The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) (11 page)

Basaal laughed and reached his hand out to Zanntal. “I can hardly believe—of all things. Thank you.” Zanntal acknowledged Basaal’s thanks, but he did not speak. “Tell me,” Basaal continued, “why have you abandoned your post? I have not seen you since—”

“Since Aramesh,” Zanntal said, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a dark blue mark on his forearm. “I swore myself to Prince Emaad, sixth son,” he explained. “He is dead.”

Basaal looked at Zanntal, Emaad’s dearest friend. “When his armies were reclaimed in Aramesh, you left your post?” he guessed.

“I did.”

“Were you there when he died?” Basaal asked.

Zanntal shook his head and looked towards the ground. “I heard rumors, Prince. And, because of what I had heard, I choose to stand with you today.”

Before them, the northern gate of Zarbadast opened, and a company of men came riding out, Dantib being among the group.

“He died to protect me, Zanntal.” Basaal looked the soldier in the eye. “Emaad was my closest brother. Will you offer me your services? I will treat you well.”

Zanntal narrowed his eyes, a somber smile on his face. “I offer myself unto life,” he said, “not unto death.”

“So be it,” Basaal said, accepting the pledge. “Welcome to my household. I have few allies who think as I do, if you take my meaning.”

Zanntal did not reply but made the signal of alliance, which Basaal returned. Then they rode down to meet Dantib and the company of soldiers.

“I am well, Dantib,” Basaal assured the stable master. Basaal spoke briefly with the captain of the guard detail and then sent them into the high desert pass to clear out the marauders. He also decided to send Zanntal ahead to the seven palaces.

“Give them this,” Basaal said, handing Zanntal a golden token of a bird rising, a ruby set in the center: a simpler, less valuable version of the gift Eleanor had refused. “And my steward will see you settled,” he explained, “until I send for you.”

***

Dusty and colorful, the streets of Zarbadast were as they always had been as Basaal and Dantib rode slowly through the crowds. People pointed as the prince rode past. Winding their way through the early evening streets, Basaal explained to Dantib how he and Zanntal had escaped their predicament.

“At least you had the sense,” Dantib said, “to reason with them rather than to fight your way out.”

“Yes.” Basaal smiled wryly. “Not even Eleanor could fault my performance.”

Dantib did not respond.

Arriving at the palace gates, they entered the stables. Basaal dismounted and handed the reins to Dantib. He was about to go, when the old man motioned for him to come closer.

“Yes?” Basaal asked.

“I will see it done,” Dantib said. His face was serious, resolved.

“My request, you mean?” Basaal asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Basaal clasped Dantib’s shoulder, humbled. “Next time we go out to ride, I will share with you my thoughts,” he promised. “Thank you, Dantib.”

A stable boy came in and relieved the men of their horses. So Basaal turned towards the palace, and Dantib walked stiffly into the stables.

Chapter Eight

“And this is your family line?” Eleanor asked, pointing to the pedigree scroll that was rolled open on the table. Ammar often worked across from her, noting his own discoveries, recording his medical experiments or whatever general scholarship in which he was involved.

“Yes,” Ammar said, pausing in his writing to look at the scroll. “My father, his wives, and their children.”

Ammar had indulged Eleanor’s penchant for learning and knowledge. With a promise to take her to the Zarbadast archives one day, he had ordered history, poetry, and the complete Seven Scrolls to be delivered to the apartment. Eleanor had begun with the history of the royal family.

“It says here,” she said, “that Emperor Shaamil’s first wife was Gelareh. She bore him Emir, first son, and Ashim, second son.”

“Yes”

“Then Shaamil married your mother, Aafsoon. You were soon born, becoming the third son. Then,” Eleanor said as she scanned the names, “Gelareh, the first wife, bore Shaamil two more sons: Arsaalan, fourth son, and Kiarash, fifth son. The emperor married Edith. Then Gelareh bore him one last son—Emaad, sixth son—four months before the birth of Edith’s son, Prince Basaal, seventh son.”

“That is correct,” Ammar said, returning to his physician notes.

Eleanor looked up from her scroll. “I see the history on paper,” she said. “Now tell me the real story.”

“Pardon?” Ammar said, looking up.

“The wives and the sons.” Eleanor waved her hand over the paper. “Did Shaamil prefer one wife to another? Have the sons always felt friendship, or enmity? Tell me.”

“I thought you would be a sweet scholar, quiet and unobtrusive,” Ammar said, looking at Eleanor with regret. “I see I was wrong and that my own work will suffer.” He set his quill down on the table and motioned for Tameez to bring refreshments.

“Gelareh was Father’s first wife,” Ammar said, sounding as if he were giving a tutorial. “She was beautiful but spiteful, with a jealous nature. Her family was wealthy, with a large influence in the western regions of Imirillia. Theirs was a political alliance, not a love match,” Ammar explained. “My mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, here in the city. Her dowry was vast, and her beauty famed. Gelareh may have been more alluring, but Aafsoon, my mother, was kind. Father was fond of her and was pleased to take her as his second wife. But—”

“But?” Eleanor echoed, waiting for Ammar to continue.

“But, although the emperor is a practical man, I believe he was disappointed in his brides,” Ammar said. “My mother did not live beyond my fourth year. Then came the alliance with Marion, down in the South, and Princess Edith was sent to Zarbadast.” He stopped a moment before continuing. “I was seven years old at the time. My father, but forty-two, was young and strong, the ruler of the most powerful empire ever to be seen on the Continent.

“I was there the day Edith was brought before Shaamil. She was blindfolded and could not see the assembly, but she stood straight and delicate, an exotic woman, so different from what we knew,” he paused, “like you. My father stood, looked at her a long time, and commanded her be sent out. I did not wholly understand what was occurring then, but after the month of purification, they were wed.

“Shaamil takes pride in all his sons, to be sure,” Ammar said, stating it as a fact. “But, his heart has always leaned towards Basaal, his seventh son, the only child of Edith.”

Eleanor looked at the names, written beautifully on the scroll before her. She was beginning to see Basaal in context: the beloved youngest son of the most powerful family on the Continent, brother, prince, and trained soldier.

“Do the brothers resent Basaal for the preferential treatment he receives?” she asked Ammar.

“Basaal is well loved,” Ammar said. “Though, it doesn’t mean there have not been difficult feelings and occurrences that have tested the family.”

Eleanor recalled the night Basaal had been treated by Ammar for fighting with Kiarash. She wondered if that was a common occurrence.

“And Edith?” she asked. “Did you know her well? You must have been, what, seventeen when she died?”

Ammar looked down at the table before him. “Almost from the first day they were wed, Edith took me in as her own, bestowing upon me all the motherly affection a child could need. For all intents and purposes, she is my mother, and Basaal is a full brother to me. Basaal is very like her, you know,” he added. “No, not in temperament or manner, but his heart is as hers, loyal as the day and true to those in it.”

“Does he miss her?” Eleanor asked.

“Every day.”

“And what about the emperor?” Eleanor inquired.

Ammar smiled. “That is of whom I spoke.”

Eleanor looked down and tapped her fingers against the smooth paper. “Is Gelareh, the first wife, still alive?” she asked.

“She is, spiteful old crow. You’ll not see her.” Ammar’s apparent satisfaction in that fact was curious to Eleanor.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Gelareh has been sent to a western palace,” he explained. “Her dark cloud can no longer be tolerated by the emperor.”

Eleanor was surprised. “How do her sons feel about that?”

“It was their idea,” Ammar said as he picked up his quill and continued with his work.

***

Eleanor’s days as a prisoner in Zarbadast were dreamlike in nature. The warm breezes swept about the curtains that hung in elegant transparency. They also lifted scents from the gardens below the open windows. Ammar was—most often—pleasant and intelligent. Tameez remained mute, coming and going in specter silence. Eleanor did not communicate with Tameez, but Ammar trusted him completely. And Eleanor, to her surprise, realized that she trusted Ammar.

It had been fifteen days since her arrival in Zarbadast, and Eleanor had not once spoken to Basaal. Aside from the night when he had visited the physician’s apartments, Eleanor had seen and heard nothing concerning his days. For, Ammar did not discuss his family often, and Eleanor doled out her questions carefully.

“Tell me of Aramesh,” she said one afternoon as the pleasant winds blew through the apartments. “Were you there?” Ammar looked up from a scroll, something in his mannerisms reminding Eleanor of Basaal.

“I was in my father’s retinue as head physician.”

“What happened there?” Eleanor asked as she sat up straighter. “Every time Aramesh is mentioned, Basaal looks as if he has been struck.”

Ammar set his brass cup down on the table near his couch and leaned back. He seemed to measure Eleanor as he would one of his powders or remedies.

“When we entered Aramesh, the emperor charged each son with a portion of the country,” Ammar began slowly. “He was to burn it out and kill any man, woman, or child in his path. You see,” Ammar recounted with a sigh, “my father became Emperor at age nine. Imirillia did not fare so well in those days, and Aramesh, one of our neighbors to the east, was prosperous.

“They would not trade with Imirillia,” Ammar continued, “despite what money we could offer—more than a fair price for the Aramesian goods. My father felt a great responsibility during the droughts of those years, for many Imirillians had died. So, he swore vengeance on Aramesh for its selfishness and, a few years ago, decided to act on that oath.

“Basaal never felt settled with the latest expansion of the empire,” Ammar continued. “As our father became more aggressive, Basaal began to question his methods and motives, as did I. When he was commanded to take his men and pillage the far province of Aramesh, Basaal could not commit such horrors.

“He has kept the details to himself, but word has it that Basaal sent runners to warn the people of the province and that they were given time to gather stores and flee before he burned their houses. He also commanded his men not to lay a finger on any human soul.”

Eleanor looked directly into Ammar’s eyes. “He’s a good man, your brother,” she confirmed, as much to herself as to the physician. Ammar spoke no words in reply, but he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment before continuing.

“I was with my father in the capital city when we heard the news that one of the far provinces had not been desolated, rather the people warned and little damage done. The other far province was under the direction of Emaad, our brother just four months older than Basaal. They were of different temperaments, but they loved each other with great affection.

“I had never seen such companionship,” Ammar admitted. “Emaad knew of Basaal’s struggles, but he did not understand them, for Emaad was in agreement with our father. Emaad felt it was right for the empire to establish its place in the hierarchy of the region.

“When Shaamil heard a far province had been spared, I knew whose it was but did not speak. We all rode out to meet the armies of Basaal and Emaad, who had joined together in their return. Shaamil confronted them both, asking which had refused to follow through on his orders.”

Ammar shook his head in evident distaste. “It was a strange day,” he said. “We all stood in a circle—our war bent family. And, when the emperor asked who had left their province unspoiled, Emaad immediately stepped forward and claimed he had been the merciful one. He had desired to spare Basaal from punishment, even though I suspect that our father had known immediately who had been merciful to the people of Aramesh.”

Ammar paused before continuing, and Eleanor swallowed, an uncertain tightness in her throat. “Emaad begged for forgiveness. But, before Basaal could speak up and say it was he who had disobeyed the emperor’s wishes, Shaamil drew his sword, walked calmly up to Emaad, and cut off his head.”

Eleanor sat up straight, her eyes wide.

Ammar looked down. “I do not suppose I will ever forget how his body fell. We all stood in complete shock. Who among us did not love Emaad dearly?” he asked, speaking more to himself than to Eleanor. “Basaal dropped to the ground beside Emaad’s body, clutching at his shoulders, commanding him to live—”

“What did the emperor do?” Eleanor asked quietly.

“Shaamil stood above Emaad’s body and said so that all could hear, ‘A weak end for a weak man.’ He then commanded us to ride on back to the city.” Ammar frowned. “We all mounted and went—except Basaal.”

“He stayed behind?” Eleanor asked in a soft voice.

“Basaal sent his army to the capital, but he did not come himself. He stayed there alone and buried Emaad according to ceremony. It is bad luck to leave this world decapitated. So, often in the process of burial, the head is put into place with a sash or a tie around the neck so that the body appears whole. I believe that Basaal saw to this too, but he has never spoken of it, and I have never asked.”

“So this is why he does not sleep at night,” Eleanor said, the sadness of it sinking into her stomach.

Ammar raised his eyebrows in question.

“In Aemogen he would wake from terrible dreams, screaming,” Eleanor spoke honestly. “We knew he had lost a brother, nothing else. You didn’t know of his night terrors?”

The physician shook his head, “There were rumors, that is all. I have never spent a night in his company.”

Eleanor felt warmth in her cheeks, wondering what Ammar was thinking.

“And you’ve never spoken with him of it?” she asked. “None of you?”

“What words does one use to articulate such a depth of personal shame?” the physician queried.

Eleanor did not know.

***

Over the next several days, Ammar’s company proved scarce. Eleanor was left alone to read through the scrolls in her chamber or to spend time in the physician’s garden below. The garden was small yet pleasant. Ammar had informed Eleanor that he grew plants there for the purpose of experimentation, rather than ornamentation.

“It is pleasant nonetheless,” he had said. “And my apartments completely surround the enclosure, so no need to worry about spies. You are quite alone.”

Eleanor began to spend a good portion of every day in the garden. Since she did not wish to write out her thoughts, for other eyes to see, Eleanor began to sketch what she found around her. The plants were exotic and strange, with blooms that would have shamed the finest satins. Some plants appeared made of wax, and Eleanor studied them meticulously, making notes and sketches on small sheaths of paper she had cut from a blank scroll Ammar had provided.

As the days passed, Ammar’s company disappeared altogether. She saw only Tameez. He brought all her food and water, providing for her needs, but did not linger in the apartments while Ammar was absent. As she grew stronger, her confinement changed from being restful to being tiresome. So Eleanor began to plan for her return to Aemogen.

These plans did not prove fruitful. Without speaking with Basaal, she was at a loss as to how it could even be done. With no idea or direction for her escape from Zarbadast, Eleanor began to plan for the defense of Aemogen once she had returned home. This also seemed a fruitless practice, for Eleanor had no one to confer or to strategize with, and she didn’t know how many men would be attacking once the pass was cleared, or what planning was happening at Ainsley now. Although her mind continued to work on it, her heart told her there was nothing she could do while in Imirillia. She must wait. And she must be patient.

Strangely, Eleanor felt relief despite her boredom. She slept when she wished; ate simple meals of fresh fruits, cheeses, and cold meats; drew the shapes and plants around her; and read extensively from the works brought from the Imirillian archives. Eleanor was especially pleased to finally have the Seven Scrolls at her disposal. She had searched the Fifth Scroll, finding and reading the story of Seraagh and the sun. Then she turned to the beginning of the Fourth Scroll and began to read.