Free Dark Dreams by Rowena Cory Daniells Page A

Cadre glared at Imoshen. She held his eyes. He had brought this ridicule upon himself.
    ‘Take care of your soldiers’ souls, Cadre,’ Imoshen advised, linking her arm through Tulkhan’s. Whatever dissonance there might be between them personally, before his men and her people they had to present a united front. ‘Leave the ruling of Fair Isle to us. Come, General.’
    They left the Cadre fuming and walked towards the hothouse door.
    Once they were outside, Tulkhan turned to Imoshen, deliberately removing her arm from his. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you are about.’
    Imoshen stiffened. ‘General, what is at stake here is much larger than you or me. It is the fate of the women of Fair Isle. Would you see half your subjects reduced to wife-slaves? Would you be the cause of a generation of unwanted children left to roam the streets, begging or stealing their bread, as I have heard they do on the mainland?’
    ‘T’Imoshen, a word?’ a gardener spoke, hovering at a polite distance.
    Imoshen searched the General’s face. He was a clever man but he was also steeped in the culture of his people. How far could she push him before he pushed back?
    ‘I have work to do,’ Tulkhan ground out, according her the barest, nod of civility.
    Imoshen gave him the obeisance between equals, the significance of which would not be lost on her servants and, knowing how sharp he was, it would not be lost on the General either.
    Imoshen turned to the aggrieved palace gardeners, assuring them repairs would be carried out in time for the seedlings to re-establish. But her mind was on the General. Tonight the two of them must sit side by side at the feasting table without revealing their differences.

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    T ULKHAN’S GAZE FOLLOWED Imoshen as she stepped lightly through the patterns of a complicated dance. Three pretty noblewomen made up the corners of the intricate pattern; together they partnered four town dignitaries. His commanders watched, waiting for a Ghebite dance so they could break in and claim the women.
    Tulkhan noted how Imoshen moved with casual grace. She wore a deep plum velvet gown. It was the same vivid colour as her eyes and it made her pale skin look even paler. Her hair was loose, confined only by a small circlet of electrum inset with purple amethysts. When she turned, her hair fanned out over her shoulders like a rippling sheet of white satin. She came to the end of the dance, her hair and skirt settling around her long limbs. Tulkhan swallowed. He wanted to run his fingers through those long pale tresses, wanted to lean close and inhale her heady scent. Just watching her made him ache with need, and there wasn’t another woman anywhere who could do that to him.
    ‘T’Imoshen dances well,’ observed his table companion.
    He turned to the Beatific. In Gheeaba she would not dare to address him. An unmarried woman, or a married woman past child-bearing age, was thought fit only to mind the small children or feed the animals.
    ‘You seem distracted, Prince Tulkhan.’
    ‘I am not a prince.’ He baulked at explaining the complicated family structure of his people. ‘As first son of the King’s concubine I was not given a title. I earned my position through merit and years of service in my father’s army. I prefer to be called by the title I’ve earned.’
    ‘And soon to be King of Fair Isle,’ she agreed smoothly.
    He caught her clever hazel eyes on him. Pinpoints of golden candlelight danced in her pupils. He reminded himself that he must not underestimate her simply because she was a woman. Imoshen had taught him that.
    ‘I must congratulate you on your forthcoming bonding, General.’
    The words were innocuous enough, but there was something in her tone which warned him to be on his guard. Did he detect a trace of mockery? Did these people think him presumptuous to crown himself king?
    Of course they did. He was barely three generations from his nomadic herdsman