Dark Dreams (30 page)

‘That may be so but we are at their mercy,’ Imoshen hissed, finally reaching Cariah through her grief. She slid her arm around the woman’s shoulders to support her, then walked to the balustrade to face the Ghebites.

‘The Lady Cariah of Fairban has already refused both men, as is her right,’ Imoshen told them. ‘In Fair Isle we respect the free will of the individual. This duel changes nothing.’

Even as she said this Imoshen felt a flare of heat and the force of Cariah’s fury made her body tremble. It was a strangely seductive sensation. It called to her, wooing her with its dark passion. She wanted to bathe in Cariah’s rage. Startled, Imoshen dropped her friend’s arm, stepping away from.

The General glared up at them. ‘Jacolm fought for her.’ His voice sounded forced, as if he was trying to maintain a reasonable tone. ‘She belongs –’

‘I am not a prize,’ Cariah stated.

Tulkhan indicated the body. ‘A man lies dead!’

‘By whose hand?’ Imoshen asked, heart in her mouth. She would not see Cariah blamed for Sahorrd’s death.

With an inarticulate cry, Cariah ran along the balcony and through the far door.

There was stunned silence then one of the Ghebites yelled, ‘A man lies dead because of that bitch!’

‘No! He lies dead because he would not admit she had a choice.’ But Imoshen’s voice could not be heard above the furious shouts of the Ghebites, and even if they had listened, she doubted they would understand.

Wordlessly General Tulkhan shook his head and turned away to rejoin his men. Only Jacolm remained, staring unseeing up at Imoshen. Her heart filled with a cold foreboding.

In his agitation Lord Fairban clutched Imoshen’s arm, drawing her into the shadows. ‘You should have stopped them.’

Imoshen gestured to the courtyard where the Ghebites seethed like a simmering pot about to boil over. ‘How could I stop that?’

‘But you are the T’En Empress.’

‘To them I am nothing but a hated Dhamfeer, a female at that.’ Imoshen heard the bitter edge to her voice and saw him register the truth of her words.

‘Barbarians...’

‘We must salvage the situation. Come, my lord. A man lies dead and the proper words must be said over his body.’ She took the old man’s arm. ‘Sahorrd’s death arose from a misunderstanding and the Ghebites will realise this when their heads are cooler.’

But her words sounded hollow even to her.

I
MOSHEN RESTED HER
forehead on the windowpane, relishing the feel of the cold glass on her skin. The Empress’s rooms were larger than her own and designed to promote peace and serenity. Today they did nothing for her.

Her eyes ached with each heartbeat. Her skin felt fragile. She knew she was coming down with the same ague that had struck so many already. She had prepared a willowbark tisane but she was too weary to move.

Since the duel this morning, the palace had been in ferment. Several altercations had broken out in the entertainment wing as Keldon nobles and Ghebites argued over who was at fault. It had taken great diplomacy on Imoshen’s part to soothe their self-righteous anger. At last she had retreated to her rooms, too disheartened and weary to move. It was growing dark and, according to Ghebite custom, the words for the dead had to be said before dusk. No matter how tired she was, she had to show proper respect for Sahorrd and attend the ceremony.

Someone scratched at the door, then entered before Imoshen could summon the strength to deny them.

‘I must speak with you,’ Cariah began. ‘I keep asking myself if I am to blame...’ She stopped, her shoulders sagging with despair. ‘I am heartsore and want nothing more than to be alone. I have come to ask whether I should retreat to my estates.’

‘If you left now it would be seen as an admission of guilt, when all you have done is insist on your rights.’

Cariah sighed. ‘My guildmaster agrees with you. He advised me to stay. And so I must.’ She managed a stiff smile. ‘Even though all my instincts tell me to run. I feel threatened by every whisper, every look. Those Ghebites would kill me with a glance if they could.’

Imoshen slid her arm around Cariah’s shoulder, offering wordless comfort. Without meaning to, she inhaled the scent of Cariah’s hair. She could smell her pain and felt an instinctive urge to ease it. ‘We must not reveal any sign of weakness. I will stand by you.’

Cariah shuddered. ‘It is the whispering and watching. I cannot stand it.’

‘You feel the force of their emotions. It is your gift. When this is over you and I can –’

Cariah pulled away. ‘Half-bloods do not have the gifts.’

‘Maybe once, but the Aayel once let slip that when our people blended their blood with the descendants of the Ancients we –’

‘I feel nothing.’ Cariah would not meet Imoshen’s eyes. ‘You frighten me with such talk. A part of me wants to run from you too.’

Imoshen felt as if she had been dealt a physical blow. She turned away in pain. If Cariah, who was more T’En than most, could still fear her, what hope was there that others would accept her?

‘Why did Jacolm kill Sahorrd?’ Cariah cried. ‘He loved him.’

‘Who knows what love means to them?’ Imoshen muttered.

Cariah resumed pacing. ‘I should have handled it differently.’

Imoshen restrained her impatience. ‘If you cannot say no to a Ghebite male, then what chance have other women, women who are not independently wealthy with the connections of a noble family, women who do not have the power of a guild behind them? Do not berate yourself, Cariah. There is more to this than simply you, Jacolm and Sahorrd. The right of all the women of Fair Isle to control their lives is at stake.’

‘I did not think...’

‘Go now.’ Imoshen was too weary to talk.

‘Forgive me, T’Imoshen, you see further than I.’ Cariah gave a formal obeisance and Imoshen was aware of a subtle shift in the balance of their relationship.

When Cariah retreated, closing the door softly behind her, Imoshen stared unseeing into the flames. It was too cruel – Cariah, of all people, feared her. She felt overwhelmed by the escalation of events. Everything was unravelling.

Her muscles ached with the onset of the fever. She added more wood to the fire to warm her cold bones. A heartbeat later, the door swung open and Tulkhan strode in without so much as a word of greeting. Imoshen straightened. He vibrated with repressed anger.

A dart of despair pierced her and she turned away from him.

‘At least look at me, Imoshen.’ Tulkhan’s voice was raw.

She turned to face him.

‘Get this woman to accept Jacolm.’

A bitter laugh escaped her.

He cursed. ‘Is it so impossible?’

‘What do you think?’ She stared across the room at him, a cultural chasm between them. ‘Cariah has rejected both men.’

Tulkhan gave an exasperated grimace. ‘She would have his name.’

Imoshen snorted. ‘She has her own name.’

‘His protection.’

‘She needs no protection. She is a respected member of the Thespers’ Guild and a property holder in her own right. Why should she ally herself with Jacolm, or any man, unless she wants to?’

‘Then why did she lie with him, with them both?’

Imoshen had to laugh. ‘Why do you think? Don’t your Ghebite women enjoy bedding their men?’

Tulkhan flushed.

Imoshen shook her head in wonder. ‘Why did you not stop the duel?’

‘You don’t understand what honour means to us.’ He made an impatient gesture but she could see the grief in his care-worn face.

Imoshen’s head throbbed and her throat felt tight. She could hardly think and there was still Sahorrd’s burial ceremony to endure. ‘Please leave. I will dress now. In Fair Isle we wear our finest clothes to honour the dead, but I don’t want to offend your people. What should I wear to honour Sahorrd?’

He shook his head in wonder. ‘Imoshen...’

‘What?’

‘The Cadre would be horrified to see a woman at a man’s burial ceremony.’

‘I see.’ Anger made her voice hard but this was not the moment to make a stand. ‘My people will expect me to do the right thing. Someone from Fair Isle must be present to honour Sahorrd in death.’ There was only one male of equal rank to her and she could hardly ask Reothe. ‘With emotions running the way they are, I cannot ask any of the Keldon nobles. The Beatific would be ideal if she were not a woman.’

‘Murgon the Tractarian?’ Tulkhan suggested.

Her first impulse was to deny Murgon this honour. Of all church officials he was the last person she wished to represent her. It would elevate his importance in the eyes of the Ghebites.

‘You have a better suggestion?’ Tulkhan pressed.

She sighed. ‘I will send a message to the Beatific, appointing him as my delegate. Wording it without offending her will be a challenge.’

Tulkhan gave her a wry smile and hope stirred within Imoshen.

‘You see, all it takes is a little compromise,’ Tulkhan said. ‘If you would but speak with Cariah...’

‘Enough! What you call compromise would see the women of Fair Isle reduced to property. I will not do it, General.’ Imoshen’s rage drained away, leaving her dizzy. She reached for the mantelpiece and missed, felt herself fall.

Startled, Tulkhan caught her, swinging her up into his arms. Her skin branded his. Remorse stirred him. ‘You are feverish.’

‘The Beatific,’ Imoshen mumbled. ‘I must –’

‘I will speak with her. You should be in bed.’

‘Trust you to think that,’ she whispered.

He grinned and carried her into the bedchamber. ‘Can I get you something?’

Imoshen frowned at him, her eyes glassy with fever as she lay back on the pillow. ‘Bring the tisane.’

Imoshen was almost asleep when he returned, but she roused herself enough to drain the medicine.

He sat on the bed next to her, pulling the covers up.

She brushed his hands away. ‘I can do that.’

‘I know. But I want to.’

A tear slipped down Imoshen’s cheek. ‘Oh, General, everything has gone wrong and I try so hard.’

‘We both do.’ He pushed her fever-damp hair from her forehead.

Imoshen fought to open her eyes.

‘Sleep.’

‘But –’

‘There is always tomorrow, Imoshen. For once, trust me.’

Her fingers reached out to feel for his. Tulkhan held her hand until she slept.

‘G
ENERAL
?’

Tulkhan looked up to see Lord Fairban’s anxious face. The General had spent a restless night going over and over the events surrounding Sahorrd’s death. He did not see how he could he have acted otherwise. Curse this Keldon noble and his beautiful, arrogant daughter. ‘What is it, Fairban?’

‘The Master of the Thespers’ Guild tells me my daughter is missing. She did not meet with him this morning as arranged and her sisters have not seen her.’ Lord Fairban began reasonably, but his voice gained intensity as he spoke. ‘Unless she has taken refuge with T’Imoshen, I fear for her safety. Where is your man, Jacolm?’

Tulkhan ground his teeth as he saw the Vaygharians enter the room. Everyone was looking his way, making no pretence of polite conversation. The fatal duel and Cariah’s subsequent rejection of the winner had provided the court with a feast of speculation.

‘Commander Piers?’ Tulkhan called his trusted veteran. ‘Send for Jacolm.’

To maintain the appearance of normalcy Tulkhan joined in a game of chance, but his gaze kept returning to the doorway. When he caught sight of Piers, he rose, and the others made no pretence of continuing the game.

Piers gave a formal salute.

‘Well, man?’ Tulkhan heard the tension in his voice.

‘Jacolm cannot be found anywhere. His bed has not been slept in.’

Lord Fairban moaned and people exclaimed.

Tulkhan signalled for silence. ‘Piers, organise a search of the palace, then the grounds. Locate Jacolm’s horse and kit.’

‘I checked. Untouched. The kit is still in his room.’

Lord Fairban paled. ‘If that Ghebite has –’

‘Get moving!’ Tulkhan rounded on his men. The Keld watched him silently. Though no one spoke, he could almost sense them withdrawing from him.

Tulkhan ran his hand through his hair. He needed to find Cariah and Jacolm before anything happened. In desperation he thought of Imoshen and the scrying platter. Without a word he strode from the room, heading for their chambers. Every servant he passed avoided his eyes.

Imoshen would understand the need to use her gifts just this once. He only hoped she was well enough.

The new maid gave a gasp of surprise as he threw the door open.

‘Where is she?’

The girl glanced to the door of Empress’s bedchamber.

He strode past the maid and thrust the door open. The bed was empty.

‘You look for me, General?’

He spun to see Imoshen’s blanket-shrouded form rise from the rug before the fire. Two bright spots of colour burned in her white cheeks. Her pale beauty glowed with the inner furnace of a fever.

‘You are no better.’

‘What’s wrong?’

He didn’t want to tell her.

‘Is it Cariah?’ Imoshen’s voice was a croak.

‘She’s missing.’

‘And the Ghebite?’

‘Jacolm’s missing too.’

‘He has abducted her?’

‘His horse and kit are still here.’

Imoshen clutched the back of the chair for support.

He tried to reassure her. ‘I have men searching the palace.’

She sank to her knees before the fire. ‘It’s my fault. She wanted to run, but I told her to stay.’

‘No, it’s my fault. I should have foreseen Jacolm’s reaction. What man could face such disgrace?’

‘What disgrace?’

Tulkhan had no time to explain. He crossed the room, lifting Imoshen to her feet. ‘We must find them before it’s too late. Are you well enough to do a scrying?’

She stiffened. ‘You insisted that I never use my gifts.’

‘Lives are at stake.’

‘So you would use my T’En gifts when it suits you?’

‘Yes.’ Why was she hesitating?

‘If I do, what stops you from having me locked away like some unclean thing?’

‘Have done with this.’ He heard the maid’s gasp. ‘You, girl. I know you’re listening at the door. Bring the scrying plate.’