DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  “Imoshen!” Reothe’s voice was raw. “I thought I would find you here, feasting.”

  She spun to face him, disconcerted. Lightning flickered. “Why did you follow me?”

  “How could I not? You call me like a beacon.”

  She exhaled, acknowledging they were bound in ways she did not understand. Even now an awareness stretched between them. She could feel it drawing them closer. Trapped in a timeless moment, she felt as if there was nothing but this bare hilltop, the moon’s lambent glow, and the lightning prowling the horizon. It enticed the T’En in her to forget her True-woman upbringing.

  “No closer,” she ordered, suddenly aware that Reothe stood within arm’s length. “Why are you here?”

  “You stand there, glowing with an inner radiance, and you ask why I am drawn as the moth to the flame?”

  She touched his face, silvered by the moonlight, seeing the glint of the lightning reflected in his eyes. Her fingertips registered the silken softness of his lips, his hot breath.

  Reothe caught her hand. She felt his kiss, the touch of his tongue as he tasted her. She yearned for him.

  “You can try, but you won’t make me break my vow,” he told her. “I will not accept crumbs. It is all or nothing!”

  “Then it can be nothing.”

  “How can you say that when we share this child?” He sank to his knees, his arms sliding around her waist to press his face against her body. “Is our babe male or female?”

  Reluctantly, she cradled his head against the pounding of her heart. “I believe it is not my right to touch the mind of an unborn child, so I choose not to know the answer.”

  She felt him smile.

  “Your principles make you weak, Imoshen.”

  That familiar wariness returned. “I must do what I believe to be right.”

  He came to his feet, catching her hands in his. “When Gharavan is defeated and Fair Isle is ours again, I will come to you and you will have to make a decision.”

  “My decision is already made.”

  Reothe dropped her hands and stepped back. Relinquishing his touch was painful, but she would not give him false words of comfort. He stood before her, radiating intensity, so that if she closed her eyes she could still sense him. How could Tulkhan fail to realize that Reothe’s gifts were returning? “Have you sent the T’Elegos to the palace?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Anger sizzled through her. “Don’t you want your gifts fully restored?”

  “How do I know you will honor your part of the bargain once you have the T’Elegos?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Surely you can’t expect me to restore your gifts first.”

  “That would require trust, wouldn’t it?” he whispered sadly.

  “What would you know of trust, Reothe? You have stolen Tulkhan’s trust of me.” Her mouth went dry. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “They say you and Tulkhan are sword-brothers.” The baldness of her question made her wince and her cheeks grew hot. She strained to distinguish every nuance of his answer.

  “You know the Ghebites.” He shrugged.

  She gasped. “I love him for himself, not for what use I can make of him. Would you take everything from me?”

  “Name one thing I haven’t lost!”

  “Then it is true.” Her blood roared in her ears. “You would use anyone and anything to gain your ends, even driving your own parents to suicide to be near the Empress!”

  He grasped her shoulders. “Who told you that?”

  Anger shimmered off his skin, leaving the T’En aftertaste in her mouth as she inhaled. She shook her head, regretting her outburst.

  “Who told you?” His hands tightened.

  She could have broken his hold as easily as blinking; instead, she placed her palms on his chest. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart, sense his pain and betrayal. “I wronged you, Reothe. I should never have repeated what I know could not be true.”

  “You say you know it is not true, yet you still doubt me enough to make the accusation!”

  “I spoke in anger. Forgive me.”

  He backed away. “Why should I? Yet I forgive you everything else. You vow to bond with me, then take another. You say you love me in one breath, then turn me away. You make it clear you want me only for my knowledge of the T’En. Then you accuse me of murdering my own parents!”

  “Please—”

  “Please what? Forgive you again so that you can go on torturing me?” He cursed softly in High T’En and walked off.

  Imoshen wanted to stop him, but her choice had been made the day General Tulkhan surrounded her Stronghold. If truth be told, she’d had no choice.

  The door closed. Tulkhan sensed more than heard Reothe’s cat-light steps across the boards. He schooled his breathing so that it would not betray him. He had heard Reothe leave and, imagining him in Imoshen’s arms, time had passed with excruciating slowness.

  He wanted to confront Reothe, but if he did he would endanger his Ghiad. Painfully aware, he lay in the shadow on his bed and watched Reothe stand over him, radiating violence.

  When Reothe spoke, his voice was a corrosive caress.

  “You have come close to death so many times, True-man. How does it feel?”

  Tulkhan knew the danger had passed. “I am bound by the Gheeakhan code to serve you. What restrains your hand?”

  “The knowledge that I cannot have your blood on my hands.”

  Tulkhan sat up and swung his legs to the floor. “Then our hands are tied.”

  “Unless something changes. She carries my child, General. Why don’t you do the honorable thing and take a fatal wound in the battle?”

  “Are you asking that of me under my Ghiad?”

  “No!” Reothe stalked away and threw himself onto the window seat illuminated by a patch of moonlight.

  Tulkhan crossed the room, ducking his head to accommodate the slope of the roof. He dropped into a soldier’s loose-limbed crouch in the shadows. “How did Imoshen pass the Orb’s test of Truth if she carries your child?”

  Reothe turned, and his smile made Tulkhan’s heart falter. “I went to her cloaked in your guise.”

  Tulkhan looked down, pleased to hear Imoshen’s words confirmed.

  Reothe’s eyes narrowed. “Ask yourself this: Why was Imoshen willing to believe the lie?”

  All night Reothe’s words ate into Tulkhan’s peace of mind. By morning, Kalleen had not had her baby. The General left Imoshen with the request that she return to the capital soon. Had she been his Ghebite wife, he would have simply ordered that her bags be packed, but Reothe was right. There was no point in giving an order he could not enforce, and after his restless night Tulkhan had begun to believe there was a lie within a truth.

  When Imoshen heard the pounding hooves, she feared the worst. It had been five days since Tulkhan and Reothe had returned to T’Diemn, and Kalleen’s baby had not come. A single rider hastened into the cold cellar, where Imoshen and Kalleen were checking the state of last autumn’s preserves, as if that were the worst of their worries.

  He gave the Ghebite bow and delivered a message cylinder. Imoshen opened it. As she read, her heart missed a beat and her head spun with the implications.

  “What is it?” Kalleen asked.

  Imoshen folded the paper carefully, hiding her consternation. “The General needs me to return to T’Diemn. Come upstairs while I pack.”

  She picked up Ashmyr, told the messenger to go to the kitchen, then sent a servant to the stables. Once in her room, Imoshen dismissed the maid and threw garments into her traveling bag. “I can’t believe it. The Beatific is dead by her own hand and Reothe is missing. T’Diemn is in an uproar and Tulkhan fears Reothe has gone rogue! If Gharavan gets wind of division he will strike.” Imoshen closed the tapestry flap and buckled up her bag, hands shaking. “Will you be all right?”

  “Go where you are needed.” Kalleen hugged her.

  An overwhelming sense
of loss engulfed Imoshen, making her eyes sting with an emotion that wasn’t hers. It was not a Vision but a presentiment of sorrow. She had to return to the capital before disaster struck.

  Tulkhan looked up as Imoshen walked into his map room, Ashmyr in one arm, her traveling bag in the other. “How did it happen?”

  “Poison.”

  “No. What drove Engarad to this?”

  “You tell me.”

  She dropped the bag and set the boy on the floor. Ashmyr pushed himself up on his hands and knees and crawled straight for the open fireplace. She darted past him to adjust the grate, then turned him toward a chair.

  Tulkhan watched in fascination as his son pulled himself upright and let go with one hand. “Look at that. He’ll be walking soon!”

  “Not for ages yet. It makes no sense. Did she leave no note? Is Reothe still missing?”

  “Yes.” He frowned. He always had trouble reconciling Imoshen’s role as mother of his son and head of state. In Gheeaba a woman might be considered a good mother, but she did not advise her husband. “The only communication the Beatific left is this, her final decree.” Tulkhan pushed the document across the table. “It came into my hands after I sent for you.”

  “The seal has been broken.”

  “I read it.”

  “But it is addressed to me.”

  “It was addressed to the Empress,” he corrected. She flushed. “Where is Reothe, Imoshen? What are the signs if one of the T’En goes rogue? I’ve put Murgon off three times. I swear that man is too eager for Reothe’s blood.”

  But Imoshen gave no answer, intent on reading the Beatific’s final decree. Her fair skin went so pale he thought she might faint. “Imoshen, are you all right?”

  Dimly, Imoshen heard her name. Blood roared in her head. The Beatific was dead because of her. No, the woman was dead because she had tried to poison Imoshen’s mind against Reothe. He must have guessed who had made the insinuations about his parents’ suicide and confronted the Beatific.

  Engarad had taken her own life in despair. Or had she?

  Perhaps the Beatific had been right to suspect Reothe of driving his parents to their deaths. Could his partially healed gift be strong enough to drive a determined woman like the Beatific into a despair so profound she would take her own life?

  Tulkhan cleared his throat. “It is a simple decree, unless you read something there that I cannot see. The Beatific named Reothe her successor. How much weight will this have with the Abbey Seculates? Could Reothe become the Beatific?”

  Imoshen sank into a chair, forcing herself to think. “Reothe has not come up through the Church hierarchy, but his education equals the masters of the Halls of Learning. He was writing discourses on philosophy and obscure religious debates when he was fifteen.” She tried to focus on the point. “When I appointed him Sword of Justice, I placed him in the upper echelon of the Church hierarchy among the ranks from which the next Beatific would be drawn. I... I did not foresee...”

  The General came to his feet. “How can you tell if Reothe has gone rogue? Concentrate, Imoshen!”

  When she lifted her eyes to his, Tulkhan read stark despair. She must believe Reothe had gone rogue. The General would have to order his death. All along he had wanted a legitimate reason to have the last T’En warrior executed, yet now he regretted it.

  Ashmyr gave a crow of delight. Tulkhan turned in time to see his son take five tottering steps, then drop. “Look at that. He walked!”

  “Impossible. He isn’t a year old.”

  “I swear he took five steps on his own!”

  Imoshen laughed. “Oh, Tulkhan. Let the poor boy be a baby. All too soon he will have to grapple with matters of state.”

  “But—”

  “I’m going to consult with Keeper Karmel.” Imoshen came to her feet, picking up the child. “The last rogue T’En was executed over a hundred years ago. I don’t know the precedents. I need time to think!”

  Tulkhan joined her. “I tried to persuade the basilica not to send for the Abbey Seculates, but they have already done it. They will hold the vote in three days.”

  “The Church needs a Beatific.”

  “But it leaves the abbeys without leadership if Gharavan attacks.” Tulkhan noted that Imoshen stroked the boy’s fine, dark hair as if seeking reassurance. “What is it? Do you suspect the Beatific did not write that message? It was not delivered to me until the evening after her body was discovered. Do you think Reothe forged it?”

  Imoshen glanced around the room as if looking for the answer. Two tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Another thing I find strange. The Beatific did not strike me as a woman who would kill herself. Imoshen?” When she met his eyes, he realized she knew the answer, or thought she did. “Imoshen!”

  She shook her head. “All I know of the last rogue’s execution was what my great-aunt told me. The Aayel was a twelve-year-old child at the time. T’Obazim was declared rogue when he tried to abduct her. That was considered a sign of going rogue—rising up against lawful authority of the Church or the royal line.”

  “The Church recognized my right to rule Fair Isle, but Reothe continued to lead his rebels against me.”

  “I have reason to believe the Beatific had been secretly supporting Reothe in his struggle against you.” Imoshen gave him an apologetic smile. “Another sign used to be if one of the T’En killed a True-man or woman with their gifts.”

  “We both know Reothe has done that, and in cold blood.”

  “As have I,” Imoshen said softly. She nuzzled Ashmyr’s soft head. “I don’t know enough about rogue T’En. I must consult with the Keeper.”

  “But Reothe’s gifts are crippled. Surely he is no more dangerous than a True-man?” Tulkhan asked. Imoshen’s expression made him wary. “Is Reothe healed?”

  “No. No, I...” She pressed her hand to her throat and took a deep breath. “I have felt his gift flare on several occasions, but I know he is not healed.”

  “Partially healed?”

  She nodded reluctantly. Tulkhan took a step back, cursing. His elbow hit an onyx stallion. It toppled off the table and he caught it on reflex.

  Ashmyr laughed. Imoshen smiled and handed the boy to Tulkhan. “Watch over our son while I do my research.”

  But she was gone, leaving Tulkhan holding the baby. He turned Ashmyr to face him, admiring the boy’s brilliant T’En eyes and pale skin, topped by hair black as sable. Twenty years from now the women would be chasing him.

  Ashmyr kicked his legs.

  “You want to get down?” Tulkhan lowered him to the floor, only to discover that the boy wanted to stand, his legs planted wide. “Well, walk, then, and prove I am not a liar.”

  Holding on to the tips of Tulkhan’s fingers, Ashmyr walked across the room. With a laugh the General hugged his son, Fair Isle’s fate forgotten for the moment.

  Imoshen stroked the polished wood of the library’s shelves, inhaling its scent, redolent with age and learning. Usually this place made her feel at peace. Today she paced, waiting for the Keeper’s return. According to Karmel, the books on containing rogue T’En were kept in the basilica’s archives, so when Imoshen heard a soft footfall, she looked up expecting to see the old woman. But it was Drake, and his expression was grim.

  She gave him a wary smile and tried for a light note. “Do all of the Malaunje children wish to join the Parakhan Guard?”

  “There are nearly sixty of them now. But I am not here to speak of the children,” Drake said. “I come on behalf of someone who wishes to be heard by the Empress.”

  If someone felt they had been wronged they could present themselves to the Emperor and Empress, who would hear their case without prejudice. The last thing Imoshen needed was more complications, but she knew her duty. “I am always ready to listen.”

  “Good. You must come with me now and you must wear this.”

  Imoshen eyed the long silk scarf uneasily. Even though she had a
ppointed Drake Shujen of her Parakhan Guard, his ultimate loyalty was to Reothe. Suddenly she knew who wanted justice, and her heart raced. “Very well. But I tell you that color does not go with my gown.”

  The last thing she saw was Drake’s smile. “This way, T’Imoshen.”

  He took her hand, leading her to the back of the library, toward the secret passages. She had to believe Reothe would not endanger her life and that of their unborn child. Dry-mouthed, she stepped into the stale air of the dusty passages. Her body sang with tension and dread. Yet she could not deny Reothe a hearing. Fair Isle’s system of justice was the one thing that made her people more civilized than Tulkhan’s.

  They traveled downstairs and underground, too far for Imoshen to guess where they were. When they came out in the open again, she could feel the gentle breeze on her skin and the air tasted fresh. They walked uphill for a little way before Drake stopped.

  “We are here, T’Imoshen.”

  He undid the scarf and backed off. Imoshen blinked. The afternoon light had a pearly quality, making the distances soft and mellow. She recognized the delicate rotunda that stood on the outcropping overlooking T’Diemn. How ironic to think that Reothe would meet her here, where the Beatific had fired her poisoned barbs.

  Drake retreated, and as Reothe stepped away from the rotunda’s columns, Imoshen’s senses strained to detect every nuance. Reothe greeted her with the old-empire obeisance of deep supplication, kneeling and lifting both hands palms up before bringing them to his forehead. Imoshen understood he was treating this as a formal request to the Empress. Feeling a little reassured, she looked down on his bowed head.

  “Empress T’Imoshen,” Reothe said. “I ask to be heard without prejudice or preconceptions.”

  “Then speak, for I am listening.”

  “I have been grossly wronged by one I trusted.”

  “Who is this person?”

  “She was greatly admired and of high position.”

  “The Beatific?”

  Reothe looked up, his recent suffering etched on his features, and she ached in empathy. She must be wary; her love for him made her vulnerable.