The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) (32 page)

“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.

“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.”

Eleanor closed her eyes.

“I don’t need you to love me,” Basaal continued, releasing her hand. “There is still fondness and affection—”

“I do,” Eleanor interrupted him, speaking forcefully. “I would chose you if I could. We both know that.” Basaal began to speak, but Eleanor held up her hand. “And, as nice as that would be were love our only consideration, greater things hang in the balance. What you propose may very well be for the best. On the outside, it appears almost an ideal reconciliation. But something in me is telling me to fight for Aemogen’s independence until my last breath.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “And that is what I must do.”

Basaal looked towards the floor. “It is fine that you have set your course, Eleanor, but my course is to invade your country. Once you disappear, my father will stop at nothing to see you dead and to see all of Aemogen in humiliating submission.”

“But even if I choose to stay with you, Basaal,” she argued, “the emperor has made it quite clear that repercussions will come down on the heads of my people as an example of what happens to any nation who fights against Imirillia. Are you to tell me that you can counteract all his plans?” Eleanor challenged. “With the consequences already in motion, would you really lead me to believe that you can alter his set course?”

Basaal ran his fingers through his short hair. “No. I can’t even be assured that he would let me send you back to Ainsley,” Basaal admitted. He shrugged, although he was clearly upset and seemed to be struggling for his composure. “Very well,” he said. “We will see this thing through and hope that each of us can live with the outcome.”

The words were bitter—and true.

Eleanor set her hand on his. “There is one possibility we have not yet discussed.” Basaal met her eye but did not speak. “You could come with me to Aemogen. Come as my husband and be free of your father.”

As he registered her words, Basaal’s face was stripped of all emotion save surprise, and he looked as if she had hit him without warning. “Come with you? Leave everything behind and set myself against the emperor in open contempt?” Basaal pulled his hand away from hers. “Impossible. No self-imposed exile would ever call me from my home.”

Eleanor set her face in disapproval. “A home where you cannot trust most of those around you? A home where treachery underlines every political act?” she challenged. “Have you even discovered who sent the assassin yet? Basaal, what if you had been killed?”

“A home,” he responded, “where I have a duty and a place.” He cut the air with his hand. “I have a role to fill in my family and a responsibility to all who serve beneath me. I oversee soldiers and merchants, run trade routes, and employ artisans and scholars—thousands of people, Eleanor! You know this!”

Eleanor shook her head, a practical look overlaying her sad expression. “Even if I had the freedom to choose a marriage to you with no other considerations—forgetting all the politics and statecraft, knowing that I could return to Ainsley and that you could travel between the Imirillian Empire and Aemogen—I would refuse it, Basaal.”

Eleanor bit her lip and shook her head slightly. “For if I would return to Ainsley,” she continued, “you would spend most of your time here in Zarbadast, leaving me uncertain for months whether you were well, let alone alive. I would have given myself to you and, before long, found myself married to a stranger, a man I did not recognize anymore as the years moved forward.

“Our children would not have known you, unless they went to Zarbadast and became, to some measure, lost to me. It would have always been impossible, for your wanderer’s mark rests above your heart, and your heart belongs in Zarbadast. More than the ten thousand miles of the world lay between us.” Eleanor stood. “It is better that we part in a day’s time and let this—” she said, waving a hand between them, “end.”

***

Basaal would not look at Eleanor as he sat, considering her words, envisioning the future she had set before his eyes. He knew she was right. She waited only a moment before turning away and walking through the arched doorway into the bedchamber. After a few minutes, he stood and began to extinguish the lights in the sitting room. Then Hannia came through the doors, but Basaal dismissed her quickly.

“We have no need of any services tonight,” he said. “Both Eleanor and I are quite tired, and Eleanor has already gone to bed. I do not think we will need anything tomorrow either, as we hope to spend the morning alone.” Basaal tried to lighten his expression as he waved the confused maid out of the room. He locked the doors and pulled at them—a habit of making sure the lock had caught—then Basaal crossed the dark sitting room and entered their bedchamber.

His
bedchamber, Basaal corrected himself.

Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed, looking somber, slowly removing the jewelry she wore and pulling the pins from her copper hair, placing them on the table beside the bed. He leaned against the open doorway, his arms crossed, watching her.

She had already slipped out of her elaborate dress—it was folded carefully over a chair—and she wore a delicate white nightgown. Aside from the weight he could see behind her eyes, the entire scene was serene and feminine. When Eleanor finished her preparations, she met his eye, and Basaal swallowed, regaining his composure before speaking. “I pray to the Illuminating God that I will never have to face you in battle, Eleanor.”

“You must pray that the lives of our men will be spared.”

“Then stay.”

Eleanor’s eyes were solemn. “Everything in me speaks that I must go,” she said.

Tired, Basaal pushed himself away from the wall to prepare himself for bed. He pulled several cushions onto the floor and then washed his face in a basin of water. But, instead of retreating to his cushions to sleep, after he had extinguished all the lights, he came and sat on the edge of the bed where Eleanor lay, facing the window. The moonlight fell onto the surfaces of the room with a soft white glow, and Basaal knew Eleanor’s eyes studied his profile. Then she placed her hand in his.

Eleanor did not speak, but when Basaal lay down beside her, she turned her face into his chest as if a refuge could be found there. Basaal pulled her closer to him and watched the night sky above Zarbadast through the open window. After what seemed a long time, Eleanor’s breathing deepened, and he knew that she had crossed into sleep.

***

***

When Basaal woke it was still the middle of the night, but his arms were empty. Basaal turned his face towards a pulsing light across the room. Eleanor was sitting at the table with a small oil lamp lit, concentrating on whatever map she had conjured up in her mind. Basaal had seen that face before; it was born of the necessity of leading her country to war. The pain he felt in his chest caught him off guard, and Basaal swallowed and looked away. For he knew that she was again searching for a way to defeat him.

***

Some time before dawn, Eleanor moved her hand towards Basaal, but she did not find him there next to her. She opened her eyes in the earliest light that morning dared offer, a dim gift. He knelt before the open doorway leading into the garden. The red curtains, delicate and light, wafted through the air, touching him lightly. Basaal knelt with his hands over his heart, his lips moving with intense devotion, though no words came out. Eleanor’s heart felt conflicting respect and panic as she watched him pray, wondering if what he sought was greater wisdom in leading his army against hers.