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

by Beth Brower

  Dantib bowed, tears running down the weathered grooves of his face. “As you wish, my master,” he said. “I will be your obedient servant lest the Illuminating God strike me down.”

  Basaal turned away, so shaken he almost forgot to offer Eleanor his arm. Theirs was a sober return, the maidservants obediently carrying the train as they whispered and pointed to the sky. The wind had now grown stronger, and the smell of wet earth was blown across the desert, filling Eleanor’s nostrils.

  When they reached Basaal’s palace, Hannia and three maidservants helped Eleanor remove her gown in a dressing chamber off of the bedroom. After Hannia had unclasped the black gown and helped Eleanor into a simple blue garment—the color of the storm clouds—Eleanor dismissed the servants, including Hannia.

  “Please see that we are not disturbed,” Eleanor instructed. “Bring dinner for the prince and me later this evening. We will require nothing beyond that.”

  Hannia seemed a bit surprised with the authority Eleanor had so easily assumed, but she nodded and slipped from the room without another word.

  As she entered the bedroom, Eleanor found Basaal lying on the bed, a hand over his face. She had never seen him look so miserable. Sitting beside him, Eleanor placed a hand on his arm.

  “Who is this man, your stable master?” she asked.

  “Dantib,” Basaal replied, a catch in his voice. “A man who has never given me a poor day of service in all my life. He has been my most faithful servant and my most faithful friend.”

  “And you sent him away?” Eleanor asked, her voice barely above the whisper that his had been.

  “I had to,” he said. “If anyone were to discover him missing, I will need to give a plausible reason why he would act in such a way.”

  Eleanor tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “Discover him missing?” Then she understood. “Ah,” she added as she bent her head. “Dantib is to be my guide to Aemogen.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you needed to have a public dismissal so you would not be implicated when he and I are both found missing.”

  Basaal made a choking sound and turned away from Eleanor, away from the open doorway, where the translucent red curtains billowed in the breeze from the coming storm. Eleanor closed her eyes and breathed in the smell. This, at least, was the one thing that reminded her of home, the smell of impending rain. Eleanor nodded, more to herself than to Basaal. She would not say thank you, for it would be a cheap expression, compared against the sacrifice Dantib was making, the sacrifice Basaal had asked of him on Eleanor’s behalf.

  She left Basaal to himself and retreated into the garden of tall grasses, their golden heads bending into perfect patterns in the wind. The bright red flowers seemed alight beneath the low clouds, and Eleanor touched the wanderer’s mark she now wore about her neck as she walked the pathways, thinking of what had passed and what would yet pass before she would leave this place.

  The heaviness of the clouds seemed to express—in even measure—the weight Eleanor felt in her chest. It was not a simple thing, this return journey home. Eleanor would not let herself apologize for it. She would see it done. But that did not negate her concerns over the consequences that would ripple through people’s lives she did not even know. Her return journey would leave its mark, Eleanor thought ruefully, as everything does.

  ***

  The assault of lightning over Zarbadast was so sudden that Basaal felt it crash against his bones. He leaned back and looked at Eleanor, who sat beside him on the marble steps that led to the garden. Eleanor watched in obvious wonder as the lightning trailed across the clouds before crashing to the earth in and around Zarbadast. Sometimes a dramatic string of light would cross the entire sky, darting out in all directions as it shattered what was now an almost black evening. On its heels, thunder would rumble in so fiercely that Basaal could feel it through the trembling marble beneath his feet.

  Evening had come early on account of the storm, and Eleanor had dinner delivered quietly to their room. Basaal was relieved, for he could not face anyone right now. Ammar, who was scheduled to host the newlyweds, sent a missive, saying that he was sorry but was unable to receive them. Basaal knew that this excuse was a gift, that Ammar was being generous to him. He was grateful.

  Snap. Split.

  Another lightning bolt crashed just as the first raindrops claimed their emancipation, breaking loose of the clouds. The drops landed in fat, perfect circles, and Eleanor stretched her bare feet down to the step below to try and catch the rain.

  Basaal felt grateful for the steadiness of her company. Eleanor was considerate, and she seemed to understand the difficulties Basaal endured. In consequence, when he wished to speak with her, she spoke; when he fell into silence, Eleanor stared into the sky, comfortable enough to just let him think. Basaal would miss her terribly.

  The roar of thunder swept through Zarbadast, and what began as heavy drops became a spontaneous flood, filling the streets of the desert city.

  “You seem calmed,” Eleanor said over the sounds of the rain, which splashed up onto her feet and ankles. The hem of her dress was instantly wet from the puddle that had collected there.

  “I am,” Basaal admitted. “Stillness has been granted me, and I thank the Illuminating God for it.”

  “And Dantib?” Eleanor pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her head against them, looking at Basaal with patient eyes. “Do you suppose he is well?”

  Basaal did not answer her but leaned forward, running his hands through his hair. “He has been faithful to me, and I have never been worthy of it. And now, we see how I use him.” He let out a laugh that was pained. “He used to tell me a story of a desert hare—you know, it’s like a rabbit but with longer ears and spindly legs, and it runs so fast you can hardly see it pass.”

  Eleanor nodded, and Basaal continued.

  “One night, Seraagh, the messenger angel of the Illuminating God, came to the hare and said, “You have done well and are meant to spend your days as something more. Would you seek this blessing of the Illuminating God?”

  “What will I become?” asked the hare, for he did desire to be greater than what he was, despite the skill and ability he carried within him.

  “A mighty horse; the fastest ever created by the Illuminating God, with a coat black as night and eyes penetrable as the bright stars. This life will be rich and good.”

  “But will it take me from my desert?”

  “It will,” Seraagh answered, “but there are many places of wonder in this world.

  “But will it take me from my family?” the hare inquired.

  “It will,” Seraagh answered, “but there are many for you to call brother and mother and child.”

  The desert hare thought through the long night, and Seraagh waited patiently, spinning stars, while the small beast considered. Finally, when the sky was almost turned to purple, and the stars were to disappear into the day, Seraagh asked the hare what his answer would be.

  “My ears,” the hare replied. “My ears have let me hear every sound of the desert, every delighted cricket, every drop of rain on thirsty ground, every wind blowing the endless sand. I have heard the wild dog, the caravan, the beetle. Will it take from me my ability to hear the world and know it in its beauty?”

  Seraagh looked a long time at the hare before she spoke. “Your ears will hear as no other horse has heard before, but it will not rival the sounds you now understand. That will change.”

  And the hare considered what Seraagh had spoken.”

  Eleanor waited for Basaal to continue. When he did not she lifted her head and gazed steadily into his face, “And what did the hare decide?”

  “We do not know,” Basaal shrugged. “That is where the story ends, at the point of decision.” The rain slowed, misting the garden with its soft, yielding pattern as larger drops fell from the roofline onto the lowest marble stair. “He told me the story often and asked what I would choose.”

  “And, what
did you choose?” Eleanor asked quietly.

  “To become the horse,” Basaal said. “The other sacrifices, for the sake of such personal nobility and strength, seemed worth it at the time. Now, I am more hesitant, more willing to weigh the decision,” he explained. “To be honest, I worry what the metaphor means for me.”

  “Do you ever feel that your Illuminating God has something else for you than the path of your life?” she asked.

  The hairs on the back of Basaal’s neck lifted, and he shivered in the sudden cold that swept through the wet garden. “Did he not give me this life?” he asked.

  Eleanor did not reply, but in Basaal’s own mind he could hear an answer, Did he not first place the hare in the desert?

  ***

  Late in the night, as they lay in the dark, speaking with one another, Eleanor remembered the guard with the blue mark. So she rolled over and looked down off the bed at Basaal.

  “There was a man in your honor guard today,” she said. “Instead of having the symbol of your house, he bore a blue mark. This man, did he come with you to Marion?” she asked. “Have I met him before?” Eleanor knew the answers to her questions, but she waited for him to confirm them.

  “Zanntal?” Basaal asked as he placed his arm beneath his head and arranged himself on his side, looking up at Eleanor. “He is a new addition to my house, so you two will have never met.”

  “How did he come to be with you?” Eleanor asked then frowned.

  “He was one of the dearest companions of my brother, Emaad,” Basaal explained. “After my brother’s death, he disappeared.”

  “But he has now returned and joined you?”

  “He saved my life from marauders in the northern desert several weeks ago,” Basaal replied.

  Eleanor propped herself up on her elbow. “Saved your life from marauders? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Basaal shrugged. “It happened then was over.”

  “You make an awful husband,” Eleanor said. “Those are the kind of events one should share with his wife.”

  He laughed, and it was a good sound.

  “And you’re certain I’ve never met this man before?” Eleanor persisted.

  “There is no place where you would have,” Basaal said. “Zanntal, though invited, refused my invitation to the wedding banquet and has kept himself occupied with the perimeter guard at my holdings throughout the city. It was only a few days back, when I brought him to the palace to train with my honor guard.”

  “Do you know him well?” Eleanor inquired. “To trust him so completely—”

  Basaal yawned, and Eleanor thought she saw him smile in the dark.

  “I spent much time with him when Emaad was still alive. He served my brother well. My instincts tell me he is not only to be trusted but valued. I am lucky to have him in my service,” he added. “Why do you ask?”

  Eleanor thought back to the events of the procession. “I feel—it’s strange—” she said, hesitating before pressing on. “When I saw his face today, I felt as if I had known him all my life; I felt as if I could trust him completely, that I knew him as well as I knew anybody.” Eleanor watched Basaal’s face. “Is that an impossibility?”

  “I don’t really know what to say,” Basaal said. “But, I do believe that we are destined to know certain people, to cross their paths; and they, ours.”

  “Does that mean I was fated to come to Zarbadast?” Eleanor posited aloud, not sure if she even believed in such things.

  Basaal did not answer and Eleanor did not need him to.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I swear it,” Basaal said. He struggled to catch his breath from laughing as they sat in his private apartments late on the sixth night. They had just come from a grand banquet, where dancers, musicians, and magicians had created a spectacle of color and light and entertainment. Basaal and Eleanor had been seated next to Emperor Shaamil. But aside from a few pleasantries, exchanged between father and son, they had not spoken. Eleanor could see the tensions of the last month had strained their relationship.

  “As a child, I was set on becoming a magician,” Basaal insisted. “You must believe me.”

  “I don’t.” Eleanor smiled. “I can’t even imagine it.”

  “Basaal the Magnificent,” he said, his head leaning against the tall back of the sofa. “It has a certain charm.”

  Eleanor raised her eyebrows in response, playing absentmindedly with the small bag in her lap. Basaal had given her his gift for the sixth day, a small bag of seeds. When Eleanor had asked what they were for, he shook his head. “It’s almost spring,” he had said, “so, I’m following your custom and giving you the gift of a flower only to be revealed as it blooms.”

  Now she played with the ribbons that cinched the bag together as she spoke. “You are too serious for the life of an entertainer,” she explained. “And I could never be married to a magician.”

  “A soldier suits you better, then?” Basaal asked, grinning.

  Eleanor shrugged in response.

  Just then, a rhythm sounded on the large brass doors.

  “I will make you part of my first trick,” Basaal argued as he stood to answer the knock. “Tomorrow, I will make you disappear. And then you will owe me an apology.”

  Eleanor laughed and wiped her eyes, tired but content. She watched as Basaal accepted a sealed scroll from a messenger and then, after pushing the door shut and locking it with his free hand, he turned back towards Eleanor.

  A smile tossed itself across his face as he broke the seal and slowly unrolled the parchment. “My first commission as royal magician, to be sure.”

  But as Eleanor watched, the smile faded, and his eyebrows came together. After reading the contents of the scroll twice, Basaal looked up at Eleanor. Something in her heart froze.

  “There has been fighting in the Aemogen pass,” Basaal breathed out. “We are at war.”

  Eleanor did not remember standing or crossing the room, but she was instantly at his side, reaching towards the scroll in the his hands. Basaal gave it to Eleanor without a word and walked to one of the many open windows, his hand covering his mouth.

  “To inform you…” Eleanor stumbled aloud through the words. “Due to the mild winter, we have been advancing steadily up the pass, clearing the rubble away…We have come against a stiff opposition, mainly consisting of archers…casualties have been minimal but are bound to increase as we push our agenda up through Aemogen pass—” Eleanor looked at Basaal. “When would this have been sent?”

  Basaal walked back toward Eleanor, assuming a militant manner, and looked over her shoulder at some markings at the top of the page that Eleanor did not understand.

  “Almost seven weeks ago.” He shook his head. “The fighting must have started a little over a month after we left.”

  “And did you direct it?” Eleanor demanded, her question coming straight across the space between them with force. “Did your men have authorization for this attack? I was—” Eleanor took a breath, her anger mounting, and she spoke each word clearly. “I was under the impression that you had told me—” Eleanor paused then began again. “I believed you when you told me that they would not begin to clear the pass until your return this spring.”

  “And so it was.” Basaal rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to relieve a headache. “But if the winter was light, and the pass seemed reachable, then I imagine my men would take the initiative to begin working at clearing a path into Aemogen. From a tactical standpoint, I can find no fault with it.”

  Eleanor looked back at the scroll. It had mentioned little of the conflict and almost nothing of casualties.

  “So, we are at war, you and I,” Eleanor said.

  He walked by her, brushing against her arm as he passed. Sitting down, Basaal rubbed his hands over his face before looking back up. “Yes,” he said.

  “Why am I not in Aemogen?” Eleanor said, angry, as she rolled up the scroll and walked to Basaal, handing him the missive.
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br />   “Sit,” Basaal said, and he took hold of Eleanor’s wrist instead of the scroll. “This is something we should discuss seriously.”

  Eleanor sat down on the edge of the cushion, facing Basaal, who reclined farther back.

  “There is a way we can end this.” He was focused on reading her face as he spoke. “I can send a dispatch immediately. In six weeks time, the killing could be over.”

  “But in trade you would exact terms I could not give.” Eleanor shook her head.

  “Marry me,” Basaal responded in a low voice. “Truly become my wife. If we honor this marriage, then Aemogen could become an immediate ally of Zarbadast. You can reside in Aemogen, and I can travel between the empire and Ainsley Rise.” Basaal moved forward to the edge of the sofa, close to Eleanor. “I will do all in my power to maintain the integrity of Aemogen’s heritage and traditions. You can trust me to that. I can also help orchestrate the taxes and the trading with Zarbadast, so they will not be a burden on your people.”

  Eleanor opened her mouth, but Basaal reached forward and took her hand. “Eleanor, you have seen the power you are up against. You have also seen what my father is like when bent on his course. This conflict will not end until Aemogen is crushed. Is that what you want? You will lose it all. But I have fought hard to maintain my post, and, as my wife, you will have more power and leverage than you would if you try to go this alone.”

  Eleanor already knew it would not be as he said, that Shaamil would never leave her to rule Aemogen.

  “And as for our life together,” Basaal continued, “are we not well matched? I would promise to be a worthy husband to you. Despite my volatile nature, despite my difficulties, you know my core is steady. Have we not enjoyed this time together?” Basaal asked honestly, his face turning towards a slight smile. “Aside from your sickness and the threat of death hanging over our heads, it has gone off rather well.”