Kalleen nodded and called Wharrd to her side to explain what was to be done.
Imoshen left them. She crossed to where Reothe lay strapped to the makeshift stretcher, and knelt down beside him. The rebels stepped back to a respectful distance.
She touched his cheek, feeling the crust of dried blood. “Are you in pain?”
He grimaced. “What does it matter? I have lost and I’m as blind as a Mere-man. Kill me now before I recover, because I will not rest until I have restored the T’En.”
She placed the fingers of her free hand on his forehead, concentrating on easing his pain. When his fine features relaxed she let her hand drop.
“I don’t want to kill you, Reothe.”
He turned his face away from her. Sadness settled in her core. Tulkhan had withdrawn from her, and now Reothe.
“I am alone and frightened by what I’ve learned this night, Reothe. I thought I could shut the T’En gifts away and use them only when I chose. But. . .”
She caught him watching her.
“What did you promise the Ancients?” he asked.
“What did you promise them?” she countered.
Knowledge sat heavily on his face but he would not answer.
Imoshen sighed. “All I ever wanted was to ensure my survival and that of my child.”
“What will you do with me, Imoshen?” Reothe whispered.
Tulkhan joined them and Imoshen came to her feet. Rebels and townsfolk watched uneasily, fearing purges and executions.
Imoshen raised her voice. “People of Fair Isle, listen. Tell the rebels who hide under your beds that there will be no more killing. Fair Isle has seen enough death. We take T’Reothe to the Citadel, our honored guest.”
Four of them came forward to lift the litter as Imoshen turned to Tulkhan, extending her hand. For a moment she thought he would refuse to touch her, but he raised his arm and she closed her fingers over his.
She wanted to reassure him but he was too remote from her now. He had made his acceptance of her conditional on Reothe’s death, and she could not order the execution of the last T’En warrior. Reothe had a vision for the future of the T’En race and it was a vision which inspired her. Reothe was her other half, closer than a lover or a brother. Without Reothe to anchor her gifts, she doubted she would survive, and she was afraid of what she might become.
No wonder the T’En were so unstable.
Pain curled around Imoshen’s heart. To think it had come to this.
Last autumn when General Tulkhan’s forces had prepared to storm the Stronghold, it had all seemed so simple— death or honor. Every decision she had made had been with the best of intentions. She wished she had never opened the Pandora’s box of her T’En gifts. But here was Ashmyr in her arms and another life growing inside her, and she could not turn back the passage of events which had led her here.
Imoshen lifted her chin and prepared to face the township.
In the growing light of a new day they made a slow, stately procession through winding streets to the Citadel. The shopkeepers stood in the doorways; solemn and wide-eyed children watched history unfold.
The smell of freshly baked bread made Imoshen’s stomach rumble. She veered toward a baker’s apprentice who had run to the front of the shop. He brushed flour from his apron as he balanced a tray of fresh loaves, hot from the oven.
Imoshen’s mouth watered. She met his awed eyes. “May I?”
The baker nodded proudly.
“Best in all Northpoint,” the man announced. “Take as many as you want.”
“Thank you.” Imoshen took one and tore into it. Warm, crusty bread melted in her mouth. She grinned. “Excellent!”
The baker beamed and his apprentice cheered. The crowd surged forward, first one then another stroked her hair or touched her sixth finger.
“T’Imoshen” they whispered reverently, their relief and pleasure evident. She tried not to think how easily their feelings for her could turn to hatred.
With the baker’s consent Imoshen offered a loaf to the General.
Tulkhan’s fingers closed on the bread and his mouth moistened in anticipation. He looked into Imoshen’s eyes with rueful understanding. She had done it again. With a simple gesture she had won the people over.
Was it by design or pure luck? It did not matter.
He tore a chunk from the loaf and ate it, giving the baker his compliments before they resumed their journey.
Imoshen’s gaze met his. “It appears you have won, General.”
He looked into the eyes of the creature he should despise but she was the woman he adored. “Appearances can be deceptive, T’Imoshen.”
She linked her free arm with his. Here she was, co-ruler of Fair Isle with the Ghebite General to do her bidding and her T’En prince, Reothe, too weak to resist her. To all appearances she was triumphant.
Yet even without using her gift she foresaw trouble. She was surrounded by enemies, the Beatific, Murgon’s Tractarians, the mainland spies, Reothe’s rebels, and the vengeful Ghebite King....
She was T’Imoshen, the last of the T’En, and she would carry on the work of her namesake. She would see Fair Isle united, her race accepted, and peace and prosperity for all her people.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cory Daniells lives by the bay in Brisbane, Australia, with her husband and six children. With more than twenty children’s books and numerous short stories published, she set out to combine her two loves, fantasy and romance, in the T’En Trilogy.
She holds a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and is currently learning Aikido and Iaido, the Japanese martial art of sword-play.
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