DARK DREAMS

by Cory Daniells

  Reothe met her eyes, amused. She realized he was happy to let people believe the babe was his. Fury curled inside her. It would be the ultimate irony for Tulkhan to finally father a child and have everyone believe it wasn’t his.

  Reothe leaned closer and inhaled. “You smell different. I like it.”

  Imoshen swallowed. “Don’t do this.”

  He nuzzled the heavy swell of her breast. “Tell me to stop.”

  “Stop.”

  She felt him smile, his cheek on her flesh. “You didn’t mean it.”

  Despair warred with desire. The first time he had touched her he had wakened something in her, something that was his to call, and no amount of logic could sway her body’s response.

  His breath tickled her throat, her cheek, as he raised his head, exploring her. She felt his lips on her jaw, traveling across to her mouth. She could turn away or she could turn towards him.

  She chose to do nothing.

  With infinite delicacy he nibbled her mouth, his tongue brushed the crease of her lips. “Part for me.”

  She felt, more than heard, his words. The impulse was there but she contained it, refused to welcome him. It would be all he needed to destroy her resolve.

  A sigh escaped him and she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, exasperated, affectionate.

  “You are an annoying creature, Imoshen. How do you know that I won’t take by force what you refuse me? I know you long for me.”

  She swallowed, making no answer, because to say anything would be to admit more than she cared to.

  He leant back, ruffling papers on the table. Absently he picked one up, reading it swiftly. Imoshen wanted to stop him. Her lack of skill was a weapon he could use against her.

  Reothe looked up and fixed his gaze on her. “You search for information on the T’En?”

  She nodded. “Our gifts are mentioned in passing, but—”

  “I know. I’ve already traveled the same path. I can tell you why our ancestors came here. I can reveal what has been deliberately hidden from us.”

  She sat up eagerly. “Yes?”

  He smiled. “Come away with me now. Your Ghebite General wanders the ranges, harried by my people. We could rout him, you and I.”

  “And then you would share your knowledge with me?” Imoshen heard the bitterness in her voice.

  “I would share everything with you.”

  His meaning was unmistakable. A rush of heady longing swept through her. The urge to go to him was almost overpowering. She fought it, desperate to keep some kind of equilibrium. When she opened her eyes, Reothe was watching her with intense fascination.

  “It is only a matter of time,” he told her. “The General knows it. He drives himself mad trying to deny it. Come away with me now. Put him out of his misery. He’s only a Mere-man and a barbarous Ghebite, but I have to admit a certain admiration for him. Like a fish caught on the hook, he is putting up a mighty battle, but the end is inevitable. He doesn’t deserve it really.”

  A knot twisted in Imoshen’s chest.

  “He saved us,” Reothe said softly. “The night I came to find you wandering lost in death’s shadow, he anchored us. I drew on his strength, and without it we would have both been doomed.”

  Fear made Imoshen’s heart plunge. She had no memory of that time, but the Church taught that without the guidance of the Parakletos a soul might wander death’s shadow for eternity, prey to the vengeful beings who were trapped there.

  Heat stained her cheeks. “You saved me at risk to your soul, I—”

  “Don’t demean what we share by thanking me.” Anger hardened his features.

  Imoshen understood him only too well. “We share nothing!”

  “You deny what you know to be true. Besides, I have the Sight. I have seen our future. I recognized you the day we met.”

  Dismay flooded Imoshen. “It would be so much easier if I could hate you!”

  “And it would be so much easier if I could kill you.” His smile was bitter.

  Imoshen understood the implications immediately. If Reothe were to kill her now and plant something to implicate the Ghebites, Tulkhan’s tenuous hold on the island would be shattered. Her death would smooth a path for Reothe to retake Fair Isle.

  “Why don’t you kill me?”

  He laced his fingers through her left hand, lifting it up so that their forearms pressed together and the bonding scars touched.

  Reothe pressed her knuckles to his lips. “Because I would be alone forever-—”

  “There are other women, countless willing women, from what I’ve heard!”

  His smile made her wish she could have cut out her jealous tongue.

  “True, and I have had many of them.” He cast her a teasing glance. “But only you share the T’En heritage. For now you believe what you have with this Ghebite is enough. You might even love him a little. But he is only a Mere-man. You don’t know what we could have.”

  “Enough, Reothe.” She pushed him aside and surged to her feet, stalking away from the daybed.

  “Go on, run away, Imoshen. You can’t run from what you know is true.”

  She could feel him watching her as she paced. The late-afternoon sunlight could not dissolve the knot of cold terror which settled around her heart. She hugged her body, pulling the material of her underdress together. “Why are you here, Reothe? Why risk your life to taunt me?”

  He stood across the room from her, yet she felt his presence as intimately as if his breath stroked her flesh. She knew he was using his T’En gift on her.

  “Don’t do that!”

  “Why? Because you like it? Surely you can’t have forgotten what day this is?”

  She stared at him appalled. No one else had remembered.

  “It’s the anniversary of your birthing day,” Reothe said. “Today you are eighteen and we would have been bonded.”

  Her eyes closed as she registered the blow, a cruel reminder of the decision she had to make.

  She sensed Reothe moving towards her. When she opened her eyes the sun’s rays were hitting the polished floor, casting shadows on his face. She read a calculating wariness in his features and suspected he was manipulating her feelings for him; for Tulkhan.

  “I’m not going with you, Reothe, and you can’t drag me kicking and screaming from the palace, no matter how many secret passages you know. Someone would notice.”

  Defiant words but Imoshen knew they sprang from desperation and so did he.

  “I brought you a gift, Imoshen.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “You’ll want this. It is the last thing my parents gave me before they killed themselves.” He pulled a slim volume from his jerkin. It was about half the size of the T’Enchiridion. “It belongs to the T’En.”

  Despite herself, Imoshen held out her hand.

  Silently he joined her. The book looked unremarkable as it lay in his hand, its scuffed kidskin cover attesting to its great age.

  Imoshen took it, turning the worn embossing to the light.

  “T’Endomaz. The T’En laws,” she translated, her heart hammering with excitement. Her fingers trembled as she turned to the title page where a name was scrawled in childlike script. “T’Ashmyr? Could it have belonged to Ashmyr the First when he was a boy?”

  “He was a pure Throwback like ourselves,” Reothe said.

  Imoshen’s mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. Could this book really date from the Age of Tribulation? Five hundred years! Reverently she turned to the first page. Disappointment made her gasp. “It’s encrypted!”

  “Then you don’t recognize the code? I thought perhaps the Aayel had—”

  “No. My parents forbade her to teach me anything about the T’En.” Bitterness tore at her. “T’Endomaz. An encrypted set of laws. How do you know they are ours? This looks similar to the T’Enchiridion, which is for everyone. And Ashmyr is a popular name.”

  “Close your eyes, Imoshen. Hold the book in you
r left hand. Tell me what you feel? No, not with your T’En senses. I’ve tried that. It is as if someone has erased the book’s past. You must rely only on your sense of touch.”

  She frowned but did as he said. What was she supposed to feel? He was right, to her T’En senses the book seemed blank when it should have held a sense of antiquity considering its age. That in itself was suspicious.

  “Feel with your fingertips,” he whispered.

  Then she understood. Her eyes flew open. “There are six smooth patches on the cover. This book has been worn by the touch of a left-handed person with six fingers!”

  “One of the T’En.” He nodded. “It is ours, Imoshen.”

  “But we can’t read it.” She could have wept with frustration and loss.

  His hands closed over hers, shutting the book. His face was suffused with evangelical passion. “I give you the T’Endomaz. I charge you to unlock the encryption and reveal our heritage.”

  Suddenly Imoshen was afraid of what she might learn. “No. Keep it. I don’t want to be beholden to you.”

  She thrust the book into his hands and would have turned away but he caught her arm. His contained fury made her skin crawl.

  “How can you deny what you are, Imoshen?”

  Flicking free of his grasp she turned away. The swelling of her belly hit him and they both looked down.

  Imoshen felt the baby kick in protest.

  Reothe’s free hand closed over the slope of her stomach, pressing through the gap in the material so that his flesh touched hers. There was an anticipation in him which made her teeth ache. She sucked in her breath with an audible gasp.

  “Don’t resist!” he hissed.

  In that instant her guard was down. She felt a wave of tension roll through her body, her knees nearly gave way. The baby twisted inside her.

  Imoshen swung her arms in an arc and broke all contact with him. “I won’t let you hurt—”

  He laughed bitterly. “You have a strange idea of me.”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted coldly.

  “Like you, I am only ensuring my survival!” he said. “Go on. Call the guards. You could have called them any time and had me arrested, had me killed attempting to escape. Ask yourself why you haven’t called them!”

  She drew breath to scream for the guards but he caught her to him, his free hand covered her mouth.

  His laughter unnerved her. “I deserved that.”

  She hated him, yet recognized herself in him.

  “I am going, Imoshen,” he whispered. “And because I can’t have you discovering my secrets, I’m going to have to do this.”

  “What?” The word was muffled but clear enough.

  “Kiss me and find out.” His hand slipped from her mouth to her throat, cradling her jaw. His fingers slid up into her hair at the back of her neck.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because if you resist it will be painful for both of us. I am only going to steal a few minutes from you.”

  He could do that? What a useful trick, one she would like to know.

  Imoshen pretended to consider. “Very well.”

  He looked a little startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree.

  Imoshen kept her face impassive as she smiled inside. She was sure he could not do this without her discovering how. She would have all his secrets out of him . . . but no— she mustn’t think, he might. . .

  Lifting her face she felt his breath on her skin. And she knew at that moment she was fooling herself. She wanted to kiss Reothe, had always wanted him.

  “Imoshen,” he whispered raggedly.

  Her heart lurched.

  Then his mouth was on hers and the sweetness of his touch negated all thought. It was the elixir of life, it flowed through her body, unbearably rich and fragile.

  She heard his voice in her head, but his lips didn’t form the words. “This is just a taste of what we could have, Imoshen. But I can’t let you learn all my tricks, you’re much too clever already.”

  Then everything faded.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Screaming, someone was screaming and she wished they would stop.

  “Get your hands off me!” Imoshen protested. She felt disoriented and nauseous with the sudden swing from deep sleep to awareness.

  “T’Imoshen!” Merkah cried. “You have come back to us!”

  She was lying on the daybed with a shawl thrown over her. Its silky material covered her bare breasts and that made her recall Reothe slitting the laces of her underdress. As Imoshen struggled to sit up, a book fell from her lap onto the floor. Reothe’s gift.

  She picked it up, tucking it under the shawl. She searched the room. A dozen Ghebites and palace servants stood clustered around something near the window. Fear gripped her. Was Reothe hurt?

  “What happened?”

  “He killed him,” Merkah supplied unhelpfully.

  Imoshen’s world went grey. “Who?”

  “T’Reothe killed the Keeper of the Knowledge.”

  “No!” Imoshen’s denial was instinctive. Reothe would not do that. The Keeper was a defenseless old man. But she could not afford to defend the rebel leader. “What happened? I ... I remember nothing.”

  Merkah seemed to accept this at face value. “The Keeper was returning to his post. When he opened the door he saw Reothe with you. He was . . .” Merkah colored.

  Imoshen pressed the material to her body. “Tell me, I must know.”

  “The Keeper says he held his face against your bare flesh.”

  Imoshen’s hand pressed over her baby. Fear was a cold band around her heart. “Then?”

  “The Keeper was at the door. He called for help. Before anyone could come, Reothe dragged him inside and killed him.”

  “How do you know this?” Imoshen asked.

  “He told us.”

  “But you said he was dead.”

  “Almost dead.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Enough.” Exasperated, Imoshen swung her legs off the daybed. Despite Merkah’s protests she hurried over to the knot of men. They were lifting the old Keeper. To save the Ghebites from embarrassment she tied the shawl across her breasts.

  “The shadows are too deep. Bring candles. Place him here on the table,” Imoshen ordered. She noted Kinraid the Vaygharian watching her, but there was no time to curse the luck that brought him, of all men, to her rescue.

  Imoshen grasped the old man’s hand. Yes, he was dying, but his gaze cleared as she looked into his eyes.

  “What happened?”

  He smiled. “He was such a bright boy. No one else cared about the old manuscripts, but he read them all.”

  “Reothe?”

  He nodded. Someone thrust a branch of candles onto the table, illuminating the Keeper’s features.

  “What happened?” Imoshen pressed. “They say Reothe hurt you?”

  She searched his face, noting how one side drooped.

  He’d had a seizure. Reothe had not done that, unless the surprise of seeing him had triggered it.

  “I had to call for help. I didn’t want . . .” He seemed to recollect himself. “Reothe grabbed me, dragged me into the room. He touched the back of my head then suddenly I had this blinding pain in my chest. I could not breathe. I knew nothing until I came around on the floor.”

  Imoshen nodded. “I will brew you something to drink. It will help you sleep.”

  But nothing would help him. As a healer, she had seen death too many times not to recognize it. Within a day or two he would have another seizure and his heart would simply stop beating.

  “Before you go, Lady Protector.” Kinraid appeared before her. “The men and I want to know how Reothe got in here. And how he escaped.”

  “I can’t tell you.” Imoshen knew her dislike for the Vaygharian must have been evident. “Reothe grabbed me, held something over my face, and the next thing I knew I was here with all of you.”

  �
��Then you did not see him come, or go?”

  “No.” It was the truth.

  “Then you don’t mind if we search the library?”

  A protest leapt to the Keeper’s blue lips and Imoshen had to smile.

  “You may search, but you will not destroy or damage any of the valuable manuscripts stored here. Now I must go and brew this tome. Have the Keeper carried to his room.”

  She returned to her own room with Merkah at her heels. “I must concentrate on my healing. Leave me.”

  As soon as the door closed she withdrew the slim volume, still warm from her body. T’Endomaz. The law of the T’En. She desperately wanted to believe it had belonged to the boy emperor, T’Ashmyr, greatest of all Throwback rulers.

  What if someone stole the book before she could translate it? She strode to her chest and threw it open but it was too obvious a hiding place. Her gaze fell on the Aayel’s T’Enchiridion. The book should have been burnt with her, in keeping with tradition, but Imoshen had saved it, knowing she would have to refresh her memory to say the words at the Harvest Feast the following day.

  Swiftly she retrieved the T’Enchiridion. It was twice the size of the T’Endomaz. Reothe had returned her knife while she was asleep. Unsheathing her knife, she slit the inner lining of the back cover and slid the T’Endomaz inside. Unless someone inspected her copy of the T’Enchiridion they would not find it.

  Reothe had given her more than a book, he had given her the key to controlling her gifts. She could not help comparing his bonding gift to Tulkhan’s. How well he knew her. But she was not going to bond with Reothe. He might claim to know the future, yet the Sight was often misleading.

  She had bonded with Tulkhan and nothing could change that, not even Reothe’s lure of a union so powerful it would unlock the secret of her T’En gifts.

  It was the talk of T’Diemn. Reothe had entered the palace unseen, seduced T’Imoshen, and killed a dozen men before disappearing in a flash of light.

  It brought Tulkhan back in less than two weeks.

  He returned without warning late one evening after Imoshen had already retired to her room. She was reading before the fire when he stalked in. The sight of him made her heart leap with joy then plunge in despair when she saw his expression.