Broken Vows

by Cory Daniells

  She noticed the Cadre in the thick of it. Blood flecked his tunic from the last bird’s death, staining the religious symbol of purity. How dare he claim Ghebite women had lesser souls than men? A sharp surge of anger flared inside Imoshen. She clenched her fists, trying to control her rage.

  Densely packed bodies heated air which was heavy with the scent of horses, men, wine, blood and ... A prickle of insight danced across Imoshen’s skin as she identified the last ingredient—crude, eager excitement! It was so thick she could almost taste it. How dare they sully the palace’s rich culture with their Ghebite barbarism!

  When the new bout started an expectant, hungry hush fell on the crowd. Imoshen’s heart pounded. Fury boiled inside her. A strange taste filled her mouth, making her teeth ache and her skin itch. She felt a rush of feverish hunger, as though the blood lust which lay so thick on the air was a dainty morsel she could inhale. It made her body sing and her head spin.

  Across the crowd, beyond the fighting pit, she met Tulkhan’s obsidian eyes. Why was he watching her so intensely?

  The crowd roared. Dimly, she was aware that the fighting birds had drawn fresh blood.

  Imoshen’s nostrils stung. Her very flesh vibrated with the deep-throated growl of the crowd—a magnificent rage empowered her. The rush was so intense she felt weightless, as if she might rise off the dirt floor and draw it all into her.

  The birds in the pit caught her attention. One was weakening. She could feel its life force slipping away. With every ebb the flood of joyous rage welled greater in her, but one part of her mind remained crystal clear. With a start, she realized that the spilling of life, even a life so insignificant as the cockerel’s, could be channeled to empower her T’En gifts. It was enticingly, achingly sweet.

  One by one, the men stopped shouting. Those who’d had their backs to her, turned, eyes widening, lips pulling back from their teeth. She could smell their fear, taste it on her tongue. It was also sweet, tempting.

  Acting on instinct, the triumphant fighting bird attacked its weakened opponent, tearing out its throat. The shrill death screech sounded obscenely human in the sudden silence.

  Imoshen knew the moment the bird’s life left its body.

  The combined life forces of the crowd and the bird joined within her, flooding her. Fingers curling, teeth aching she caught her breath as her vision blurred and swam, filled with pin wheeling sparks.

  But she would not give in. The urge to manipulate this power was overwhelming. Instinct told her it would be too sweet and far too easy to grow dependent on it. How long before she began to crave this heady rush?

  Fear was her anchor. It was the rock to which she clung in the tidal flood of newfound power.

  But the buildup demanded release. Imoshen sensed if she didn’t channel it, it would consume her. She had to release this.

  Brilliant white light engulfed her. Blinding her.

  Dread raced through her. She had lost control, immolated herself!

  No.

  The light consumed the birds. With an ear-numbing absence of noise they exploded in a ball of flame and feathers. Men ducked for cover. Shards of burning flesh and feathers sprayed over the crowd, burning skin, hair, igniting straw. People screamed. Horses screamed, sounding just as human and terrified.

  Imoshen staggered back, nearly overwhelmed by the rush of those escaping the stables. The stench of burning feathers made her gag.

  Disbelief warred with an instinctive knowledge that went bone deep. She had done this.

  Aayel help her! But the old woman couldn’t. Imoshen was alone.

  She clutched the edge of a stall and retched, tears stinging her eyes. The crackle of greedy flames added to the confusion. When the retching had stopped, she dragged a trembling hand across her lips and ran, fleeing with the last of the others.

  In the press of bodies she was swept out of the stable into the courtyard. Those around her were so shaken they didn’t notice her. Could it be they didn’t realize she was to blame, or had fear of the greedy fire overcome their fear of her?

  Her mind reeled and nausea clawed at her.

  Like swarming bees the terror of those around her stung her senses. It was too immediate and raw, too easily tapped. She had to escape them.

  Abruptly she changed direction, shoving her way through the bodies. Her footsteps took her away from the others into the bowels of the palace. Though Imoshen ran she knew there was no safe harbor, for the enemy was within her. Tears blurred her vision. It wasn’t fair. She’d been so careful. She hadn’t once tried to use her gifts. Until now she’d had no idea they could be triggered by violence and death. Blood roared in her head, thudding in her ears in time to her pounding heart.

  She had nearly lost control. Only a reflex action had saved her at the expense of the birds.

  What must the General think of her? Would he assume she’d done it intentionally?

  Others had turned to her, sensing something as it built. The Cadre’s suspicious face remained imprinted on her mind. She snorted, seared by self-disgust. The tale would be all over the palace by evening.

  Now Tulkhan’s men, the palace servants and even the stable boys—all of them would fear her. If only there was someone she could ask. Someone she could trust to help her with this!

  Imoshen rounded a corner and met up with a group of women plucking chickens. Downy feathers hung on air made humid by the kitchen ovens. Death, blood and heat. It was too reminiscent of the stables.

  In her quest for privacy Imoshen had fled to the kitchens, the place she always chose as a child. But this was not her childhood home. Even the Stronghold was no longer hers! Tears flooded her eyes.

  There were too many witnesses here, too many people ready to watch and judge, to condemn. She ran down another long corridor. Then she came to the door she knew led into the gardens and the lake with its mock forest. She craved the peace and solitude of the silent snow.

  Wearing nothing but her thin boots and a formal dress with a brocade vest she ran out into the open. Cold cut into her bare skin, through the thin gown and boots. Her throat and chest burned with each breath of chilled air. But it was good to escape the confines of the palace and all it represented.

  To clear her head Imoshen scooped up a handful of snow, crunching some in her mouth, rubbing more on her cheeks, her closed eyes. It stung, but it was invigorating and cleansing.

  Wiping her stinging palms on her thighs, she ran on, not thinking, knowing only that she needed to escape. Her feet carried her into the hollow to the edge of the frozen lake. One year when she was too young to attend the Midwinter Festival her sister had returned with tales of an ice ballet on the lake.

  Midwinter was still a small moon cycle away but now she would never see an ice ballet. All the beauty of the old empire was dead, consumed by the crude hunger of the Ghebites.

  Without stopping, she ran out onto the ice. Her boots had no grip, their soft soles skidded and her momentum carried her forward awkwardly. She careened with her legs locked, arms wavering to keep her balance.

  Letting her body go limp, she hit the ice and went with the skid. Imoshen felt her momentum slow until she came to a stop.

  All was utter silence. Cold, uncaring quiet.

  The folly of her mad run struck Imoshen. It was freezing, too cold for what she was wearing. And who knew if the ice was safe.

  She tried to get to her feet, but her legs went out from under her and she dropped in an undignified heap, sliding across the ice on her backside.

  “Imoshen!”

  General Tulkhan’s furious voice startled her. Heart sinking, she looked over her shoulder to see his dark form on the edge of the lake. The indignity of it seared her.

  Did he have to witness her every indiscretion? Couldn’t he leave her be?

  “Go away!” Anger flooded her. With sudden insight Imoshen knew it could happen again. The power of her T’En gifts seethed just below the surface. She could lose control, hurt someone.

  Col
d fear cooled her rage. It was demeaning to admit she couldn’t trust herself. Today she had discovered she was but a child with an adult’s weapon.

  Pressing icy fingers to her heated cheeks, Imoshen closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. There was nowhere to run. She had to admit her failure and face the General. He deserved an apology.

  Besides, sitting in a puddle of melted ice while Tulkhan looked on was not doing anything for her dignity. With a sigh, she rolled over onto her knees and rose carefully to her feet.

  Tulkhan watched as Imoshen stood up and straightened her shoulders. He was going to tear strips off her. How dare she try to intimidate his men with careless displays of her T’En gifts. That he had been as startled as his men hadn’t helped. He hated being at a disadvantage. Not to mention the damage she’d caused. Luckily the fire hadn’t spread, but the rumor would and with it the damage to Imoshen and himself.

  Imoshen lifted a hand and acknowledged him with a wave. She took one step forward and went through the ice.

  Her disappearance was so abrupt that Tulkhan stared, too stunned to move.

  Then he was running across the slippery surface, his heart pounding in his head. He didn’t even remember moving. His boots thudded on the ice, striking chips. One part of his mind told him he would go through the ice into the freezing lake with her if he wasn’t careful.

  Tulkhan slowed his mad dash and looked up, trying to judge the distance and the thickness of the ice. Frustration filled him. This wasn’t his land. He came from the steamy north. He’d be no help to Imoshen if he ended up in the lake with her.

  He tried to stop, but his boots wouldn’t grip and he went down on all fours, skidding across the ice.

  Ahead of him he saw Imoshen’s head break the surface of the icy lake, her mouth open in a silent scream. She lunged for the ice lip, trying to lever herself out. But the ice gave way, dragging her under the choppy lake water again.

  His mouth went dry as his momentum continued to carry him toward the weak ice.

  Imoshen’s head broke the surface. Her hair clung to her skull like spilt milk. Seeing him, she shook her head furiously.

  “Stay back!” Her voice was a frantic, breathless cry.

  He came to a stop. Fear sank its icy hand into his gut. To advance might mean his death but to hesitate would be her death. He couldn’t let her drown.

  It was a cruel choice.

  Frozen with indecision. Tulkhan watched as Imoshen pulled her weight onto the ice lip. He was close enough to see skittering cracks race across the surface of the ice.

  Though he hadn’t grown up skating on frozen lakes he understood it would precipitate both theirs deaths to approach her now.

  Wordlessly she looked across to him, deliberately not calling for help. Her silent struggle to ease her weight onto the precarious ice tore at him. His heart swelled to choke him. No, he couldn’t leave her to struggle alone.

  He crept forward on his hands and knees.

  She looked up and saw him coming.

  “Stay back!” Fury ignited her face.

  It made him smile.

  Creeping laboriously forward, he watched the ice for cracks. His bare hands stung with the cold, then burned until they felt nothing.

  “No further!” she hissed.

  This time her tone stopped him. Her eyes were dark pools in her white face. Shivers wracked her body. She could hardly speak for the chattering of her teeth.

  He crouched there, impotent and hating it.

  She was just a body length from him, trapped from her waist down in the lake, her upper body pressed to a cracked ice slab. Tulkhan knew if he returned to the palace for help Imoshen would be dead before he could come back.

  “Where are your men when we need them?” she hissed.

  A painful grin escaped him. “I told them not to follow.”

  “Wh . . . why?”

  It seemed ridiculous now. “I wanted to confront you. What possessed you? Why incinerate the birds?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head then grew very still. He was afraid she had lost her strength and, with it, all hope. But abruptly she kicked with both legs, lunging up onto the ice.

  His breath caught in his throat. Would the ice crack?

  It held.

  She was closer, almost within arm’s length. If he could only pull her off that weak ice ... Tulkhan edged toward her. She watched him, hope warring with desperation. Her arm stretched out to him, fingers splayed.

  Only a little further.

  He lay on his belly, thrusting one arm forward. Their fingers touched. Convulsively hers closed around his. Chilled as his hands were, hers felt colder.

  She smiled, her blue lips parting, teeth chattering. “You f . . . fool!”

  He grinned and flexed his arm, but he had no leverage and she was weighed down by her soaked clothes. The cold lake still claimed her from the thighs down.

  With quiet desperation she raised her knee up, shifting her weight onto the ice lip.

  Tulkhan’s grip tightened. “Now the other . . .”

  She nodded, clenched her chattering jaw, and eased her second knee out onto the ice. He dragged her toward him. The strain made his muscles protest.

  Trembling with a combination of cold and effort, he drew her toward him until they were face-to-face, belly down on the ice.

  Imoshen clutched his shoulders, panting with relief. He felt her bury her cold face in his shoulder. Even her breath seemed icy.

  “S . . . so cold!”

  She was. Tulkhan realized she could still die.

  He had to get her back to the palace, get her warm. “This way.”

  With painstaking care they slithered across the ice on their bellies. As soon as the ice appeared more solid they clambered onto their hands and knees to crawl across it. Imoshen fell behind. When Tulkhan looked over his shoulder she was struggling to keep up with him, her head down, trying to lift her shoulders. Her faltering efforts frightened him.

  Furious, Tulkhan lunged back to her, knelt and pulled her into his arms. He shook her. “Keep moving!”

  She nodded but clung to him, great spasms of shivers wracking her body. When he looked into her face her eyes were dull, her concentration turned inward. He was losing her. No!

  Instinctively he caught her head in his hands and kissed those cold lips, willing the desperate passion that warmed him to animate her.

  At first her mouth remained unresponsive under his. He could feel only her reflexive shivers shaking him with their intensity. He pulled her hard against him, ignoring the icy cold of her clothes which seeped through his already damp clothing.

  A shuddering sigh escaped her and suddenly he felt her respond, an unmistakable sign that he had reawakened her fierce will to live. Desperately, she returned his kiss, her lips like cold liquid satin on his. The sensation was so potent he caught his breath. Now he felt her body’s instinctive move to meet his.

  She held nothing back.

  His long years of battle experience told him Imoshen’s response was a reaction to her narrow escape from death.

  “General?” voices called, worried voices.

  Tulkhan detected frantic figures in his peripheral vision. Stunned, he lifted his head, peering past Imoshen’s shoulder. The dark figures shouted and capered on the lake’s shore. They insisted he acknowledge them.

  He groaned and felt Imoshen tense as she registered the change in him. It took a determined effort to release her from his embrace.

  He indicated the people on the bank.

  Imoshen turned, grimaced then sighed. “Now, they come? What are they yelling?”

  There were so many voices all shouting at once that the individual words were lost.

  Imoshen went to stand and staggered. Tulkhan came to his feet, catching her before she fell.

  “Damn! I’m so weak,” she complained.

  “Stop!” someone called from the shore. “Don’t move. The ice is not safe!”

  Tulkhan looked down a
t Imoshen. Laughter rose inside him. He could see the same impossible laughter igniting her face. He threw back his head and roared.

  A peal of fey delight broke from her lips. The sound brushed across his skin like silk. He wanted to wrap himself in it.

  Imoshen clutched his arm, grasping for breath. “Don’t laugh. They’ll think you’re touched like me.”

  That sobered Tulkhan.

  He judged the distance they had yet to travel. “Can we walk to the shore from here?”

  She nodded.

  Together, hands clasped for balance, they walked gingerly across the ice to the lake’s shore. Men were just returning with planks of wood when they made the bank.

  “My Lady!” Kalleen panted, a party of palace servants scurrying up behind her. “You’re soaked. You’ll catch your death!”

  Imoshen went to climb the bank but slipped. Tulkhan caught her before she could land in the snow. He swept her up in his arms.

  She stiffened. “Put me down!”

  He ignored her, plowing up the bank as the servants, men-at-arms and Stronghold Guard milled around them.

  Imoshen stiffened in his arms, furious but unwilling to cause a scene in front of the others.

  “Put me down!” she hissed, twisting to escape his arms. “I’m too heavy for you. I’m as big as an ordinary man!”

  “And I’m bigger than most men. If you struggle I might drop you in the snow.” Tulkhan smiled when she stopped wriggling. Would he have dropped her in an ungainly heap in the snow? Yes. She knew him well.

  He realized he was enjoying this.

  The servants and men-at-arms shot questions at him. He answered them all with an edited version of the accident. Finally they fell silent, dropping away to accompany them in small groups.

  Imoshen’s arms slid around his neck. “You risked a dunking in the lake to save me.”

  He heard the serious tone behind her facetious words. He had risked his life to save her.

  “I must be mad,” he muttered. “I can’t even swim!”

  Her arms tightened compulsively around his neck.

  “Mad, indeed,” she whispered. Then her tone changed. “You can put me down. You must be getting tired.”