by Beth Brower
“Shaamil takes pride in all his sons, to be sure,” Ammar said, stating it as a fact. “But, his heart has always leaned towards Basaal, his seventh son, the only child of Edith.”
Eleanor looked at the names, written beautifully on the scroll before her. She was beginning to see Basaal in context: the beloved youngest son of the most powerful family on the Continent, brother, prince, and trained soldier.
“Do the brothers resent Basaal for the preferential treatment he receives?” she asked Ammar.
“Basaal is well loved,” Ammar said. “Though, it doesn’t mean there have not been difficult feelings and occurrences that have tested the family.”
Eleanor recalled the night Basaal had been treated by Ammar for fighting with Kiarash. She wondered if that was a common occurrence.
“And Edith?” she asked. “Did you know her well? You must have been, what, seventeen when she died?”
Ammar looked down at the table before him. “Almost from the first day they were wed, Edith took me in as her own, bestowing upon me all the motherly affection a child could need. For all intents and purposes, she is my mother, and Basaal is a full brother to me. Basaal is very like her, you know,” he added. “No, not in temperament or manner, but his heart is as hers, loyal as the day and true to those in it.”
“Does he miss her?” Eleanor asked.
“Every day.”
“And what about the emperor?” Eleanor inquired.
Ammar smiled. “That is of whom I spoke.”
Eleanor looked down and tapped her fingers against the smooth paper. “Is Gelareh, the first wife, still alive?” she asked.
“She is, spiteful old crow. You’ll not see her.” Ammar’s apparent satisfaction in that fact was curious to Eleanor.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Gelareh has been sent to a western palace,” he explained. “Her dark cloud can no longer be tolerated by the emperor.”
Eleanor was surprised. “How do her sons feel about that?”
“It was their idea,” Ammar said as he picked up his quill and continued with his work.
***
Eleanor’s days as a prisoner in Zarbadast were dreamlike in nature. The warm breezes swept about the curtains that hung in elegant transparency. They also lifted scents from the gardens below the open windows. Ammar was—most often—pleasant and intelligent. Tameez remained mute, coming and going in specter silence. Eleanor did not communicate with Tameez, but Ammar trusted him completely. And Eleanor, to her surprise, realized that she trusted Ammar.
It had been fifteen days since her arrival in Zarbadast, and Eleanor had not once spoken to Basaal. Aside from the night when he had visited the physician’s apartments, Eleanor had seen and heard nothing concerning his days. For, Ammar did not discuss his family often, and Eleanor doled out her questions carefully.
“Tell me of Aramesh,” she said one afternoon as the pleasant winds blew through the apartments. “Were you there?” Ammar looked up from a scroll, something in his mannerisms reminding Eleanor of Basaal.
“I was in my father’s retinue as head physician.”
“What happened there?” Eleanor asked as she sat up straighter. “Every time Aramesh is mentioned, Basaal looks as if he has been struck.”
Ammar set his brass cup down on the table near his couch and leaned back. He seemed to measure Eleanor as he would one of his powders or remedies.
“When we entered Aramesh, the emperor charged each son with a portion of the country,” Ammar began slowly. “He was to burn it out and kill any man, woman, or child in his path. You see,” Ammar recounted with a sigh, “my father became Emperor at age nine. Imirillia did not fare so well in those days, and Aramesh, one of our neighbors to the east, was prosperous.
“They would not trade with Imirillia,” Ammar continued, “despite what money we could offer—more than a fair price for the Aramesian goods. My father felt a great responsibility during the droughts of those years, for many Imirillians had died. So, he swore vengeance on Aramesh for its selfishness and, a few years ago, decided to act on that oath.
“Basaal never felt settled with the latest expansion of the empire,” Ammar continued. “As our father became more aggressive, Basaal began to question his methods and motives, as did I. When he was commanded to take his men and pillage the far province of Aramesh, Basaal could not commit such horrors.
“He has kept the details to himself, but word has it that Basaal sent runners to warn the people of the province and that they were given time to gather stores and flee before he burned their houses. He also commanded his men not to lay a finger on any human soul.”
Eleanor looked directly into Ammar’s eyes. “He’s a good man, your brother,” she confirmed, as much to herself as to the physician. Ammar spoke no words in reply, but he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment before continuing.
“I was with my father in the capital city when we heard the news that one of the far provinces had not been desolated, rather the people warned and little damage done. The other far province was under the direction of Emaad, our brother just four months older than Basaal. They were of different temperaments, but they loved each other with great affection.
“I had never seen such companionship,” Ammar admitted. “Emaad knew of Basaal’s struggles, but he did not understand them, for Emaad was in agreement with our father. Emaad felt it was right for the empire to establish its place in the hierarchy of the region.
“When Shaamil heard a far province had been spared, I knew whose it was but did not speak. We all rode out to meet the armies of Basaal and Emaad, who had joined together in their return. Shaamil confronted them both, asking which had refused to follow through on his orders.”
Ammar shook his head in evident distaste. “It was a strange day,” he said. “We all stood in a circle—our war bent family. And, when the emperor asked who had left their province unspoiled, Emaad immediately stepped forward and claimed he had been the merciful one. He had desired to spare Basaal from punishment, even though I suspect that our father had known immediately who had been merciful to the people of Aramesh.”
Ammar paused before continuing, and Eleanor swallowed, an uncertain tightness in her throat. “Emaad begged for forgiveness. But, before Basaal could speak up and say it was he who had disobeyed the emperor’s wishes, Shaamil drew his sword, walked calmly up to Emaad, and cut off his head.”
Eleanor sat up straight, her eyes wide.
Ammar looked down. “I do not suppose I will ever forget how his body fell. We all stood in complete shock. Who among us did not love Emaad dearly?” he asked, speaking more to himself than to Eleanor. “Basaal dropped to the ground beside Emaad’s body, clutching at his shoulders, commanding him to live—”
“What did the emperor do?” Eleanor asked quietly.
“Shaamil stood above Emaad’s body and said so that all could hear, ‘A weak end for a weak man.’ He then commanded us to ride on back to the city.” Ammar frowned. “We all mounted and went—except Basaal.”
“He stayed behind?” Eleanor asked in a soft voice.
“Basaal sent his army to the capital, but he did not come himself. He stayed there alone and buried Emaad according to ceremony. It is bad luck to leave this world decapitated. So, often in the process of burial, the head is put into place with a sash or a tie around the neck so that the body appears whole. I believe that Basaal saw to this too, but he has never spoken of it, and I have never asked.”
“So this is why he does not sleep at night,” Eleanor said, the sadness of it sinking into her stomach.
Ammar raised his eyebrows in question.
“In Aemogen he would wake from terrible dreams, screaming,” Eleanor spoke honestly. “We knew he had lost a brother, nothing else. You didn’t know of his night terrors?”
The physician shook his head, “There were rumors, that is all. I have never spent a night in his company.”
Eleanor felt warmth in her cheeks, wondering what Ammar
was thinking.
“And you’ve never spoken with him of it?” she asked. “None of you?”
“What words does one use to articulate such a depth of personal shame?” the physician queried.
Eleanor did not know.
***
Over the next several days, Ammar’s company proved scarce. Eleanor was left alone to read through the scrolls in her chamber or to spend time in the physician’s garden below. The garden was small yet pleasant. Ammar had informed Eleanor that he grew plants there for the purpose of experimentation, rather than ornamentation.
“It is pleasant nonetheless,” he had said. “And my apartments completely surround the enclosure, so no need to worry about spies. You are quite alone.”
Eleanor began to spend a good portion of every day in the garden. Since she did not wish to write out her thoughts, for other eyes to see, Eleanor began to sketch what she found around her. The plants were exotic and strange, with blooms that would have shamed the finest satins. Some plants appeared made of wax, and Eleanor studied them meticulously, making notes and sketches on small sheaths of paper she had cut from a blank scroll Ammar had provided.
As the days passed, Ammar’s company disappeared altogether. She saw only Tameez. He brought all her food and water, providing for her needs, but did not linger in the apartments while Ammar was absent. As she grew stronger, her confinement changed from being restful to being tiresome. So Eleanor began to plan for her return to Aemogen.
These plans did not prove fruitful. Without speaking with Basaal, she was at a loss as to how it could even be done. With no idea or direction for her escape from Zarbadast, Eleanor began to plan for the defense of Aemogen once she had returned home. This also seemed a fruitless practice, for Eleanor had no one to confer or to strategize with, and she didn’t know how many men would be attacking once the pass was cleared, or what planning was happening at Ainsley now. Although her mind continued to work on it, her heart told her there was nothing she could do while in Imirillia. She must wait. And she must be patient.
Strangely, Eleanor felt relief despite her boredom. She slept when she wished; ate simple meals of fresh fruits, cheeses, and cold meats; drew the shapes and plants around her; and read extensively from the works brought from the Imirillian archives. Eleanor was especially pleased to finally have the Seven Scrolls at her disposal. She had searched the Fifth Scroll, finding and reading the story of Seraagh and the sun. Then she turned to the beginning of the Fourth Scroll and began to read.
It was harder to read, much more difficult than the first three, being heavy with religious law rather than poetic theology. Eleanor was about to set the scroll down, for the tediousness of it all, when she came to several marks discussing the Safeeraah. She read about the mandate for all followers of the Illuminating God to take upon themselves covenants, bound by honor, represented by the Safeeraah. Then she read through the declarations concerning their make: how they were to be accepted and created and how, if their sealing had been broken, they were to be resealed upon the penitent individual, after a prayer of purification.
Eleanor read with interest about the ceremony where the bands are resealed to the faithful’s wrists, and she thought of the morning where she had helped Basaal in this ritual. He had seen to every detail, ensuring that the words and actions had been done in proper order.
Then she came to a mark that caused her stomach to flutter. Could she have been mistaken about what she had read? Eleanor bent her head over the mark and was rereading it slowly, when the doors opened, and Ammar walked in, accompanied by two of the other princes and Basaal. Startled, Eleanor rolled the Fourth Scroll closed.
“Your Majesty,” Ammar said, acknowledging her before waving his hand towards his brothers. “Allow me to introduce Ashim, second son, and Arsaalan, fourth son. Brothers, this is Eleanor, Queen of Aemogen and my patient.”
They nodded their heads and appraised Eleanor distantly. Basaal, who stood behind them, motioned a greeting to Eleanor but didn’t speak. Eleanor flushed and looked away from his eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed which scroll lay before her.
Both Ashim and Arsaalan were tall, handsome men. From what Eleanor had seen, they were a finely appointed family. The brothers settled themselves down onto the cushions nearby, exchanging light comments. Arsaalan shot Eleanor looks of curiosity before whispering a comment to Basaal, whose only response was a shrug as he looked towards the floor.
Unsure if her presence was wanted, Eleanor stood, the Fourth Scroll firmly in hand, and slipped beyond the curtains to the residential hallway and her chambers.
Not long after she had withdrawn, Eleanor could hear heated discussion and occasional laughter. Eleanor had meant to open the Fourth Scroll, to reaffirm what she had read there, but her thoughts lingered down the corridor, where the brothers sat speaking.
Basaal had looked well, better than Eleanor had ever seen him. His hair had been cut short, as he had tried to keep it in Aemogen, and his face seemed free from the strain he’d carried on the battle run. His garments were still black, but they were excellently tailored and made from the finest of materials. Not only had his appearance of wealth and influence changed but his temperament also seemed different. Perhaps, Eleanor mused, the result of being in one’s home is the simultaneous increase of ease, coupled with youth and place.
Eleanor wished she could talk with him and spend time speaking openly to know his thoughts. But, after what she had just learned about the resealing ceremony of the Safeeraah—knowing the significance of Basaal’s actions that morning—she was relieved they were kept apart, for she wouldn’t know what to say to him.
Ammar found her, a few hours later, still looking out the window and thinking.
“Come, Eleanor. My brothers and I go to a family feast, held in the throne room of Emperor Shaamil. It is something you might enjoy observing.”
“Certainly I’m not invited.”
“Follow me,” Ammar said, actually smiling, and he pushed the ethereal curtains aside, inviting Eleanor to follow. They walked down the hallway, past the empty chambers and Ammar’s personal rooms, to a small closet full of medical supplies.
Ammar pushed back the heavy folds of a curtain inside the closet, and Eleanor saw that it revealed a wall, set farther back. A small space around the lip of the closet was evident once they were inside. Ammar slipped through, and Eleanor followed him into the darkness.
They twisted right then left, and she could see the shadows of a beautiful lattice, falling against the wall and the floor. The final corner revealed what had caused the shadow, an ornate lattice of white stone. Ammar put his finger to his lips and motioned for Eleanor to come forward.
As she came closer and peered through the lattice, the largest room she had ever seen in her life came into view. It was stunning. The floors, walls, and arches were all white—beautiful polished marble of purest expression—cut and carved with pillars inlaid with gold. The empty throne, far below, was itself wrought from brass and gold. The center of the room, a space of forty by fifty feet, dropped down two steps so that whoever came in audience before the emperor would be several steps not only below the throne but also below the spectators.
“The entry doors are below where we stand,” Ammar said quietly. “As you can see, latticework adorns the walls and ceilings. You will not be detected here if you wish to observe the feast or any other matters of state that occur here,” he explained. “It may prove interesting to you.”
Eleanor was interested. “Thank you.”
“It was Basaal’s idea. He said you would enjoy the spectacle and prefer to view the audiences where your own fate might be decided.”
“Does the emperor know of this place?” she asked.
Ammar shook his head. “I do not think he does. The palace physician before me was here many years as an apprentice, even before my father took the throne as a child. I served under that physician and made all the adjustments and arrangements to the chamber myself after he had di
ed. I suspect that he had kept it a secret, as do I and Basaal.”
“Strange, not to know your own palace,” Eleanor said.
“You have not yet seen the breadth and width of the seven palaces of Zarbadast, Eleanor,” Ammar said. “There are more secrets behind these white walls than you could imagine. Some days, I think I see other shadows, flickering behind the lattice in other parts of the throne room. Who else may be listening and observing? I know not. But I leave you now to enjoy your espionage. Do not move quickly or make any sound,” he added. “We all want to keep our heads in this game.”
Then he withdrew, and Eleanor settled herself on the stone floor, waiting and watching for someone to enter the throne room.
It wasn’t long before dozens of servants began to enter. They brought cushions, pillows, and tall brass candelabras, topped with large, shallow bowls, where they lit candles and incense. Eleanor watched, amused by and interested in their hurried preparations. Aemogen’s finest banquets had been far humbler than this small but extravagant family dinner. She found that she didn’t mind the simplicity of Aemogen in comparison despite the luxury and ease of Zarbadast.
A child laughed and ran into the room, followed by an older boy of nine or ten. A woman—perhaps their mother—followed, calling out sharply to the children. The woman was very beautiful, draped in clothing of pink and gold. She settled down onto one of the cushions, graceful, poised.
Then another woman entered with children, and they greeted each other. Finally, the two oldest princes, Emir and Ashim, could be seen. They conversed, paying little heed to the children, who ran about their feet, and settled comfortably onto the cushions as they spoke and gestured.
Ammar appeared in company with Arsaalan. More women and children gathered in groups, while quiet servers offered them drinks. Eleanor had not yet seen Basaal. But, counting the women and children, Eleanor began to wonder how many wives the older princes had.
A handful of children, who had been playing near the throne, cried out and ran towards the doors that Eleanor could not see. Then Basaal came into view. He laughed as they assailed him, wrapping themselves around his legs or pulling at his arms. Enjoying their attention, he fought them off then swooped down, picking up one of the smaller children, who was just beginning to walk.
