The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) (6 page)

“Why then?” he asked.

“I will be as honest as I can,” Basaal said and paused. “Sorry, what was your name?”

“Call me cousin Telford.” The old man grinned. “An awful name, but it’s mine.”

Basaal raised his eyebrows in agreement. It was an awful name.

“I suppose you have heard of the Desolation of Aramesh?” Basaal asked. The old man, Telford as he called himself, nodded. “Not long after Aramesh, my father decided to take Aemogen. He commissioned me to lead this conquest, but I refused the commission, at first.”

“Before you realized what a feather little Aemogen would be in your cap,” Telford suggested. “A step forward in your own ambition.” The courtier almost sounded flippant.

“No,” Basaal said, eyeing the man with a wary frown. “I have my personal reasons for wanting to see Aemogen spared as much pain as possible. I realized that if my father were to ask any of my brothers to lead the conquest, it would be a brutal showing, and the country of Aemogen would suffer.”

Telford was silent.

“I then claimed the position in hopes that I could lead the Aemogen queen to choose a peaceful surrender,” Basaal said. “You know that didn’t work. Yet, I am determined to maintain my position as the head of the Aemogen conquest. That means there can be no misstep whatsoever. Eleanor cannot escape while in my custody.” Telford moved as if to say something, but Basaal interrupted him. “You’ve heard of the Vestan Assassins?”

With a nod, Telford waved Basaal on.

“Four of them travel in my company,” Basaal explained. “They will ensure that both Eleanor and I arrive in Zarbadast. She will have to escape from the palace there, for they will track her and claim her life if she disappears in any other way. In Zarbadast, she would have the best chance of an untraceable escape.”

“Do you know how she will find her way back to Aemogen?” Telford asked, his voice quiet.

“I am figuring it out.”

“Ah.” The old courtier went under the water a moment then came up, sputtering water away from his face and wiping his eyes. “So, you’ve no intentions,” he said, looking like an old sheepdog enjoying a bath, “of keeping the queen there for yourself?”

Basaal flushed and let out a breath. “No. Why do people keep insinuating that?”

“Rumors,” the courier replied, combing back his thinning hair with his fingers. “Thayne said the two of you were quite close on the battle run.”

“I believe we had developed a close friendship,” Basaal said slowly. “But, until a few days ago, Queen Eleanor could hardly look at me.” Basaal realized he was dry, so he stood, removed his robe, and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on.

“And this upsets you?” Telford asked.

Basaal shrugged indifferently and pulled his shirt over his head, tucking it into his breeches.

“Thayne believes,” Telford continued, “that Eleanor’s estimation of you will only continue to rise.”

“Why, on all the seven stars, would he think that?” Basaal asked. “The man trusted me as much as he would any snake.” Basaal sat and pulled on his boots, waiting for a response. Before the courtier could reply, a sound echoed on the outside wall of the bathhouse.

“It’s really a pity we’ve not more time to talk,” Telford said. “I am afraid our privacy is about to end.”

Before Basaal could answer, Telford submerged himself in the water. Basaal stood, leaving his wet robe on the bench. As he was leaving, two men entered, eyeing Basaal. He could hear Thayne’s brother greet them warmly. It took several minutes for Basaal to realize he had never received his mother’s letter.

***

In the moments before the company set out from Marion City, Basaal took advantage of the last privacy he and Eleanor would have. He told her of his conversation with the old courtier, Telford.

Although Eleanor listened with care, she remained quiet.

“Is this a man I should not have spoken to?” Basaal asked after waiting for several minutes. “I spoke to him because he’d obviously been in contact with Aedon.”

“You can trust Telford,” Eleanor confirmed, her expression weighing what she had heard. She looked at Basaal as if she were reminding herself that he was right, that her only option now was to escape from Zarbadast. “I only wish I’d a chance to send a letter through to Aemogen, to Edythe,” she said.

Basaal drummed his finger along the arm of the sofa, looking sideways towards Eleanor.

“Did Staven return this morning for your answer?” he asked.

“If my answer to Staven was yes,” she began, “would you agree to stay in Marion City long enough to receive Shaamil’s response?”

“No,” Basaal said, answering honestly. “It would take too long, and I already know that, at this stage, he would refuse the annexation.”

“Are you sure?”

“Nearly,” he said.

Eleanor frowned. “I will tell you that I have considered the proposal in its entirety.”

Basaal did not speak, but his throat felt pinched.

“It could be the best alternative for the people of Aemogen.”

He held his breath.

“But, I did not think you would cooperate,” she said. “And, I do not trust that Aemogen would be better in the hands of Staven than in yours.” Eleanor paused before adding, “If you can keep your head long enough to finish the conquest.”

“So you told him no?” Basaal asked.

“I told him to go to the devil.”

Basaal began to smile but pulled against the rising corners of his mouth. He wanted to tell Eleanor how glad he was that she would not have Staven, but her expression was not inviting, and so he remained silent.

Chapter Four

“Politics are always a caution,” she had told Edythe months ago. “One power twists a knife, and their neighbors fall to their knees.” The words now ran through Eleanor’s mind as she resigned herself to the journey into Imirillia.

As the company of seventy soldiers galloped through the northern fields, Eleanor glanced back only once, towards the blond buildings and arches of Marion City. Her responsibility now was to stay alive and return to Aemogen, so she turned her attention to the unknown, to the North.

The Vestan were ever present reminders of Eleanor’s internal trepidation, but Basaal had given instructions that Annan would be her personal guard. Knowing she spoke Imirillian passably, he began to tell her about the journey ahead.

“A larger company, composed of infantry, cavalry, and supplies, can take over three months to make this journey,” he shared with her, late into the first day. “But we are a small company, and the prince will push us hard. Rather than taking the more fertile route to the west, wrapping around through Capabolt, and then turning east towards Zarbadast, Basaal will take us straight up through the Aronee and Zeaad deserts,” Annan explained. “We will arrive in Zarbadast in under two months.”

“And what if you are traveling alone?” Eleanor asked. “The prince traveled down without a company. How long did it take him?”

Annan smiled. “Seven weeks, if you are fast,” he said. “Six is almost impossible. Basaal claims he made it in five.”

***

The northern regions of Marion were descending rapidly into a cold fall with the rest of the country. Eleanor was wrapped in a borrowed cloak, her fingers raw and stiff from the winds coming down from the high mountains to the west.

The prince rode near the head of the column, surrounded by his own men, intermingled with his father’s officers. The Vestan assassins slithered through the company, usually with two riding before Eleanor, and two behind. Annan kept all the riders at bay, giving Eleanor a measure of solitude amidst the company.

She did not ask him many questions, though Annan had told her that she might inquire anything. His eyes watched those around him, especially the Vestan.

As the company stopped each evening, Eleanor was ushered into a large tent that she shared with Basaal. A few blankets were all that could be afforded, and Eleanor was often too tired to complain before falling asleep. After the first night—when Eleanor had slept without eating—Annan saw that she had food before resting. Basaal rarely spoke, giving reassuring glances when their eyes met, but leaving Eleanor to her thoughts, and keeping privately to his.

The nights were cold, and Ainsley felt far away from her tired body, her muscles strained whenever she moved, and her sores from the hard riding burned at the touch. It was more difficult, Basaal’s fast pace north, than the battle run had ever seemed. The landscape was changing too. It shifted from fields, similar enough to those in Aemogen, into a maze of high stone, coming off the last green hills of the south.

She had heard of this place, which they called the stone sea. The articulation of its massive gray stones under the sun’s steady yet soft hand was a beautiful distraction. Thick green grass clung in vibrant masses to the rocks. And, as always, Prince Basaal rode ahead, speaking only occasionally with those around him, keeping a quick pace.

“It is not long before we will cross the northern Marion border into Allute, the southernmost country of the Imirillian Empire,” Annan told Eleanor one morning as they rode endlessly north.

“And what will we find?” Eleanor asked, her mouth dry, and her lips broken by speaking the question. She tasted blood against her tongue.

“We will pass thought the city of Alliet and then begin our sojourn through the Aronee desert.”

What lay behind and what lay before Eleanor had become a dull thought as her days filled with the endlessness of riding. Some evenings, Eleanor would move slowly towards the back of the tent, where she lay down but did not sleep in hopes that she and Basaal might speak of any plans he had thought up for her escape. But he was often out and about with the men or in quiet discussion with Annan in the open doorway of the tent. Twice, Eleanor had felt him whisper her name, but she was too tired to wake herself up and respond.

It was many days before Eleanor awoke without feeling cold. They were far enough north now to have left the frigid autumn air of the south, moving steadily towards a more temperate climate. And, despite the inner turmoil she felt as they pressed farther into the unknown, Eleanor began to turn her thoughts towards Imirillia with curiosity.

One morning, Eleanor found herself awake before dawn. She turned softly and was startled when she saw Basaal standing at the far end of the tent. He whispered several words before kneeling down, and then repeated what he had said. He wore no armor, just as when he had prayed before. But this morning seemed different somehow, more like ritual than prayer.

Basaal repeated the same fluid motion several times until, finally, he paused on his knees, covering his heart with his hands, silent. After what seemed a long time, Basaal touched his forehead to the floor and stood up, his bearing returning to his casual, confident timbre as he took a drink of water from a pouch. When he caught sight of her eyes watching him, the prince smiled.

“You’re awake!” he said, as if it were miraculous. Eleanor sat up and pushed her long, copper hair away from her face.

“Yes,” she said, lifting her hand towards the stiffness running through her neck.

“It feels like we’ve hardly spoken these last weeks,” Basaal said, approaching where Eleanor sat bundled in a cloak and an increasingly dirty blanket. He offered her a drink of water.

“We haven’t,” Eleanor said, accepting the drink. “I believe Annan promised we will soon come to a city?”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow,” he said. “We will stay there two nights, securing food and water for our month in the dessert.”

“Am I too hopeful to expect a bath?” Eleanor asked, wanting desperately to be clean.

Basaal crouched beside her, watching her with the same expression one would have if remembering a favorite melody almost forgotten. She handed him his water pouch, and his eyes lingered on her face before he answered her question.

“I think more comforts than that can be arranged,” he said.

Nodding, she braced herself for two more days of travel. She combed her hair with her fingers, as best she could, braiding it down her back. Basaal moved about the tent, half-humming to himself, checking his weaponry to be sure it was in order before securing it all in place. When he noticed Eleanor’s taken aback expression, he shrugged, an almost shy smile crossing his handsome face.

“I have been away from my home for a long time,” was all the explanation he gave for his fine mood.

***

Alliet was a welcome sight, and the company rode into the city mid-afternoon the next day. It was not a large city but a fair one, with beautiful buildings made from the same dark stone the company had passed the week previous. Basaal’s company wound through the streets among many curious glances, entering the gates of a large building that was beautiful and well crafted.

“A dwelling of the seven princes,” Annan told Eleanor.

“A dwelling?” she asked. “How many do they have?”

“Countless,” Annan said. “It is a large empire, and the princes are very wealthy.”

Before them, Basaal dismounted, giving strict orders to a groom before handing him the reins of his black horse. Annan helped Eleanor dismount Hegleh, and they followed Basaal through the ornately carved front doors. All the floors were covered in bright tiles, beautiful in pattern and in color. Then a woman stepped forward, and Basaal exchanged a few words with her as he motioned towards Eleanor. The woman listened carefully and bowed to Basaal before leading the company up the stairs to a suite of several rooms.

Once inside, the woman immediately whisked Eleanor away into a side room, where, to Eleanor’s great relief, there was a large brass tub, filled with warm water. Most likely, it was prepared as a welcome for Prince Basaal, but Eleanor didn’t care. She stripped off her worn clothing and stepped into the clean, scented water.

It rushed around her face as she submerged, and Eleanor brushed her hair away as she lifted her head above the water and leaned back with her eyes closed. The relief of it was so great Eleanor gave a single wobbly, unstable sigh and then, without warning, began to sob.

***

Basaal paced outside the closed door. The maidservant had taken Eleanor—tired, spent, and bound in a soft robe—into the small bedchamber after her bath. It was a long time before the woman came out, quietly closing the door behind her. Then the maidservant bowed before him.

“Is she well?” he asked. Had he been home and had his maidservant, Hannia, taken charge of Eleanor, he was certain he would have received an earful. But this maidservant would not chastise him and only nodded humbly, adding, “She is greatly fatigued, Your Grace, in body and spirit.”

“May I go in to her?” Basaal asked.

A conflicted expression weighed on the woman’s face.

“As you may wish, Your Grace,” the woman said before adding tentatively, “But, I have seen that she is asleep.”

“Perhaps tomorrow, then.”

He had heard Eleanor crying from the other room, and, for reasons unknown to him, it had almost thrown him into a panic. The maid had seen to Eleanor with care, and, for that, he was grateful and inexplicably irritated.

“See the bath emptied and refilled,” he commanded. “I also desire to rest early tonight.”

***

Eleanor slept soundly and deeply. She did not even dream.

When morning came, the light from a narrow window opened her eyes. Instead of rising, she turned over and slept again. She did not know how late it was when the maidservant finally coaxed her awake.

“I have clothes for you,” she said in broken Imirillian. At first, Eleanor was confused by this woman’s struggle with the language until she remembered that this was a woman of Alute, a country conquered by Imirillia only ten years before. Eleanor forced herself up, and the maid helped her shed her soft robe.

“Your old clothes,” she said. “They are worn thin. I have found new undergarments for you to wear.” She produced soft, white effects. “When you go into the desert, you will wear these.” She motioned towards a pile of white clothing and a headscarf. “You will wrap this around your face like so for protection against the sand and sun,” she explained as she demonstrated on her own face. “Covering all except for your eyes.”

Eleanor thanked the maid but dismissed her, dressing herself carefully. The skin underneath Eleanor’s eyes was tight, and her throat was sore when she swallowed. She felt as if she had slept but was not rested, and the day passed too quickly. Eleanor spent her time in her bedchamber or the common room just outside her door. Annan came into the chamber once, to inform Eleanor that he and a guard waited outside.

“What of Prince Basaal?” she asked Annan.

“He sees to the preparations for crossing the Aronee.”

“And we leave tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Annan said, and then he left.

Eleanor brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at the palm trees outside the window.

***

Basaal stood with Taiz, the property steward, overseeing the purchases in the courtyard.

“I’ve packed more water than usual,” Taiz said, running through the inventory with the prince. “You shall be very comfortable.”

The prince walked slowly along the line of the newly arrived supplies, which were waiting to be packed and prepared. “How many additional animals will we need?” Basaal asked.

“I’ve already secured a dozen,” Taiz said. “Later this afternoon, I can—” A noise interrupted Taiz, and Basaal turned towards the shouting.

A man in poor clothing was being dragged over the cobbles towards him. The beggar’s legs were falling beneath him as two soldiers pulled him along, taking extra pains to make it a miserable journey. They threw the man at Basaal’s feet.

“What has this man done?” Basaal asked sharply, looking from his men to the trembling figure on the ground.

“We found him trying to leave with this,” the senior soldier said, raising his arm to reveal a small bag of dried fruit.

“From our stores?” Basaal inquired.

The soldier nodded.

On the ground, the man was trembling. His arms were wrapped over the back of his neck, and he was filthy, desperate. “Please,” he said, his small voice whispering his pathetic plea. “
Please.
”

The other soldier kicked the man, who yelped in pain. Basaal motioned that soldier away and frowned. Everyone in the courtyard stood, watching him. The image of the small boy who had stolen from his neighbors in Faenan fen came to Basaal’s mind—Eleanor had shown him great mercy. Basaal chafed now against the knowledge that the strict laws of his father gave no leeway for mercy toward thieves.

“Where do you live?” Basaal inquired of the man.

The wretch did not lift his head but answered, the words shaking against each other as they rose from the ground. “Here, in Alliet, in the western streets.”