The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) (31 page)

There were also many merchant quarters, squares built around public wells, where markets and trading stalls bustled as hives in continual motion, filled with people watching the procession, calling out, and shouting songs and chants. There were those that stared with curiosity; others, with mistrust.

Eleanor had never felt more alien, dangerous, or unknown. For some watched her with hesitation because she was different from them, and, perhaps, a threat to their way of life. Eleanor forgave them instantly, for she knew that some people in Aemogen had thought—justifiably—the same thing of Basaal.

On the horizon, beyond the golden walls and roads of the desert city, a circular wave, dark and blue, was repeating itself, moving closer. Then the sound of thunder rattled in the distance. The crowd looked up, an electric whisper spreading among the people. A storm, a rarity here, was descending upon the city.

Hegleh felt nervous beneath Eleanor’s hand. She knew that the mere weight of her dress would be enough to test her riding skills should Hegleh rear up, and she tried to soothe the horse as best she could. The wind moved silently across Eleanor’s arms and up her bare neck, past her face. It was light, but growing in strength as a threatening gray sky became more pronounced behind the blue clouds, tumbling towards them with the sound of thunder at their back.

Basaal looked back over his shoulder, his eyes catching hers, and he indicated that they would soon be returning back to the palaces. Then a snap split the distant sky. The crowd screamed, some laughing at the prospect of the rare storm. But Hegleh had jumped, twisting in fright. Eleanor’s dress did not give her freedom, and, sliding back, she grabbed Hegleh’s hair rather than putting her full weight behind the reins.

A hand reached out, grabbing Hegleh’s bridle, a voice settling the mare with a string of comforting words. It was a member of Basaal’s honor guard, a man in black with a mark on his arm that was almost shockingly bright blue. Eleanor did not look at his face, focusing instead on Hegleh, but she did notice that Basaal had paused the procession, looking worried until he saw who was helping her. Then he nodded and moved on. As Hegleh followed, calmed, Eleanor turned toward the guard to thank him.

She started in surprise, for his face was as familiar to her as any she had ever seen. In that half second, Eleanor felt as though part of her had returned home somehow. An expression mirroring Eleanor’s feelings seemed to crossed his face, and he looked away before glancing back at Eleanor. She nodded, and he touched his hand to the center of his brow, bowing his head in response.

And then, the sounds of the horse’s feet against the cobblestones, the shouts of the people, and the tangle of city noises returned in an instant. Eleanor realized that seeing the stranger’s face had erased the sounds from around her in the moment that she saw him. She would ask Basaal later about this soldier. She felt she must already know him, but no, she had never seen him, despite the feeling that she had seen his face a thousand times. Eleanor did not look at him again, but the security of knowing he rode with them brought her relief.

The procession was returning now, winding up the streets to the seven palaces, the pinnacle of the city. The soldier with the blue mark remained close to Eleanor as they climbed the final road and passed through the large gates of the seven palaces. Behind her, Emir exclaimed something in Imirillian Eleanor could not understand, and someone laughed in response.

Dozens of grooms spilled into the courtyard, and all the wives and children began to chatter and talk, happy the procession was over and anxious to be free of their ceremonial clothing. Basaal dismounted and handed the reins to an old stable master. Then he stepped back to help Eleanor, laughing as her dress caught on Hegleh’s saddle. Eleanor looked around, but the guard with the blue mark had disappeared.

Then Hannia came down the white stairs and shouted instructions to the maidservants, who were negotiating Eleanor’s train. As she did, the same groom who held Refigh’s reins came forward to fetch Hegleh and led them both back to Basaal’s stables.

“The procession is long, but it’s an important tradition nonetheless,” Basaal said as Eleanor put her arm through this. He pulled at his cuff with his free hand as they began to walk towards the stairs. Then he looked up. The clouds loomed above the vibrant green of the palace trees, which seemed bent under the weight of anticipation.

“I think we are to actually have rain,” he added.

Eleanor was about to reply, but the sound of a horse’s scream caused Basaal to turn away stiffly. Hegleh had reared, and the old man was having trouble calming the horse. The stable master’s face seemed wrought of worry and misery as he pulled at the reins. Then Eleanor could see blood on the white around Hegleh’s mouth. Refigh, also unsettled and spooked by Hegleh’s scream, was passed off to a younger groom as the old man cursed Hegleh, striking the poor animal.

Basaal jolted. He moved away from Eleanor, speaking loud enough for many in the courtyard to hear. “What happened?” he said, yelling at the man for hitting the horse. “Why is Queen Eleanor’s horse bleeding?”

“I—I do not know,” the old man stammered, and he shrunk before Basaal. “She was frightened, nervous for the storm,” he explained. “And I pulled on her rein to shake her—”

“Pulled?” Basaal took Hegleh’s reins from the man and inspected Hegleh’s mouth. The horse whinnied in pain, looking towards the stable master with apparent mistrust. Eleanor watched the exchange, uncomfortable. “By the stars, man,” Basaal said, and his voice shook. “You have pulled this horse hard enough to gouge her gum. What foolishness is this?” he demanded. “Why would you strike my horse?”

“The mare would not respond to a lighter touch,” the man defended.

“Then, perhaps another stable would suit your beastly needs better,” Basaal said, raising his voice almost to a shout.

Basaal’s face looked pale, and he was breathing heavy. Arsaalan came to his side, speaking slow, calming words, but Basaal shook him off. Some of the wives watched only a moment before dismissing the scene, but Laaeitha came to Eleanor’s side and reached for her hand. Eleanor was grateful to not have to stand alone, waiting for the tension to pass.

“I know. I know Dantib has served me well,” Basaal responded to something Arsaalan was saying before handing Hegleh’s reins to a younger groom. Then Basaal turned from facing his brother back toward the stable master. “You have served me well for many years, Dantib, but you are old. It is time you take your rest as is befitting an old man and allow a younger man to take your place. I no longer require your services.”

“But—” Dantib said, reaching his hand up towards Basaal, who was already turning away. Basaal turned back, his expression livid, his arm rising as if he would strike. Eleanor moved to speak, but Laaeitha pressed her fingers into Eleanor’s arm.

“I am surprised at this,” Laaeitha whispered. “He’s always seemed so fond of this servant.”

“Laaeitha!” a voice called from behind them. Eleanor and Laaeitha turned to see Emir about to ascend the stairs. “You are wanted by the first wife,” he said. “Go to it.”

“The rights of a first wife, eh?” she said in a low, teasing voice. Eleanor smiled in response before turning her attention back to Basaal.

“You have one day,” Basaal said. “One more day to train your undergroom in the needs of my horses, then I want you gone. And,” he added, “take Hegleh to the larger stables in the south end of the city, where Emmen can attend to her needs.”

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?”