Desperate Alliances

One Torn by conflicting loyalties, Imoshen knelt by Reothe's bed. With the arrival of evening, scented candles burned in the chamber that had so recently been her prison. The tower room had been stripped of its rich hangings and, in the space of one day, their positions had been reversed. She should let Reothe die, for if he regained his gifts he would be too powerful to contain. But to stand by and let someone die when she could heal him went against her instincts. All day she had fought to save him, easing his pain with herbs and, when this failed, drawing on her innate healing powers. "Here, sip this." She lifted Reothe's head and held the tisane to his lips. His suffering had pared back his features, emphasizing his high forehead, narrow nose, prominent cheekbones. He grimaced at the bitter taste but obediently he drained the goblet. She smoothed the damp silver hair from his pale forehead, and his hand squeezed hers in gratitude. Her heart contracted. After what he had done she should hate him, but she could not. He was the last of her kind. Both Throwbacks to the T'En race that had settled Fair Isle, they were marked by their wine-dark eyes, vivid coloring, and six-fingered hands. Last survivors of the old royal line, they were gifted with the powers that were both a blessing and a curse. And since the Ghebite General had conquered their island kingdom, they had both clung to life with determination and, when necessary, guile. Anger ignited Imoshen, for she had succumbed to Reothe's trickery. Last night he had come to her in General Tulkhan's form, slipping into her arms and planting a seed of dissension that she feared would drive Tulkhan from her. He would never accept another man's child. The General's bone-setter cleared his throat. "Some warmed wine, Princess?" With an effort she grasped the bed upright and came to her feet. "Thank you. I think the worst is over." "I will watch him. Get some rest," Wharrd urged. "Yes." However, she remained, staring down at Reothe. She had to admire his daring. In a decisive gamble he had kidnapped Imoshen and her son, luring the General into a trap. In exchange for a mercenary army, Reothe had offered to deliver Tulkhan to King Gharavan. The Ghebite king was Tulkhan's younger half-brother and legitimate heir, but any love he bore Tulkhan had been eroded by the General's popularity and military success. With the mercenaries and his rebel army, Reothe could have retaken Fair Isle. He had come so close to making the exchange that Imoshen shuddered. This time last year she would have given anything to see Tulkhan in chains, but now the thought brought her no joy. How ironic that after surrendering her Stronghold, she had set out to woo the conqueror, only to fall in love with the man. Through the partially open door General Tulkhan watched Imoshen tend his deadly enemy. Only last night, when Tulkhan had been held captive in the tower's dungeon, Reothe had come to him with Imoshen's scent on his skin, boasting that she carried his child. Fury surged through Tulkhan. As a tactician he knew, if he was to hold Fair Isle, Reothe must die. But it was the thought of another man's hands on Imoshen that made Tulkhan resonate with rage. Reothe would die this very night! As Imoshen bade Wharrd good night, Tulkhan stepped into the shadows behind his guards, who were playing dice. Blinded by exhaustion, the last princess of the T'En walked by, her straight nose and determined chin a beautiful mask. The General wanted to break her terrible composure. He wanted her to beg his forgiveness and declare her love for him. But he let her pass, a stiff-shouldered, tall figure with a deceptively fragile air. Something twisted inside Tulkhan. How could she betray him after everything they had shared? Imoshen climbed the stairs to her room, numbed byDaniells, Cory is the author of 'Desperate Alliances' with ISBN 9780553581034 and ISBN 0553581031.