The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2)

by Beth Brower

  Basaal could imagine.

  “I have been to see her once or twice,” Ammar said, looking casually at his fingernails.

  “Mmm,” was all that Basaal said as he clasped his hands behind his back. Then, as a second thought, he turned to Ammar, suddenly curious. “What is it like in the women’s quarters?” he asked.

  Ammar smiled as he gazed over the garden. “Physician’s covenants—I will tell you nothing.”

  Basaal shrugged. “Surely it is time for me to go down now, isn’t it?”

  “The evening trumpet will sound any moment,” Ammar said, his tone was almost bored. “Then you may go.”

  “How is she?” Basaal asked as he wiped his hands on his tunic and breathed out slowly.

  “Restless,” was all Ammar answered.

  “Did I already ask you that?” Basaal said. The sweet smell of blossoms rose from the evening garden, accompanied by the sound of running water. Basaal looked down the white path of crushed marble that led into the dense foliage. “And I am to find her in the center, near the fountains?”

  “I have never performed the ritual, you fool.”

  “You’re such a compassionate soul,” Basaal said sarcastically as he tugged on his sleeves again and glanced at his brother. “I am so pleased to have chosen you as an escort for my month of purification.”

  “Yes, well,” Ammar said as he placed his hands behind his back and looked at Basaal. “She will be waiting for you by the fountains, pacing—if I have come to know anything of her these past several weeks. I have already begun to miss her ill-timed questions wrapped in curiosity,” he added superfluously, which surprised Basaal.

  Ammar was never superfluous.

  Then the sky was split with the sound of the evening’s trumpet call.

  “There it is,” Basaal said to himself as he pulled again at the bottom hem of his jacket. “There it is.”

  Ammar looked at Basaal again as if to ask why he was so undone. But Basaal ignored this unspoken question and went down into the garden.

  The air was cool as a result of the streams of water that flowed through the dense foliage. Scattered among the plants, large brass bowls rested, filled with succulents draping over their edges, floating, as it were, above the marble walls and benches, thick with masses of blooms.

  It took longer than Basaal had expected to arrive at the central garden. But, as he came around a stand of tall palms, he saw her. She stood near the fountains—a series of brass bowls forming a cascade of water behind her—waiting for him. And she was, of course, pacing.

  Basaal paused. A gown of light blue was elegantly draped about Eleanor’s figure, with a long, golden cuff encircling each wrist. Her copper hair hung loose and long. And, in the dim light, her pale face, having recovered from the arduous desert journey, was as white as the marble stairs that trailed through the courtyard. He saw that she was watching for him, her fingers pulling impatiently at the jewelry she wore, and then, perhaps feeling his gaze, Eleanor looked in his direction.

  Basaal raised his hand in greeting and walked towards her. He saw relief, and he saw concern in the expression on her face as she came forward and threw her arms around him. Her hair smelled like the flowers of Imirillia, Basaal noticed as he held her close to him, lifting her up onto her toes.

  “Are you alright?” Eleanor asked before he could speak. Moving his hands to Eleanor’s shoulders, Basaal stepped back to see her face.

  “Yes,” he answered. “The challenge, and after it, was—”

  A very difficult thing. Not only the twist of her marriage to Arsaalan but also the thought of Eleanor dying at his hand. That threat had given Basaal terrifying nightmares. The image crossed his mind again now, and he pulled his hands away from her shoulders, feeling like he was burning her for having thought of that horrifying picture.

  “I would never have recovered,” Basaal admitted aloud.

  She seemed to understand and reached out hesitantly to touch his arm, avoiding looking at his eyes. “And your injury?” she asked. “Is it recovering?”

  “It’s far from healed,” Basaal said, kicking at the crushed marble of the pathway with the toe of his boot. “Ammar has treated the infection, but it will bother me awhile yet.” He knew that the expression on his face betrayed the difficulty of the last week. “I have been worried for you,” he explained. “The challenge was—my father—”

  “Yes,” Eleanor nodded. “But I am fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Have you discovered yet who sent the assassin?” she asked.

  Ammar must have told Eleanor, and Basaal was glad that she knew and that she was aware of what they were up against. “No,” Basaal admitted. He had yet to discover anything about the assassin. Between that and waiting for his father’s retribution, Basaal felt little confidence in his current position. “Come,” he said, motioning towards the fountains. “In theory, we should be alone now, but, as you can guess, that is never a proven truth in Zarbadast. We can talk by the fountains without being overheard.”

  They sat on the edge of the marble wall, facing each other, Eleanor’s leg pulled up beneath her skirts as she studied his face.

  “How are the women’s quarters?” Basaal inquired, trying to make his tone sound lighter than he felt.

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “Hannia, your maidservant, has kept me isolated—the requirement for the first week of purification, apparently. How have you borne it?”

  Basaal allowed himself an honest smile. “My rules are not as stringent as yours, but I have found the week to be very long.”

  “Humph, I might have guessed,” she said as she tossed her chin, trying to lift the mood. But Eleanor’s expression indicated she had another question. “Hannia says I am to see no man but you until the wedding,” she began. “Why, then, is Ammar allowed to visit me in the women’s quarters?”

  “How many times has he visited?” Basaal asked from curiosity.

  “Every day of the seven.”

  “Ha!” Basaal grinned. “The desert rat lied to me. He sounds bored. Ammar rarely wishes to see anyone daily. So he must like you very much.”

  “Well, that certainly doesn’t show.” Eleanor laughed, wiping the back of her hand across her tired eyes. “But, I am glad for his company.”

  Basaal shifted himself on the wall and looked directly at Eleanor. “To answer your question,” Basaal said, “Ammar is a physician and has sworn himself to covenants that are particular to his profession. For example, he must never kill any man. This prevents him from participating in war or legal judgment. Also, in accordance with his physician’s covenants, he may only take one wife, and he may never come unto the wife of another. Therefore, he is the only man admitted into the women’s quarters to see to their well-being.”

  “Ammar is not married, is he? I thought he had not yet taken a wife?”

  This question caused Basaal unexpected pain. “No. Once, he wished to be, but that was long ago before—well, that is not my story to tell.” Basaal left off, glancing around at what could be seen of the garden. Several birds paced and flitted through the branches, and the sound of water continued to slow the drumming of Basaal’s heart. “As you have now seen for yourself,” he said, “the first week of purification gives one plenty of time to think.” He looked back at her face. “A week should satisfy even your penchant for that act.”

  “If only purification could come through thought—” Eleanor said and then left off. “Is it safe now to speak of our plans?”

  “For your journey south?”

  “Yes,” she said, and her expression was as determined as he had ever seen it. For some reason, this made Basaal feel listless.

  He looked about them, and then he bent his head towards hers. Eleanor moved herself closer as well, her knee now touching his leg, her shoulder just pressing against his. Basaal wished to tell her more about the wedding tradition—the symbolism this moment held and what lay ahead, according to the customs of his people—but
he reluctantly pushed past sharing those traditions to answer her question.

  “I have spoken with my friend, who is to lead you out of Zarbadast, and am working to secure an escape that will be untraceable by the Vestan—or anyone else,” he explained. “I dare not share the details with you until right before it’s time for you to leave. What you do not know cannot be coerced out of you.”

  “Do you worry that the emperor might suspect?” she asked.

  “It’s impossible to know all of his thoughts. But you have a rare distinction with my father,” Basaal admitted. “Few, if any, can catch him in his mind games. Your success has made him detest you while finding you vastly interesting at the same time, so I’ve no doubt that his attention will be on you. He and I have spoken only once this week, but he mentioned you.”

  Eleanor’s concern was coupled with curiosity. “And?” she asked.

  “He said, ‘One snake reveals another.’ I don’t know if that was a high compliment or a suspicious insult. To be frank, coming from my father, neither is to be trusted.”

  “I pity him,” Eleanor said as she shifted one of the golden cuffs that ran along her forearm. “As powerful as he may be, I would not want to live with myself, having done what he has done.”

  An image from Aramesh crowded into his mind before Basaal could stop it, and he wondered if Eleanor knew of what had happened there.

  “He was not always as he is now, Eleanor,” Basaal said, and he ran his fingers along the calluses of his hand. “While he has always moved the interests of the empire forward, it had once been with a more judicial approach, which has been lost these last years to a form of madness that I can’t fathom.” Basaal shook his head. “Whether his mind has slipped or he has pushed it deliberately, I can’t say, but the distance between us has never been greater.”

  “I do not envy you this life,” Eleanor said unexpectedly.

  These words were hard on Basaal’s ears, justified as she might be in saying them. He jerked his head up to meet her eyes directly. “I would not trade the people of Imirillia or the city of Zarbadast, for any peace of mind that the Illuminating God had to offer.”

  Eleanor seemed taken aback, but a flame lit behind her eyes. “And I couldn’t ever desire this place while Aemogen still lived and breathed,” she countered. “Neither could I ever subject my people to the devilish designs of a man such as your father.”

  “Then we understand one another,” Basaal replied stiffly, straightening his back and looking into the darkness around them, angry at the truth in their words. This was not how he had envisioned this meeting with Eleanor would be.

  “Basaal, please don’t—” Eleanor began to say, reaching for his hand. But he stood, pulling away from her, reinforcing each worn-out emotion he carried with the strength of his own pride.

  Eleanor’s face seemed to reflect the same struggle, but she, unlike Basaal, was willing to move past her pride, for she had slipped from the wall and walked toward him, her arms folded across her chest.

  “It should be an easy thing,” she said, “for us to remember that we can understand each other, shouldn’t it?” The way that Eleanor looked at him then—so open and honest—made him wish that he had the courage to do the same. “Who better to understand the difficulties we face than each other. Let’s not sever that.”

  “Eleanor, I—” Basaal began, but he felt a reluctance to let go of his stubbornness—it was a skill not well practiced in his family. But he desperately wanted to try.

  “I did not mean that we needed to agree on our political opinions, which have been set against each other from the start,” Eleanor continued, her arms still crossed. “I only think that we should not give up on our alliance so easily. If you are to keep your neck, and I am to escape Zarbadast, then we need that friendship.”

  “Are those your only reasons for making the effort?” he asked.

  “No,” Eleanor said, looking to the side as she spoke. “I think we both know the emperor’s challenge revealed more than that. They are, however,” she said, her eyes flicking back to his, “the only reasons that we should be considering when making our decisions. Did you not tell me once in Aemogen that a monarch’s lover was to be his country?”

  “Yes,” he said, and the corner of Basaal’s mouth twitched. “You didn’t agree, though.”

  “I still don’t,” Eleanor said as she turned around and sat back down on the wall. “But here we are. Now, have you figured out a plan for my escape?”

  Basaal followed Eleanor back to the wall and turned, leaning against it. “I’ve been through every option,” he said, “and have found one solution that might work.” He turned his head towards her. “There is one day each year, a holy day, when the Vestan and all other unclean professions—gamblers, slavers, and the like—must leave the city and stay without its walls. You have been kept in relative safety these last few weeks because Ammar has been willing to host you and the Vestan cannot enter his chambers. But, they have waited and watched at his doors,” Basaal warned. “Now that you are even more exposed, I do not see any other way than to wait for this holy day. It is the only hope you will have of slipping past the assassins.”

  “And when is this holy day?” she asked. “Will we be ready in time?”

  “I don’t suspect this will be your favorite part,” Basaal said, trying to sound apologetic. “It is on the seventh day of celebration after the wedding ceremony has taken place.”

  “Basaal!” She threw her hands up in the air.

  “Shh! Quiet!” he said, pulling her hands down and looking around before speaking at a whisper. “Just calm yourself. It’s the only day that the entire city will be full of pilgrims, merchants, and revelers,” he explained. “My contact will be ready to sneak you out of the city while I am in a ceremonial council with my father and brothers that will last several hours.”

  “But, don’t you realize that we will be married?”

  “And would this marriage be legal in your mind?” He had prepared himself for asking this question, but he still did not like it.

  “No, but—” Eleanor began.

  “And I will not compromise your honor in any way,” Basaal said, keeping his tone businesslike. “Once you are home, you will be at perfect liberty to marry anyone you choose. You need not even speak of this,” he added. “There will be no lasting mark.”

  Eleanor’s face twisted in pain at his words.

  “No. There must be some other way,” she pled. “There must be another way.”

  Basaal shook his head. “You are accompanied day and night during your month of purification, are you not?”

  Eleanor nodded, but he could see that her mind was elsewhere, probably grasping at any possibility other than the one he spoke of.

  “I, as well, am nearly always accompanied. The only times we are alone are here, in the garden, in the heart of the seven palaces.” Basaal stepped closer to her. “If you tried to leave now,” he said, dropping his voice to a low whisper, “the Vestan would slit your throat.”

  Eleanor appeared baffled. “So you are proposing that we go through with this wedding?”

  “I am telling you that any other escape would be impossible.”

  “That adds up to the same thing,” she argued.

  “So be it,” he replied. But Eleanor shook her head and looked out into the garden. Night had crept in, slow and still, and they were almost completely in the dark now.

  “Is Ammar to know?” Eleanor asked without looking at Basaal.

  “No,” Basaal said as he shook his head. “You, me, and my friend—that is all. It is nothing, Eleanor,” Basaal stated. “It means nothing, and you will not come out of this shamed.”

  “I know that, Basaal,” she replied. “On the ghosts of Old Ainsley, I just need a moment to set my mind to the idea.”

  “You’ve had the entire journey north to become accustomed to the idea,” Basaal half teased, trying to dispel Eleanor’s seriousness.

  “I know,” Elea
nor said as if he were simple. “I should go back up, for Hannia will be waiting. Can you tell me what I must know for the journey south the next time we meet? I understand your precautions,” she added, “but I need to know the difficulties of the route, in case I am separated from my guide.”

  “If you really feel it is necessary.” Basaal stepped back from the wall and offered Eleanor his hand. She took it, and he helped her down. “And,” he added, “after the wedding ceremony, there will be more time alone to plan.”

  Eleanor studied the space before her eyes. Then she looked at Basaal, a slight blush across her cheeks. “Be careful, Basaal,” she warned. “Your father said something that I’ve been thinking about.”

  “What was that?” Basaal stiffened.

  “He as much as said that he has kept me alive as another means to manipulate you and that, despite how you have talked about the political advantages of our marriage, I have sway with you in a way no one else does.”

  Basaal cleared his throat before speaking. “He said that?”

  “Yes. Perhaps he was trying to bait me,” Eleanor suggested, “to see what I would say.” Basaal did not respond immediately. Eleanor waited, looking directly at him, then she spoke again. “Until another seven days, then?”

  Basaal nodded but said nothing. Then Eleanor turned away, her hand slipping out of his, and she vanished into the dark garden. Basaal watched her go long after she had already disappeared from view.

  ***

  “Hannia, does this mark mean anything to you?” Eleanor asked the maid, who was endlessly fussing with tidying the elegant room.

  Eleanor had drawn out the mark Basaal had over his heart, which she had seen the day of the challenge: the star with the small flower in bloom at its center.

  Hannia looked down at the paper and then moved her head back as if she needed more light to see it properly.

  “Ah, yes,” she nodded, leaning against the table with one hand, facing Eleanor. “We call that the wanderer’s mark.”