Then the candle flame blurred and Tulkhan’s heart pounded in his chest. Lightness filled his body so that he felt dizzy and vague. Fear closed around his raging heart. He must not lose sight of that flame. If he did they were all lost.
He was aware of a heaviness filling Imoshen’s body, then heat flashed through her limbs. She gasped as if in pain. Hope soared in him, sinking once again as she returned to the dreamless state which had captured her.
The flame flickered and separated to become two points of light. Like the reflective eyes of a great, white cat, they stalked him. Terror filled Tulkhan’s chest. He could not scream, could not defend himself. Sweat broke out on his skin.
Malignant intelligence pursued him. He wanted to close his eyes to deny approaching death, but perversely he knew to break contact was to die. He dared not even blink. His eyes burned and his breath passed through his parched throat in short sharp gasps.
Abruptly the twin flames broke into a thousand sparkles like sunlight on water, blinding him.
Tulkhan opened his eyes to find the room dark except for the dim glow of the fire’s coals. The candles had all burned out. He felt so weak he could hardly move. But Imoshen lay warm in his arms, her body sculpted around his, pliable and dear to him. With a rush of joy he recalled how they would He entwined like this after making love.
Experimentally he lifted a hand to stroke her upper back. Her skin no longer had that marble-smooth feel. Hope flared within him, giving him renewed strength.
“Imoshen?” Rising on one elbow, he cradled her face in his free hand. “Answer me, Imoshen.”
She frowned and Tulkhan’s heart soared. Whatever Reothe had done, it had succeeded. Imoshen was waking.
Trembling with relief he sat up, gathering her warm, breathing body to his. Pure joy illuminated his soul. His fingers entwined in her hair as he cradled her face, kissing her temple, the hollow under her jaw.
The soft sound of protest she made in her throat was a blessing. He laughed, feeling tears on his cheeks. “Imoshen,” he breathed, seeking her lips. She had come back to him.
Her mouth moved under his, her breath mingled with his. He could drink from her Lips forever. He felt her smile.
Relief made him light-headed. He looked down into her face to see her familiar features, but her wine-dark eyes mocked him. The sad smile was not hers.
Cold certainty closed around Tulkhan’s gut. “No!”
He pushed her from him, repulsed. The intelligence watching him from Imoshen’s eyes was not hers.
The room spun. He had to clutch the bed frame to steady himself. Still reeling he watched Reothe’s insubstantial form rise from Imoshen’s body. As his spectral form rose above her she sank onto the bed.
Then Tulkhan saw two people—the sleeping form of Imoshen, with Reothe, who was hardly more than a wraith, kneeling over her.
Tulkhan could barely summon the strength to swallow. What he had witnessed this night was something no True-man should know. Yet he could not look away as Reothe stroked Imoshen’s face. His incorporeal fingers failed to brush a strand of hair from her lips. Tulkhan watched him dip his head, pressing his pale lips to hers.
It was too intimate a gesture for another to witness. He had to look away. When he looked back Reothe had turned to him, his face a deadly mask. Tulkhan scrambled off the bed and backed away, his legs hardly able to support him. He wished for a weapon, though he knew it would do no good.
As the Dhamfeer stalked toward him, one part of his terrified mind noted that the bed and Imoshen’s sleeping form could be seen quite clearly through Reothe. Perhaps the T’En’s gifts were wearing thin with use. He hoped so. It would be a relief to know the creature had limitations.
Reothe stopped before him. “I have braved the Parakletos, searching death’s shadow to find her and bring her back.”
Tulkhan barely breathed. “I thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know.”
Reothe turned to gaze at Imoshen. He said something in High T’En. It sounded like poetry or a line from a song.
The Dhamfeer returned his attention to Tulkhan, a lingering smile in his alien eyes. It was a smile that held painful self-knowledge. “You do not ask. It means, ‘Those we love have the greatest power to wound us.’ ”
“Reothe.” Tulkhan went to touch him, but his hand slipped through his body. “Can’t we find a middle ground?”
“You would compromise?” Reothe shook his head ruefully. “You don’t want to deal with me, True-man. I have already bargained away my soul.”
He lifted his face as though looking for something beyond Tulkhan. The Dhamfeer winced as the slashes across his chest deepened and the blood ran freely.
Even so, Tulkhan felt there was something in Reothe, something he recognized because something similar lived in him. It didn’t have to be this way. He went to tell the last T’En warrior this, but Reothe was gone.
Stunned, Tulkhan searched the empty room. His senses told him that it was free of T’En influences.
Wearily he went to the bed. It was the darkest part of the night, the time when sick folk died and babies were born, the predawn of a winter’s night.
As though waking naturally, Imoshen rolled over and stretched. When her eyes opened, she smiled as if recalling a pleasant dream. He made an involuntary sound in his throat as she looked at him.
There was no recognition.
Had Reothe stolen Imoshen’s memory? But no, now she recognized him. As memory returned her face grew haunted.
She sat up abruptly. “Jacolm and Cariah!”
Tulkhan flinched. He had hoped to see pleasure light her face, not sorrow. Were they destined to bring each other nothing but pain?
Questions burned to be asked, but tonight he was not sure he could face the answers, so he held back.
Imoshen drew a quick breath, then winced. Her chest hurt. Every muscle in her body ached as if she had been tested to the full extent of her physical endurance. The last thing she recalled was kneeling in the snow before the bodies of Cariah and Jacolm and beginning the words for the dead.
“How did I get here?”
“I carried you. You’ve been unconscious all day and most of the night.”
She saw Tulkhan watching her closely. He looked very weary and she could sense a difference in him, as if he had been touched by something beyond a True-man’s understanding. “What haven’t you told me?”
He shrugged as if he did not know where to start.
“You’re tired, come to bed.” But he made no move to join her. “What is it, Tulkhan?”
“You hide things from me.”
His expression alarmed her. “Why do you look at me like that?”
He sank onto the bed and she ached for him to take her in his arms.
“You turned the bodies of Cariah and Jacolm to stone.”
“Impossible!” But even as she said it, she knew it was true.
“It nearly killed you. When I brought you back here you were as cold as stone.”
She shuddered and reached for him but he did not respond. “Why won’t you hold me?”
“Why don’t you ask how it is that you still live?”
She shook her head, drawing back to study his face. His eyes held a deep, glittering anger which frightened her.
He snatched her left hand and turned the arm over, inspecting her wrist, then held it up for her to see.
“You say you do not use your tricks on me, then why is the bonding scar you share with Reothe hidden again?”
Imoshen frowned. The fingers of her free hand traced the scars left by the snow leopard’s claws. The night Reothe had drawn on the Ancients to abduct her she had raked her chest, demanding the old powers return her to the palace. The small wounds made by her fingernails had healed because they were of a physical origin, but no True-man could see marks made by the Ancients. It seemed when she had urged her wrist to heal she had been unconsciously cloaking the bonding scar from
Tulkhan. “The scar is not what it appears. . . .”
Tulkhan grew pale and he dropped her wrist. “Now that you admit it, I can see it again.”
“I don’t mean to hide things from you.”
“Were you in Reothe’s camp the night before his bonding? Did you save his life.”
Imoshen’s skin went cold and she opened her mouth to deny it but could not he.
“Answer me!” Tulkhan caught her shoulders, shaking her.
Tears stung her eyes.
Suddenly he released her. “I must be mad!”
She drew into herself, seared by his derision. Deep sobs shook her. The General would never trust her.
“Imoshen,” he moaned and pulled her into his arms. “I thought you were dead!”
She felt his lips on her forehead, sensed his relief. “I don’t understand. Why does it hurt when I breathe? What happened here this night?”
Tulkhan looked down, unwilling to reveal that he had been useless while Reothe had risked his life to save her. Before he could confess, Imoshen leant forward and licked his throat.
Her eyes widened. “I can taste Reothe on your skin.”
“He was here.”
“He couldn’t have been. It would take days for him to ride here.”
“He didn’t ride. He wasn’t here in body.” Tulkhan shrugged. He didn’t have the words. “Reothe said he felt your life force dim, that you were bound to him in some T’En way. It was he who saved you. I ... I could do nothing for you.”
Imoshen quivered, and Tulkhan recognized her reaction as fear.
“Reothe said that I am only holding you in safekeeping,” Tulkhan continued bitterly, “until he is ready to claim you.”
“You mustn’t listen to him.” Imoshen’s breath caressed his throat. Then he felt her hands on him, needful and urgent. As her lips moved on his flesh the knot of failure which had wound so tight inside him gradually eased. “Reothe can tell the absolute truth and make it sound like a he so that you doubt your own judgment.”
Tulkhan wanted to ask her if she could do the same. But the warmth of her breath on his skin was overwhelming. It drowned all caution. The need in her was great, calling up an answering urgency in him. He wanted only to bury himself inside her, to forget everything but her touch. She was a balm to his bruised soul.
“How could you give your bonding vows to me when you already had this?” He grasped her left wrist.
Imoshen gave a little gasp. “Reothe cut our wrists before I could stop him. When he tried to say the words to complete the vow I refused.” She searched Tulkhan’s face. “I have been true to you. I swear.”
He wanted to believe her. “I must be mad.”
He felt as if Reothe had stolen something intangible. Only Imoshen’s touch eased his hollowness. He had nearly lost Imoshen tonight, and if Reothe could be believed, he would not have her for long. The knowledge added poignancy to their lovemaking. Every touch was a discovery, the foundation of a memory.
Chapter Fourteen
When Imoshen woke late the next morning, the bed was empty, though the scent of their passion still clung to her skin. Every movement was an effort as she forced her trembling body to perform the simple act of dressing.
She had searched her mind, but there was no memory of Reothe’s presence. Tulkhan had told her how Reothe had risked death’s shadow and the wrath of the Parakletos to save her. She was beholden him and she hated it.
“T’Imoshen,” Merkah cried. “You are up and dressed. Why didn’t you send for me?”
“Where is the General?”
“He left word that you were to go to him once you were ready.”
Imoshen nodded. Her arms hurt so much she could not lift them above her head. She asked Merkah to do her hair and sat before the mirror.
As the maid set about her task she beamed. “It was such a surprise when the General told us you had recovered. The Beatific could not believe it! She was sure the baby would be dead—”
Imoshen gasped.
Merkah’s startled eyes met Imoshen’s in the mirror.
“I suppose it is common knowledge, or it will be soon.”
Imoshen’s hand closed over her belly, suddenly afraid that the fragile life had been extinguished while she lay unconscious.
Stiffly she came to her feet.
Merkah hurried to open the door.
“Where is General Tulkhan?” Imoshen asked.
Before Merkah could reply, a grey mist enveloped Imoshen’s vision. She felt her legs buckle and, when she could think clearly again, found herself sitting on the floor.
“Stay here, I will bring a healer,” the girl urged.
“Nonsense. I’m fine.” But Imoshen came to her feet slowly and waited a moment to be sure. She didn’t have time for physical weakness. “Now, where is the General?”
Merkah hesitated. “I will go with you.”
“Very well.”
As they walked through the palace galleries, Imoshen noted there were very few servants, and the few she did see slipped away quickly. “Where is everyone?”
“In the woods, viewing the beautiful stone lovers. Half the city has been through the palace grounds today, the queue runs right out the gate.” Merkah paused by a window. “You can see it from here.”
Imoshen peered over her maid’s shoulder. A dark line snaked across the white snow.
They walked on in silence. Imoshen had her evidence. Until this moment she had not fully believed Tulkhan. She really had turned the dead lovers to stone. Not only had she failed Cariah, she had unwittingly revealed gifts that would only encourage True-people to fear her.
“Here we are.” The maid scratched on a door panel.
At the sound of Tulkhan’s deep voice Imoshen’s face grew hot, the memory of their urgent lovemaking fresh in her mind. She lifted her chin and walked in. The General stood behind a large table covered with maps. Wine bottles, goblets, and several ink wells held the curling edges fiat.
Merkah shut the door as she withdrew.
“Yes?” Imoshen let the tip of her tongue rest on her upper lip, tasting the air. Someone who didn’t like her had been in this room recently.
When Tulkhan’s eyes met hers they were cold, and the planes of his face were tight with tension. She did not understand why he had distanced himself from her.
“I have lain awake for hours thinking. You did not deny that you have been to Reothe’s camp. Tell me where it is.”
Imoshen’s heart sank.
“You say I have your loyalty,” Tulkhan persisted. “Prove it. Point out his camp.”
She looked down at the maps. “That was three weeks ago. If Reothe is half the tactician I believe him to be, he will have moved by now.”
Tulkhan did not seem disappointed. He slid something out from under a map and tossed it onto the table before her. The silver platter spun and settled heavily. “Then do a scrying to locate his camp.”
Imoshen looked at the plate’s dull surface. It was the scrying platter she had inherited from the Aayel. It annoyed her to think Tulkhan had asked Merkah to take it while her mistress slept. “You made me vow not to use my gifts.”
“I’m making an exception. Do it!”
Pain unfurled inside Imoshen. He wanted to use her as a tool to locate and kill, but he had shut himself away from her. How could this be the man who had held her so tenderly last night?
“If you refuse I will—”
“Lock me up?” Imoshen whispered. “Steal my child and wall me inside the palace somewhere, leaving me to starve to death?”
Tulkhan looked shocked. “Do you really believe that of me?”
Imoshen shook her head and picked up the scrying plate. The skin of her fingers crawled with distaste. Gingerly she lifted them to her face and inhaled. “The Vaygharian has been here. Is that why you doubt me, Tulkhan? Have you forgotten so soon that he poisoned your half-brother’s mind.”
“I can see through Kinraid’s maneuvering. Besides, he is no
t the only source of my information.” His obsidian eyes narrowed. “Just do the scrying, Imoshen. Think of it as a test. I would be a fool to have such a tool at my disposal and not use it.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean won’t.”
“No. I can’t. The Aayel tried to explain it to me once but I did not know enough to understand her. You probably won’t understand me but I am going to try to explain.” She sighed. “Reothe is more versed in his gifts. I am just discovering mine. Scrying is not an exact science. If I were to pick up that plate and try to locate Reothe, I might succeed too well. I don’t want to give him access to my mind.” She shivered, hugging her body. “I won’t do it. Please . . . I’m afraid.”
Tulkhan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Let me see if I have this right. You and he are both sorcerous creatures.”
“No, we’re—”
“That is the Ghebite word for someone who manipulates powers a True-person can’t. I will call you anything I like.” When Imoshen did not argue he continued. “But even though you both use the T’En gifts, you are weaker than he. Are you telling me I have allied myself with the weaker of the two sorcerers?”
Imoshen nodded. She was merely a child where her skills were concerned.
The General studied her. Once again she was aware of his keen intelligence.
“What’s to stop you from turning your back on me and joining Reothe?” Tulkhan asked. “He shares your heritage. Last night he risked his life to save you. He was your betrothed by choice and ... he loves you.”
Imoshen felt her cheeks grow hot. She did not attempt to deny Tulkhan’s assessment.
“So why stay here, Imoshen? Are you playing a double game, passing information to Reothe? Did you go to him the night before our bonding then come back to me with false promises on your lips? Why do you persist in this farce?”
She heard the raw pain in his voice and she ached to reassure him. But he would not let her approach him. Had Reothe somehow cunningly planted doubts in Tulkhan’s mind?
She felt too weary for subterfuge. “The night before our joining, Reothe made a pact with the Ancients. He sacrificed a snow leopard to appease their greed and drew me to him. I had no choice in the matter. Returning to you was my choice.”
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