Broken Vows

by Cory Daniells

  His arms were beginning to ache but she wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn. He was glad he’d inherited his grandfather’s build. It had been a nuisance as a boy. At twelve he’d stood as tall as a man and been expected to act like one. At sixteen he’d been a head taller than most men. He’d discovered his size influenced the way people treated him.

  “You know,” he said softly, pitching his voice so only Imoshen could hear. “When I was younger people used to think I was stupid because I grew so big. Tulkhan, the dim-witted giant!”

  He glanced down and saw her sharp, wine-dark eyes on him. With a jolt he sensed her Otherness. What was she learning of his past from this physical contact? Once again he was reminded that she was not like him, she was T’En.

  Imoshen studied the General, surprised by his admission. “I never thought you stupid. An arrogant barbarian, yes, but never stupid.” She saw him grin and lightness filled her. How sweet it was to know that she had driven those bitter memories from him.

  They walked on, nearing the bulk of the palace. Tulkhan’s admission about his youth made him seem more real to her. She felt compelled to share something of herself with him. “Ever since I can remember people have feared me because I’m a Throwback.”

  He looked down into her face, his dark eyes alert but unreadable. He had closed himself away from her. She was glad she hadn’t added that she was beginning to fear herself now.

  Their return caused a great commotion. Imoshen suspected that many of those who wished her well were secretly wishing the treacherous ice had done its job more thoroughly.

  Kalleen would have had her bathed and tucked into a warmed bed, but no sooner was she dressed than she sent for the General.

  “As for you, you can go, Kalleen. I won’t sit by the fire with a blanket around me like some old grandmother!” Imoshen snapped, pacing up and down.

  “What’s so important that you must see me now and not go to bed like a sensible person?” the General’s familiar voice demanded.

  Imoshen wanted to run to him. Instead, she channeled her energy into achieving her goal and darted to the table where the Beatific’s terms were waiting to be read. Unable to stop herself, Imoshen lifted the brass cylinder and waved it triumphantly.

  “The T’En Church will recognize our bonding and coronation, which means the rest of Fair Isle will follow suit. And you have me to thank for it!”

  “Let me see.” General Tulkhan strode toward Imoshen. She opened the cylinder and slid out the scroll, passing it to him. He turned it to the light of the scented candles. Dusk fell early this close to midwinter.

  He frowned. “What manner of chicken scrawl is this?”

  Imoshen bit her lips to hide a smile. “The language of all official documents is High T’En.”

  He held it out to her. “Read it to me, word for word.”

  “If I am to translate it shouldn’t the Cadre be here, too?” Imoshen suspected the Ghebite priest intended to dismantle the T’En Church once General Tulkhan was officially recognized as ruler of Fair Isle.

  “Why?” Tulkhan snapped. “I make the decisions.”

  She took the scroll from him and turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile. The General’s dislike of the Cadre’s company had not been lost on her.

  She went closer to the fire, eager for its warmth, and prepared to read, then translate. General Tulkhan settled into her chair with his long legs stretched out before him. Propping one elbow on the table, he cupped his chin to watch her thoughtfully.

  She tried not to let her gaze wander to him as she read each sentence, then translated it. This manner of delivery made the meaning rather disjointed as the grammar of the High T’En tongue was very different from its daughter language.

  The General’s keen dark eyes never left Imoshen’s face and she wondered if he was having trouble comprehending the ornate prose. When it came to the paragraphs pertaining to recognition of T’En Church laws Imoshen’s heart pounded. She willed him to accept what she was interpreting. The General’s expression did not change. Either he was keeping his reaction close to his chest, or he did not understand how civil laws and church laws intertwined.

  Imoshen felt no guilt withholding this information. If he had asked, she would have explained. But he didn’t. Finally she came to the end and indicated where the Beatific had signed and placed her seal of office.

  “Two copies, one for the Beatific to keep, one for us. This is where you sign, and I sign here.”

  “You?” His gaze flew to hers.

  She tilted her head, surprised by his reaction. “By recognising your position the Beatific strips the rebel leader Roethe of his rights. As the last legitimate member of the T’En royal family I become titular head of the church. Do you want a translated version of this before you sign?”

  “Why? You read it word for word, didn’t you?”

  Imoshen nodded. She had read it word for word as he requested, though the meaning would have been clearer had she paraphrased it.

  When his stomach grumbled audibly the General shifted in the seat. Reading the scroll had taken a good while. He held out his hand. Imoshen passed the document to him, aware of her heart hammering in her chest. She had gambled that if she did provide him with a translated version he would have been too busy to read it thoroughly before signing. But it appeared he was ready to sign now.

  After all, the Ghebite General was a man of action. Yet, she reminded herself how he had taken the trouble to learn her language before bringing his army to Fair Isle. He was a strange mixture of the primitive and sophisticated.

  His obsidian eyes scanned the ornate pages of the document.

  “What you translated is what is written here?” he asked again, watching her closely.

  “I translated it word for word.” But she omitted to add that a literal translation did not make for a clear translation of meaning.

  “So if I sign this now, the Beatific retains control over her church and will back me in controlling Fair Isle?”

  Imoshen nodded.

  “Have you ink and wax?”

  Imoshen noted that her hands did not tremble as she indicated her own ink and wax, then sharpened the scriber.

  “You first,” he said, when she offered it to him.

  Imoshen swallowed and dipped the tip in the ink.

  “You think this is a fair agreement?” Tulkhan asked.

  She paused as she tapped the excess ink from the tip of the scriber. “I do. The terms are fair to all inhabitants of this island, whether they are Ghebite or native.

  “General, you have enemies on the mainland, an unruly army of ex-soldiers, reluctant southern nobles and a competent rebel leader in Reothe. Any support from an entrenched body like the Church must be useful.”

  He laughed. “You think like a Ghebite soldier.”

  She stiffened. Was he attempting to insult her? No, she read only genuine amusement in his eyes.

  “Statesmanship was one of my best subjects,” she temporized.

  He nodded and gestured for her to sign. Imoshen wrote her full name and title. Then she melted the wax and, instead of using an official seal, she adopted the ancient T’En method, dipping the tip of her sixth finger in the puddle of hot wax, ignoring the flash of pain.

  It hurt more when she did the same for the second document. Her teeth grew chilled as she sucked in her breath.

  Tulkhan’s eyes met hers. She stepped back. “Now you.”

  Businesslike, he signed and placed his official seal on the document, first one then the other.

  Imoshen went to Kalleen’s door. The maidservant looked up, the remains of her evening meal on a tray on her lap.

  “Give the Beatific’s assistant this copy of the document, which has been signed. Place the second copy in the palace library and please have our meal delivered.”

  “And then you’ll go to bed?”

  Imoshen sighed. “There are a dozen palace servants who would be eager to take your place.”


  Kalleen grinned. “I wouldn’t trust them to feed the pigs!” With that she scurried off.

  Imoshen smiled as she shut the door. Kalleen was right. She dare not trust anyone else.

  Weary though she was, she had to speak with the General. This was a perfect opportunity. The Ghebite Commanders had been excluding her by monopolizing their General’s time. And today she and Tulkhan had shared a common threat. He’d risked his life to save her . . .

  An unwelcome thought struck Imoshen. Would it have been more accurate to say that he risked his own life to save the child she carried, his only chance for a son?

  Imoshen shivered. She didn’t want to know the answer to that. It was enough that Tulkhan needed her for political necessity and desired her. She could hardly ask for more.

  “Will you stay and eat with me, General?” she asked formally.

  He looked at her, his face inscrutable. “After that will you go to bed?”

  She laughed. “Yes. Kalleen would be honored to know you agree with her!”

  He smiled fleetingly. “Then I will share a meal with you.”

  So they ate sitting before the fire in strangely companionable silence. When the last of the servants had departed and they were savoring the remains of their meal Imoshen looked across the hearth to him. “There is something I would discuss with you.”

  He put his wine aside. “What now? I’ve agreed to a formal dinner tomorrow night to celebrate the signing.”

  She knew he was teasing her and it filled her with a warm glow which she found hard to ignore. “Roasted nuts?”

  He selected a handful and tossed the lot into his mouth chewing vigorously. He ate with the same voracious hunger he tackled everything in life.

  After a sip of wine he reached for more. “They don’t have nuts like these on the mainland.”

  “No. They come from the archipelago.” Imoshen found she was strangely loath to disturb the peace of the moment. And she had to admit she did not want to ask the Ghebite General for a favor, even if it was for her maid.

  Observing Tulkhan surreptitiously, she thought he appeared relaxed. Strangely enough, he had said nothing to her regarding the incinerated birds. Imoshen had decided that if he did broach the subject, she would have to apologize but she wasn’t going to offer an apology unnecessarily. This might entail an explanation and she didn’t want to go into details which would reveal her weakness.

  Tulkhan accepted his wine. It always amused him when Imoshen played hostess. She had such regal bearing and used what appeared to be formal High Court manners, so that she made the simple act of pouring wine almost a ritualized dance.

  It secretly delighted him to know that beneath her formal exterior she was all woman, and his touch could ignite her. He swallowed and felt his body quicken with need.

  He had avoided being alone with her but this had only exacerbated his need for her. Midwinter could not come too soon.

  Imoshen sipped her wine.

  “Yes?” he prodded, watching her over his wine goblet.

  He could sense her reluctance, could tell she wanted to broach a subject she found distasteful.

  Was it something to do with Reothe? His gut tightened.

  She placed her wine on the table and turned to Tulkhan, obviously ready to face him no matter how unpleasant she found it. No, it could not be Reothe, he decided. She would have simply told him and faced his anger.

  Tulkhan was intrigued.

  “I ask a boon,” Imoshen announced.

  So that explained it. He knew she hated asking for anything. “Ask. We are to be wed. I would be making you a wedding present.”

  “This is not for me.” She licked her lips and grimaced. “The estates to the south are still held by their nobles, but the estates to the north lie in ruins. Their rich lands are your prizes of war.”

  Tulkhan chose not to remind her that the whole of Fair Isle was his. Two thirds had been taken by force, and the other third had surrendered by omission.

  Imoshen continued, “I own an estate. Or rather I used to own an estate to the north. It is not large, but—”

  “It is yours once more.” He anticipated her.

  She flushed as he knew she would. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. He could tell how much it hurt her to say those words. “Why just one estate? Are you planning to flee the capital?”

  He couldn’t let her do that of course.

  “No. I’m going to gift it to Kalleen.”

  “What?” Tulkhan’s wine slopped on the floor as he thrust it aside.

  Imoshen lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Have you forgotten that it was her bravery which allowed me to escape the dungeon and Gharavan’s axe? You sit here soon to be crowned King of Fair Isle because she took my place at risk to her own life!”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You would give her an estate—”

  “And the title that goes with it. She would be the Lady Kalleen of Windhaven.”

  Tulkhan was reminded that he had meant to assign estates and titles to his commanders. If they owned land it would ensure their loyalty to him and Fair Isle. A mercenary fights for money but a man who fights for the land under his feet, fights with fire in his belly—it was basic war craft.

  “Very well.” Tulkhan nodded, relieved her request had been so simple. “I will have the papers drawn up.”

  “You might wish to gift the neighboring estate to Wharrd,” Imoshen told him. “I know you were planning to reward him and since you have recognized the T’En Church, Kalleen can bond with him.”

  “Wait. Why couldn’t she marry him before?” Tulkhan felt he was missing something.

  Imoshen simply looked at him, her face a beautiful mask. “Kalleen refused his offer of marriage because it would have been unequal. When people are joined by the T’En Church they become bond-partners, equals. I explained all that to you the night you claimed me for your bond-partner.”

  The room swayed around Tulkhan and blood rushed in his ears, filling his head with a roaring noise. Now he understood the significance of everything that had passed between them this evening. He had just signed a document recognizing the laws of the T’En Church. To bring the people of Fair Isle behind him he had to marry Imoshen and have their “bonding,” as the T’En Church put it, recognized by the people’s church.

  Fair enough, for once political necessity happily coincided with his private desires. The prospect of taking Imoshen to wife made the cool political marriage his father had arranged pale in significance.

  But because he’d recognized Fair Isle’s church laws, as soon as the Beatific formalized their joining Imoshen would legally be his equal. Half of everything he owned would be hers.

  He had signed away half of Fair Isle to his captive!

  Her face was turned away from him, presenting the curve of her cheek and the hollow under her jaw. Her perfect porcelain skin and profile were so pure he could not imagine a cruel conniving thought ever crossing her mind.

  Unaware of his scrutiny, Imoshen twisted to face him, her hand cupping a bowl. “More nuts?”

  “No.” He saw her start, surprised by the harsh tone of his voice. He watched her face closely for duplicity. “You know what you have done?”

  She turned away from him to place the roasted nuts on a low table between them.

  Yes, she knew exactly what she had done. Manipulative, traitorous Dhamfeer! Anger hardened his heart against her beauty, her false innocence.

  “When the people are secure they are happy,” she lectured with calm precision. “By signing that document you have ensured their prosperity. They will not be open to Reothe’s cunning tongue. News travels fast. Soon all of Fair Isle will know you have recognized the rights and laws of the people’s church. You cannot hope to hold what you have taken if the people do not support you.” She met his eyes, daring him to object. He could have drowned in those deep wine-dark depths. “I have helped you hold Fair Isle, General Tulkhan.”

  Burning with anger, he
longed to denounce her for what she was, but on another level he knew she was right. A charged silence fell between them.

  With deliberate care he caught her hand and drew her from her chair, to her knees. She waited compliantly between his thighs as though she hadn’t just maneuvered him into signing away half his kingdom.

  “That is not all,” he told her.

  “No.” She lifted her chin in that now familiar gesture. “I have taken the first step to ensure the women of Fair Isle will not be reduced to slaves like your Ghebite females.”

  “You’ve ensured half of Fair Isle for yourself!”

  She stiffened, her eyes flashing. “I belong to all of Fair Isle. If I didn’t, I would have escaped with him when I had the chance at Landsend!”

  What?

  Imoshen stood abruptly. “Have you sent the Midwinter Feast invitations to the southern nobles?”

  “And the ambassadors of the mainland kingdoms and the princelings of the archipelago,” he answered automatically. Escaped at Landsend? Did she mean she’d planned to escape from there to the islands of the archipelago? If so, when? Before she surrendered her Stronghold to him? He doubted it. Then when?

  Abruptly the answer came to him. She could have escaped when they were at Landsend together in the first weeks after he took the Stronghold.

  But escaped with who? Reothe. Who else?

  A flare of pure anger ignited Tulkhan. To think the rebel leader had dared to infiltrate the abbey while the Ghebite General was there. The Seculate, all of them . . . how they must have been laughing at him!

  But Imoshen hadn’t escaped him when she had the chance.

  “Why?”

  She started at the tone of his voice, then calmly went on cleaning away the remains of their meal onto the trays the servants had left behind.

  “Why what?” Her tone sounded so deliberately innocent he knew she was prevaricating.

  “Why didn’t you run away with Reothe when we were at Landsend?”

  A flush inflamed her pale skin and he had to smile grimly. She hadn’t meant to reveal that she’d had the opportunity to escape. Knowing Imoshen, she was probably cursing herself.