DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  “Imoshen, I am lost if you do not believe me. Engarad sought my destruction.”

  “But she is dead by her own hand and has named you the next Beatific!”

  “So I heard.”

  “Is that the action of someone who would destroy you?”

  “It is the action of a devious woman.” He sprang to his feet. “I guessed she was the one who told you the lie about my parents’ deaths, so I confronted her. That was when she revealed her hatred for me.”

  “I gave you into the Church’s care because I thought she loved you.”

  “Hate is the other side of the coin.”

  “Is it?” Imoshen murmured, but he did not hear her.

  “She thought to resume our old friendship.”

  “You were lovers.”

  “Once. But when Engarad realized I could not lie with my body, her feelings festered. She tried to poison your mind against me and nearly succeeded, yet all the while she turned her smiling face to me.”

  “Did you drive her to kill herself?”

  “No! That is what she wanted you to believe. She wanted you to think I had gone rogue and driven her to her death so that I could take over the Church and regain Fair Isle!”

  “You could be telling me the truth. Or you could have driven the Beatific to suicide and this could be a plausible lie.”

  His shoulders sagged and he sank onto the cracked stone seat, his head in his hands. “Then the Beatific has succeeded in destroying your faith in me, and she has given Tulkhan the excuse he needs to kill me.”

  He looked up, despair written large on his features. Imoshen took two steps back, fighting the need to reassure him. His compelling eyes held hers. “You can search my mind for the truth of what I say. I will not resist.”

  “You could cloak the truth from me. You are so much more practiced than I.”

  “Possibly,” he admitted. “Then there is no reason why you should believe me.”

  She dared to touch him, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “So thin and pale. Where have you been?”

  “In the passages. Drake has been bringing me food. I thought the General might have me killed.”

  “He sent for me straightaway.”

  “Tulkhan is an honorable man,” he conceded, then caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I have given you many reasons to doubt me, Imoshen. I have done things that cross the boundaries of my own honor because I believed it was necessary, but I swear I am innocent of Engarad’s death, just as I was innocent of my parents’ suicide.” He released her hand and knelt at her feet. “What is your judgment, my Empress?”

  Imoshen swallowed. In the absence of a Beatific, it was she who would have to sign the Declaration condemning Reothe. The thought revolted her. “My heart tells me you speak the truth.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and she felt the heat of his flesh pierce her thin gown. Sinking to her knees, she held him close. This one embrace was all she would allow herself. His lithe frame trembled.

  Relief filled Imoshen, for Tulkhan could have used the Beatific’s death to frame Reothe, but he hadn’t. She drew a little away to search Reothe’s face, his hands in hers. “Tulkhan never suspected you of killing the Beatific. Why did you flee?”

  “When they told me of Engarad’s suicide, I wandered into the woods, stunned. Then Drake brought me news of her decree, and I—”

  “So it is general knowledge?”

  “The Church’s high officials would have opened her decree, then resealed it. I went into hiding believing even if the General did not suspect me of her death, he would never let me become Beatific.”

  If Reothe became Beatific he would be more powerful than anyone but the Empress. Imoshen sat on her heels, heart racing as the implications rushed her. The Beatific was the embodiment of the Church, which worshiped the T’En gifts. “Originally, all the Beatifies were pure T’En, so you being a Throwback is not a problem. It takes a majority vote to elect a new Beatific. How many of the five Seculates would vote for you?”

  “I’m sure I have the votes of the Seculates from Chalkcliff and Landsend. If you added your vote I would only need the General’s, but why would he—”

  “What of Murgon?” Imoshen asked. She longed to be free of the fear of the Tractarians. “He hates you.”

  “Because I was born a Throwback and he was born Malaunje, forever to suffer the indignities of his birth with none of the advantages. Murgon chose the Tractarian path to power because he had no alternative.” He smiled at her expression. “I know Murgon. We were boys together. If I were Beatific of the Church, the T’En would not live in a climate of fear. It would be a public acceptance of the T’En, an honor for our race. It is for people like my cousin that I am trying to restore the T’En.” Reothe’s hands tightened on hers. “We must seize this opportunity!”

  Her head swam with the force of his vision and she pulled back, unwilling to let him influence her decision. Dusting off her gown, she walked a little away. When she turned, he stood, waiting. “If I ensure that you are named Beatific, will you swear to protect the T’En, even Tulkhan’s son?”

  “You should not have to ask.”

  She held his eyes.

  He placed his left hand on his chest, covering his heart. “I swear to restore the T’En. We will have a golden future.”

  “That was not what I asked, and it might be too much, too soon.”

  “It is only with a strong power base that we will be safe from True-men and women.”

  Imoshen gave a sigh of frustration. “As long as it is them and us, we will never be safe. Surely you see that since the Ghebites invaded there is no them and us, only Fair Isle?”

  Silence stretched. He turned his hand over in entreaty. “Imoshen, we must not argue. We need each other.”

  “True. Tulkhan and I will endorse your Beatificship.”

  “Why should he give his approval?”

  “The Church’s power is more entrenched than his; it rivals that of the Empress. As Beatific you can bring the Church’s massive resources behind the defense of Fair Isle.”

  “All the more reason for him to fear me as Beatific. Because of his Ghiad he is honor-bound to protect me, but he believes he has no such lever to hold over me.”

  Reothe’s words triggered Imoshen’s realization that they did have a lever over Reothe. She smiled. “Leave it to me.”

  Tulkhan recognized Imoshen’s graceful stride as she crossed the stable courtyard. “Imoshen?”

  She changed direction to join him. “What are you doing with Ashmyr?”

  “He wanted to see the horses.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you were picking out a pony for him? Will he be riding as well as walking before his first birthday?”

  “In my grandfather’s time, when we lived as wandering tribes on the plains, children rode as soon as they were big enough to sit astride a horse. They fell asleep at their mothers’ breasts, swaying in the saddle. The minstrels still sing of it.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought you went to the library.”

  Imoshen caught his arm, drawing him away from the stable. She took him into the formal gardens to a pond with a central statue.

  He planted his feet. “I am not a fool, Imoshen. You’ve been to see Reothe.”

  “‘Yes, I have seen him and he has not gone rogue.”

  “Then why did he go into hiding?” Ashmyr wriggled to be let down. Tulkhan handed him to Imoshen.

  “The Beatific was Reothe’s first lover. When she killed herself he wandered off, lost in grief. It was only when he heard about the decree naming him the new Beatific that he went into hiding. He thought you would order his execution.”

  “I can’t let him become Beatific.”

  “You need the Church behind you to unite Fair Isle and defeat Gharavan. If Reothe is Beatific, you will have that.”

  “Do you think me a fool? Once Gharavan is defeated, Reothe will use the T’En Church’s power base to usurp me.”
r />   “He won’t dare.” Imoshen’s intense eyes held his.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you will have power over the one thing he cares for more than Fair Isle.”

  Tulkhan’s heart skipped a beat. Was Imoshen offering herself as surety of Reothe’s support? Could he accept Imoshen on those terms? “You mean—”

  “His child!” Imoshen whispered. “Acknowledge Reothe’s child as your own and he will support you.”

  Tulkhan’s head spun.

  “Don’t you see?” Imoshen gave an unsteady laugh. “He thought it would be the one thing to drive us apart. You could not accept another man’s child. But it is the one lever he has given you over him.”

  “Imoshen.” Tulkhan backed away to sit on the fountain’s rim. “Reothe’s child will be full T’En. Everyone will know it is not mine.”

  “Who says?” Imoshen turned Ashmyr to face Tulkhan. “Look at your son. Apart from his dark hair, he is pure T’En. Who knows what kind of children I will produce? Why do you think the first Imoshen decreed all pure T’En females must be celibate? Perhaps the blood of a pure T’En female is stronger.”

  “You could argue night is day, Imoshen. You say I can use Reothe’s child as a lever, but that is an empty threat, because you would protect your children with your life!”

  She frowned. “Surely you would not expect me to kill my own child for power!”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “The same as what happened to Reothe. If a child is orphaned they are given into the care of a relative. At ten years of age, Reothe was accepted into the Empress’s family to be reared with her heirs.” Imoshen sensed her argument almost won and joined Tulkhan on the pond rim. Ashmyr stood on tiptoe, dipping his fingers in the water. Imoshen turned the mechanism to make the central fountain work. Ashmyr gave a delighted squeal.

  She smiled and met Tulkhan’s eyes. “Fair Isle must be united to defeat Gharavan. The people know Reothe. They respect his leadership; that is why they were ready to follow him. But it works both ways. If he was leader of the Church, their loyalty would ultimately be to us, because the final veto for the Beatific rests with the Emperor and Empress. Reward Reothe with the Beatificship and he will have a vested interest in seeing that Fair Isle’s power structure remains intact. Tulkhan, if you can offer the people stability they will support you in this, Fair Isle’s hour of greatest need!”

  Tulkhan looked down at Ashmyr’s dark head as he stood between them and thought of another child who would come between them. “You ask me to accept a child who is not my own to use as a lever on my most dangerous ally. Desperate measures, Imoshen.”

  “It is time for the most desperate of alliances.”

  “I must think.” He stood and turned away from her.

  “You have three days until the Seculates vote. Would you rather Reothe became the next Beatific, or someone the Seculates select with their own plans? Better the enemy you know than—”

  “You have a hard heart and a strong head, Imoshen.” Tulkhan held her eyes. “Do you never doubt yourself?”

  “All the time,” she admitted, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. “But I am fighting for our survival. Remember this, General. Your son and Reothe’s child are blameless. If we want them to have a future, we must hold Fair Isle against Gharavan.”

  She saw him accept the truth of this.

  “What if the Seculates are against Reothe’s appointment?”

  Imoshen cloaked her surge of victory. “The last Beatific decreed it. The Seculates from the five great abbeys are jealous of one another. They will want to protect their interests.” She sensed him withdraw as he stood. “What is it, General?”

  “When I first laid eyes on you, I saw a dreaded Dhamfeer. But I thought, She is only a woman, a girl at that. She is no threat. I was blind. I will not insult you by saying if you had been born a man, you could have done anything!”

  Imoshen laughed outright. “I did not choose to be born the last woman of the T’En, but I will do what I must.”

  “And damn the consequences? Reothe loves you, yet you have shown me the way to control him. Strangely, this coincides exactly with what you want. I can see through you, Imoshen.”

  She looked down, glad he could not know how desperately she wanted Reothe to become Beatific and win over Murgon and his Tractarians. When she looked up, the General was watching her from under hooded obsidian eyes.

  “To all of them I am T’Imoshen, last princess of the T’En.” She felt suddenly vulnerable. “But to you I would be Imoshen. Do not close your heart against me, Tulkhan.”

  He pulled her to him.

  Tears of relief stung her eyes as he hugged her. Pinpoints of light spun in her vision and she pleaded laughingly, “Not so tight. I can barely breathe!”

  He released her, letting her feet touch the ground. “I swear I love you more than is good for me, Imoshen.”

  Joy flooded her. She raised her face to his and found his lips, losing herself in him. She was not the cold conniving creature he imagined. She was this fragile, vibrant being enfolded in the General’s arms.

  They had nearly sixty Malaunje children living in T’Reothe’s Hall now with Maigeth and Eksyl Five-fingers. It seemed Drake was always visiting when Imoshen dropped by. This afternoon he was teaching the older children how to fall without hurting themselves. Reothe stripped off his ornate tabard and let the smaller man throw him to show it could be done. When he rolled, cat-light, to his feet and laughed, he looked so young Imoshen ached for him. She had never known him as a careless youth.

  “You have given us hope, T’Imoshen,” Eksyl said softly, his eyes on the children. “Once a half-breed was welcomed only in the Tractarian branch of the Church.”

  “Tomorrow Reothe will become Beatific and the Church will honor the T’En. We live in an age of change,” Imoshen said. In private sessions over the previous days, Imoshen had spoken with each of the Seculates and let it be known that she and Tulkhan approved of Engarad’s choice of successor. No other candidate had been nominated and the vote had been unanimous. Imoshen believed this was thanks to Gharavan’s threat. It was time for a warrior Beatific. “People will read about Beatific Reothe and General Tulkhan in their history books and think how interesting it must have been.”

  “But not so good to live through,” Maigeth remarked. She raised her voice, calling the children for their midday meal.

  As they lined up and thanked their instructors, Imoshen asked Maigeth, “Has Ysanna settled in?”

  “I wish I could say yes.”

  As the others departed, Imoshen wondered what to do. If she singled the child out, the others would resent it. And for Ysanna’s own safety it was better if no one guessed Reothe was her father.

  “Dreaming with the Ancients, Imoshen?” Reothe teased.

  She laughed, but that old saying reminded her that one of these days the Ancients would ask her to fulfill her part of the bargain, and she would have to, or forfeit Ashmyr’s life. She must not falter when that moment came.

  Reothe touched her cheek. “Why so serious, Shenna?”

  But she shook her head, moving away so he could not use touch to skim the surface of her mind. “Seculate Donyx said something that made me think that Murgon—”

  “Now that the vote has gone in my favor, I will win Murgon over.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “I will take a leaf from your book.” He would say no more.

  To witness Reothe’s investiture, Imoshen wore an undergown of purest white samite with an overdress of silver lace, paired with an electrum skull cap inset with fiery rubies. She wanted to remind the Seculates of the old empire. The formal lines of the gown hid her pregnancy, but soon it would be impossible to hide the baby. She wished she could rejoice in this child as she had rejoiced in Ashmyr.

  The church’s choir filled the space under the great dome. On the dais, Reothe was flanked by his T’Enplars in full ceremonial armor. He wore n
othing but a simple white robe, ready to accept the mantle of Beatific and all it entailed.

  For once the sight of Murgon and his Tractarians did not make Imoshen’s palms grow damp with fear. General Tulkhan stood at her side, resplendent in full battle armor. His eyes met hers and she smiled, wishing her great-aunt were here to see their plans come to fruition. She had traveled a hard path from captive royal to co-ruler of Fair Isle. Now with Reothe’s investiture she would ensure the future of the T’En.

  Reothe served warmed wine to the five Seculates, symbolizing that as he was Beatific, he served the Church. Then he accepted the mantle and crown of the Beatificship. But before the basilican choir could break into song, Reothe signaled for silence.

  “I have sworn on my honor to serve the Church and Fair Isle, but I need an assistant to advise me in the role of Beatific.” He walked slowly past the five Seculates. His eyes met Imoshen’s for a moment and she saw he was laughing inside. When he stopped before Murgon, she understood. Like the General, he would keep his enemy close and make his success their success. “Murgon, cousin, will you accept this honor?”

  Imoshen saw a muscle jump in Murgon’s cheek. This was an honor he could not refuse.

  Imoshen returned from the investiture to discover Kalleen’s belongings in the hall outside her room. Joy filled her, for she intended Kalleen’s child to be raised with Ashmyr.

  “Kalleen?” Imoshen threw the door open. The little woman’s stiff face made her falter. Kalleen’s gaze swept past her to a servant who was cleaning the grate.

  Imoshen placed her sleeping son in the small bed he had been using since he outgrew his basket. “Bring food and wine for Lady Windhaven.”

  The girl dropped a quick obeisance and scurried away.

  Imoshen approached. “Kalleen?”

  She lifted both hands before her in a defensive motion. “My daughter was born dead. Grandmother Keen said I will never have another child!”

  Suddenly Imoshen understood her presentiment of loss when she had taken leave of Kalleen at Windhaven. She gasped in pain and Kalleen fell into her arms, sobbing fiercely.