hers held a warning. Since their bonding there had been little time to discuss the Causare Council and now he faced its delegates, Woodvine, Athlyn, Fairban and others, leaders of the greater and lesser noble families of the Keldon Highlands.

  He had not denied them their request for a formal meeting, choosing to greet them in his map-room. They sat around the large circular table, their features reflected in its glossy surface, their wine untouched.

  Imoshen lifted her porcelain cup with Old Empire formality and took a sip. Everyone followed suit. Tulkhan rolled the wine around on his tongue. It was sweet and spicy, not really to his taste. He put the cup aside.

  ‘We have been patient, Protector General,’ Fairban began.

  ‘Not a word of dissension has passed our lips before the mainland spies,’ Woodvine said. ‘When will you hold the first of your Causare Councils?’

  Old Athlyn lifted a hand. ‘There are those amongst us with hot heads who would see everything achieved before spring. Fair Isle was not established overnight. Give us a sign that you –’

  ‘I have spoken with my lord commanders,’ Tulkhan said. ‘They understand the idea of this council, though it goes by a different name in Gheeaba. The Causare Council will reconvene, but with some changes.’

  There was uneasy muttering.

  ‘Have you no say in this?’ Woodvine demanded of Imoshen. ‘Will women be forbidden to take their seat on the council?’

  Imoshen placed her palms flat on the table to each side of her wine. ‘In keeping with custom, so that all voices will be heard equally, there will be a new Causare Council consisting of equal representatives from the Old Empire and the new. Six of the General’s lord commanders will take their seats in the Causare. And you must select from your ranks six representatives.’

  ‘You jest!’ Woodvine exploded.

  Tulkhan met Imoshen’s eyes as the Keld argued against this restriction. He had deliberately selected his most trusted men, those who could be relied on to keep a cool head. Not only would they have to debate matters of state with their recent enemy, but some of those enemies were sure to be female. To Imoshen it was simply an accepted custom, to his men it was an insult. He could trust no more than six. Besides, he wanted the Causare Council to be a controllable size.

  Argument raged around the table.

  When Imoshen came to her feet voices faded. Tulkhan watched her lift one hand, fingers spreading elegant as an unfurling fan.

  ‘Six people from the Old Empire.’ She lifted the other hand. ‘Six from the new.’ She lowered her hands palms open. Her brilliant mulberry eyes met theirs in turn. ‘Think on it.’

  IT WAS FIFTEEN days after midwinter and the frozen lake had been pronounced safe for skating. This was the last evening of formal entertainments, for which Imoshen was deeply grateful. It would be a relief to farewell the maj
ority of the mainland visitors tomorrow. Only the ambassadors and their aides would remain. Imoshen wanted those who left Fair Isle to report that the new Ghebite overlords had not destroyed T’En culture, so she and Cariah had organised tonight’s farewell ice ballet to reinforce that impression.

  Kalleen caught Imoshen’s arm as she flew past laughing. Her wooden skates skidded out from under her, dragging them both off their feet. Being a farm girl, Kalleen had learnt to skate on the village pond, but this had not involved the fancy performance step she’d just tried to execute.

  Perched on the bank overlooking the lake, the musicians played as the sedate nobles circled in pairs, studiously avoiding Imoshen and Kalleen, which made it seem all the more ridiculous.

  Most of the Ghebite commanders had refused the chance to learn to skate. They sat in the large tent at one end of the lake, drinking and watching the festivities.

  Kalleen gave Wharrd a wave, unworried by the disapproval radiating from the other skaters. Imoshen wished she could forget her role as Lady Protector of Fair Isle and play silly village games.

  Her stomach rumbled. Hot food was being prepared in pot-bellied stoves on the bank. The tangy aroma drifted on the slight breeze stirring the multicoloured lanterns.

  Cariah laughed as she swooped in, turning her skates to slow her advance. ‘You are shocking my sisters, Kalleen!’

  Imoshen wondered if Cariah was obliquely censuring the Lady Protector of Fair Isle.

  Kalleen rolled her eyes. ‘I won’t pretend to be something I’m not and spoil my fun!’

  ‘We don’t all have that luxury,’ Cariah snapped, her meaning all too clear.

  Imoshen winced and came to her feet. ‘Have I overstepped the mark?’

  Cariah glanced around impatiently. ‘There are some who would resent your behaviour if you sat in the tent and did nothing. Life’s too short to worry about people like that.’

  ‘Help me up,’ Kalleen commanded imperiously. Imoshen laughed. What would she do without Kalleen to lend a breath of sanity? If only she could mend the rift between herself and Cariah. Together they pulled the smaller woman upright, steadying her.

  Imoshen noticed General Tulkhan’s large form weaving through the circling skaters towards her, and her body quickened at the sight of him.

  ‘The entertainers are ready,’ Tulkhan said, coming to a stop with surprising grace.

  ‘Then we mustn’t keep them waiting.’ Imoshen lifted her arm to link with his.

  ‘I’d better take my place.’ Cariah slipped away.

  The musicians ceased their playing and the skaters made their way over to the tent. The flap had been rolled up to give them a view of the lake and the floor was covered with rugs and low tables. Tonight they followed the old custom of reclining on rugs and pillows.

  Imoshen sank down and slipped off her skates. It disappointed her to note that although the ambassadorial parties and mainland nobles mixed freely with both the Keldon nobles and the Ghebites, the two groups she most wanted to mingle were stolidly refusing to do so.

  A hush drew her attention. Dancing skaters each carrying flowering fountains of light formed a sinuous weaving snake which whirled in time to the growing tempo of the music. Imoshen stole a look at the General. He was entranced.

  Lord Fairban leant forward proudly. ‘Here comes my Cariah.’

  She swept across the lake, moving with fluid grace.

  Imoshen’s heart swelled with pride. Cariah skated smoothly past the tent, turning in a wide arc that allowed her time to jump, spin and land again. Against a backdrop of sparkling light fountains, she performed the ice ballet. It was a display that few could equal.

  Once again Cariah was benefiting from her unacknowledged T’En gifts while Imoshen experienced the two-edged sword of hers. But she intended to live up to the tenets of the T’Enchiridion. In serving the True-people of Fair Isle she hoped to win their trust and acceptance. One day people like Cariah would not need to hide their gifts.

  When the dance finished the audience applauded rapturously, and this time Imoshen did not find the rowdy appreciation of the Ghebites embarrassing.

  As the entertainers moved off, servants sailed across the ice with the food. Imoshen couldn’t help wondering what would happen if one of them lost their balance.

  A smile tugged at her lips and she caught Tulkhan’s eye. When he grinned she knew he had been thinking the same thing. A rush of warmth swept through her. It was a relief to know he shared her unruly sense of humour.

  There was a mild stir as Cariah joined them. She bestowed a fond kiss on her father’s bald head and sank gracefully onto the cushions, midway between the Keld and the Ghebites.

  As those around her congratulated her, Imoshen watched Cariah throw back her head and laugh. Several of Tulkhan’s commanders vied for her attention. Sahorrd played a game with her hand, making a point of discovering her sixth finger.

  ‘You have T’En blood in your family, Lord Fairban,’ Imoshen said.

  ‘On my bond-partner’s side. Three beautiful girls she gave me, but only my eldest takes after her. Did you hear?’ he beamed at Imoshen. ‘Cariah has been accepted into the Thespers’ Guild as a full member?’

  ‘Your daughter belongs to a guild?’ Tulkhan remarked. ‘But she is the daughter of a nobleman.’

  Imoshen knew that the General was not trying to offend Lord Fairban, his reaction stemmed from genuine confusion.

  ‘Acceptance into the Thespers’ Guild is conditional on talent and ability,’ Imoshen told Tulkhan. ‘Anyone can learn to make shoes, and chance dictates whether you are born into the nobility. But very few people are truly creative. To be accepted by one of the creative guilds is a great honour.’

  ‘I see.’ He looked at Lord Fairban. ‘My apologies. Things are different in Gheeaba. An artist is a craftsman hired to do a job, nothing more.’

  The old man’s lips thinned and Imoshen realised the General’s apology had only served to further offend him. Tulkhan’s dark eyes met hers with a silent question, but she shrugged almost imperceptibly. Intolerance stemmed from both sides. At least the General was trying.

  The lavish meal continued. In between courses, ice-skating clowns performed. This was more to the Ghebites’ taste. At Cariah’s insistence, several of the Ghebite commanders sang in their native language.

  Imoshen guessed from Tulkhan’s expression that the words were rather crude, but since most of it was not understood by the gathered nobles, it did not matter.

  When the meal finished, people left their places to mingle and Kalleen joined Imoshen, while Cariah spoke with a friend.

  ‘Anyone would think a female incapable of conversation!’ Kalleen muttered.

  Imoshen smiled. ‘I’m sure Wharrd does not think so.’

  ‘Then why is he with the Ghebite men and not here with me?’

  There was a grain of truth in Kalleen’s complaint.

  Imoshen felt uneasy. Kalleen had been raised to hold the old values dear. She would take it hard if her bonding was reduced to the shallow parody Imoshen had witnessed in the high court.

  Cariah sipped her wine and nudged her friend, indicating the young Ghebites who were betting on the outcome of an arm-wrestling match.

  ‘Such physical creatures,’ she purred. ‘Which one will I take to my bed tonight?’

  Her friend studied the men, amused. ‘Aren’t they a little...’

  ‘Crude?’ Cariah suggested. ‘Yes, but most enthusiastic. The tall one, Sahorrd, is very intense. The hairy one has amazing stamina, and Jacolm is extremely well endowed.’

  The friend tilted her head. ‘Why not all three?’

  Kalleen gasped and covered her mouth.

  Cariah’s laughter rippled above the noise in the tent like beautiful birdsong. As the Ghebites looked over, Kalleen glanced to Imoshen.

  ‘Old Empire customs,’ Imoshen whispered.

  Meanwhile, Cariah patted her friend’s arm. ‘You are a girl after my own heart. But now I must decide whether
to have them one after the other, or all three –’

  ‘Imoshen?’ Tulkhan snapped.

  She sat up, startled by his tone. His glowering expression did nothing to reassure her as he held out his hand. She placed hers in his and he hauled her upright with such vigour that she fell against his chest.

  ‘Come watch the dancers.’

  It was an order. Resentment rose in her. He bundled her out onto the ice and around the side of the tent where he rounded on her. ‘Don’t let me catch you talking of bedding three men!’

  She bristled. ‘What is it to you, General? Cariah is not bonded. She can pick and choose. It is the custom for a woman to –’

  ‘It is not a Ghebite custom!’

  ‘Are they not Ghebite men she is bedding?’ Imoshen asked innocently.

  ‘It is different for a woman.’

  ‘Different? How so?’

  He pulled her to him. She could feel his need for her and it triggered a sweet flash of desire, spiced by irritation.

  ‘Imoshen!’

  ‘Don’t Ghebite women enjoy bedding their men?’ she prodded.

  ‘You are in need of a lesson,’ he growled.

  ‘Are you my tutor?’

  His hands tightened.

  With a laugh she let her weight drop and broke his hold. Darting past him she ran across the ice behind the tent. He was right on her heels as she ploughed up the snow-laden bank. He tackled her, knocking her to the ground, and they rolled down the far side of the bank into a hollow, pillowed by deep snow.

  Wordlessly he pinned her beneath him, seeking her lips. Imoshen returned his kiss with equal fervour, her heart soaring. Their bonding could not fail. It was too good, too rich. If only he would accept her T’En self.

  Desperation drove her passion.

  When his lips left hers she could not resist, teasing, ‘Aren’t you glad I’m not a sighing, long-suffering Ghebite maid?’

  ‘By the gods, yes!’

  She laughed, reaching for him. He tensed as she freed him.

  ‘Your hands are cold.’

  A laugh bubbled out of her.