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

Chapter Two

Prince Basaal woke early. Although he had not slept well, with the first hint of daylight sleep was gone. He lay on his back, following the patterns of the pavilion with his eyes. Eleanor had slept fitfully, but she now lay still, breathing steady and deep. He looked in her direction, watching her still form, wrapped in elegant blankets of red, gold, and blue. Golden tassels dripped from the sofa on which she lay, with rugs of lattice design below. In some ways, the finery suited her well. Yet, in other ways, she looked out of place, too wild and free for the colorful trappings of the Imirillian Empire. Or, perhaps, he mused, too tame.

The camp was noiseless, except for the sounds of guards walking outside his tent. Basaal pulled himself off the mass of cushions on the floor and walked towards the table, where two basins of cool water waited. He washed his face then removed his tunic and shirt, to bathe and change into the clean clothes laid out for him by Annan.

He pulled the black shirt over his shoulders, then he lifted the thin black jacket of his own design. It had stiff shoulders, a high collar, and gold buttons, securing it tightly against his frame. Basaal threw the clothing he had worn in Aemogen towards the door of the tent to be burned.

After he had dressed himself, Basaal took a key, hanging from around his neck, and walked quietly towards one of the large trunks in his pavilion. Inside were the rest of the trappings he had ordered Annan to bring down from Imirillia. He unpacked his arsenal of personal weaponry, adding to the sword and knives he carried two additional daggers, sporting black handles embedded with twists of pearl. He also found his quiver and bow, adorned with similar ornamentation. Compared to the nondescript bows of Aemogen, Basaal’s personal weapon
looked like a taut, elegant serpent, waiting to strike.

Basaal pulled the strap of his quiver over his head and placed one dagger in a sheath next to his scabbard and the other in a sheath under his sleeve. The steel was cold against the skin of his arm. He then stood and threw his bow on the shoulder opposite the quiver.

Basaal began to feel his body settling back into who he was, and he breathed deeply, the complex emotions of the last several months shifting against the familiar landscape of his life. Preparing himself, he rustled among the folded garments at the base of the large trunk until he found what had been plaguing his mind all summer: the small velvet bag that contained his Safeeraah.

Opening the bag quickly, Basaal ran his fingers through the bracelets and bands, feeling the relief of a traveler come home. Spreading them on the ground before him, he noted that the Safeeraah had been repaired and cleaned, probably by Dantib, the stable master of Basaal’s palace in Zarbadast. Eager to secure them once again in place, he glanced back at the sleeping queen, perhaps from a habit of believing that, somehow, all would be well between them. Eleanor slept on, so he gathered the Safeeraah and returned them to their place within his large trunk, the lock catching as the heavy lid fell into place.

Basaal was now not only ready for the day but also impatient for it to begin. He sorted aimlessly through his remaining possessions brought down from Zarbadast, finding more clothes, empty scrolls, inkwells, and oils. He found a worn copy of the Third Scroll among his things and settled down at the round table in the center of the tent to read. Over an hour later, when the sun broke over the mountains to the east and began creeping down the sides of the pavilion, Eleanor finally stirred.

“Wil?” It was a half-formed word, said before Eleanor had realized where she was. She pulled herself up, and in the morning light, Basaal could see the bruising on her face from where Drakta had hit her the night before. The shame he still felt tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Eleanor register the events of the previous day, her aspect hardening as she took in her surroundings. All this he had expected. But, when she looked at him, her eyes traveling across his fine prince’s garb and the weaponry slung over his shoulders, her expression caught him off guard, for her face showed fear.

“Your Majesty,” Basaal spoke somberly.

Eleanor offered him no response but pulled the blanket in front of her as if to increase her modesty. Basaal looked away.

“If you would like to have a moment of privacy,” he said, “to wash and prepare yourself for the day, I can arrange for such.”

He did not look up to see her face, but her answer came quick. “I would.”

Nodding, Basaal stood and motioned towards the unused basin of water. “This water is clean,” he explained. “There is a cloth for your use, as well. I will find what I can of fresh clothing for you and of food.” Basaal walked towards the door of the pavilion. “Remember,” he added, “soldiers surround the tent, Eleanor.”

Then he left Eleanor to herself.

***

“Prince.” Annan was waiting anxiously.

“Annan,” Basaal said, nodding to his friend. “Order our men to keep watch on the pavilion: no one goes in. Then come, walk with me through the camp.”

Annan called quick commands to the standing guard and then fell into step with Basaal.

“Have you already sent a scout to check the pass?” Basaal asked quietly, aware that several of Drakta’s men stood nearby.

“Ashan was sent out first thing this morning,” Annan said. “The cliffsides through the narrowest neck of the pass have completely crumbled into themselves. The pass will be impossible to breach, until we have put months into clearing a sufficient passage for our army to move through in force.”

Basaal considered what his friend told him as he breathed in the still air of morning. The soldiers brought themselves to attention as Basaal passed, watching him with unspoken interest. The prince was a favorite national figure. And, as Basaal noted their faces watching him in wonder and fear, his initial reaction was pleasure. But after that emotion had passed, the image of how people had greeted Eleanor scratched itself across his mind, and Basaal felt agitated in his own skin. He turned back to what Annan was saying.

“What was that, Annan?” Basaal asked.

“Which part?” Annan replied. “You haven’t been listening at all, have you?”

“You were mentioning something about clearing the rubble in the pass,” Basaal hedged.

Annan started over. “Clearing the pass would be monumental work, we will need supplies, animals, rations. And, the local Marions have been saying that winter will come early this year. They say the Aemogen pass is stopped up every winter from snow as it is, let alone the jumble of impassable stone there now.”

“We will winter the army in Marion,” Basaal stated. “There is no sense in sending them on a three-month journey home, only to have them turn around and come straight back come spring, to start clearing the pass. Have the locals said how long the snow lasts?”

Annan put his hands behind his back as they walked. “They say it can be up to six months’ time,” he answered. “Basaal, I do not see how we can winter your entire army here for over half a year.” Annan shrugged. “At the same time, bringing the men home would mean endless travel, which is expensive, in itself.”

“Keeping the army in Marion would not be a great difficulty,” Basaal countered. “You and I would, of course, return to Zarbadast for the winter, with a small company that travels light and fast. We could be there before the day of purification if we pushed ahead.” Basaal’s heart beat at the prospect of returning home.

“And you believe that King Staven will welcome a foreign army eating out of his own storehouses?”

“If we have the gold for it, he’ll have the stomach,” Basaal answered shrewdly. “And, I’ve gold enough to support my own army. We will pass through dear Marion City, on our way to Zarbadast, and pay the king a visit.”

His friend had an odd expression on his face, as if he did not trust Basaal’s plan.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Annan?” Basaal asked.

“I am wondering what your motives are, My Prince,” Annan responded, his words careful.

They had walked the length of the camp, so Basaal turned to face his friend, stopping at the edge of a large field, where hundreds of horses had been staked. “Why do you say that?” Basaal asked under his breath. “What causes you of all people to question my motives?”

“There are rumors among the men in camp,” Annan said. “They say that you have aligned yourself with Aemogen and that bringing down the mountain was your doing. They also say you have let the Aemogen queen turn your head.”

“Ridiculous. You of all people know my personal struggles with this conquest. But, those do not interfere with my duty, and they never will.” Basaal folded his arms and kicked the dirt with the toe of his boot. “What else?” he asked.

Annan looked about them and stepped closer to the prince.

“The Vestan assassins will not let you step to the right or to the left,” he whispered. “This morning, a young horseboy told me that they mean to kill the Aemogen queen if she sways you from your duty to Imirillia. Even Drakta, after you roughed him up in Aemogen, has threatened that if you step away from the emperor’s expectations even one inch, he will see you are brought before Shaamil as prisoner, and he will take your post.”

“Drakta is a fool if he thinks he can outplay me when dealing with the emperor,” Basaal said, trying to quench the anger he was feeling.

“But the Vestan are not fools,” Annan came back, earnest and concerned. “They are ruthless, receiving little censure for their acts. Where Drakta does not have authority to bring you as a prisoner before the emperor, the Vestan do.”

“Yes, but even the assassins are bound,” Basaal argued. “They cannot kill a prince.” Basaal’s mood turned dark. “Only the emperor can do that.”

An uncomfortable remembrance settled itself in Annan’s eyes. “My Prince, already your unorthodox dealings with Aemogen have caused much suspicion, and you would do well to remember that your father is testing your loyalty to him and to the empire in this conquest. You will already need a silver tongue to explain the absurdity of the last six months,” Annan added, putting a hand on Basaal’s shoulder. “You must avoid any action that would appear contrary to your father.”

“I know,” Basaal said. “I’m afraid I’ve used up all the leniency he has to offer. If only Queen Eleanor had surrendered,” he added. “It’s all so foolish.”

“I think her military advisors rather clever.”

“It was clever,” Basaal agreed. “And it was her own scheme, not that of an advisor. But quick cleverness does not solve a long problem. You know, as I do, that my father will never let Aemogen rest now. He will take Aemogen’s defiance as a personal insult and grind the entire nation into the dust.” Basaal frowned. “It will be the Desolation of Aramesh all over again.”

As Basaal and Annan returned, walking back through the camp towards his pavilion, he saw two figures in dark purple: the Vestan, his father’s personal assassins. He could feel his father’s will, like a vice, tightening around his freedom. Basaal looked into the assassins’ eyes steadily as he passed, betraying no uncertainty. They bowed before him, and Basaal acknowledged them with a fixed nod.

When they had passed out of range of the assassins’ hearing, Basaal spoke again. “So, if the Aemogen queen were to escape somehow while in my custody—”

“She would be hunted by the Vestan and killed,” Annan said. “You would then be stripped of your post and sent as a prisoner to Zarbadast.”

Basaal knew Annan’s words to be true. They had just arrived at his pavilion, and Basaal, before entering, gripped his fingers around Annan’s shoulder.

“Annan?”

“Yes?”

“If I ever intend to speak promises to another living soul, stop my tongue. It’s an unruly business trying to keep them.”

***

Eleanor watched Basaal enter without ceremony. It appeared at first he would reclaim his table. But finding Eleanor there, reading through a few notes he had taken that morning from the Fourth Scroll, he passed her without comment.

Her shoulders tensed, as if he were a predatory beast she could not trust. “You did leave me here alone,” Eleanor said, defensive of her snooping.

“I didn’t say anything,” Basaal replied. Eleanor watched as he pulled a key from around his neck, inserting it into one of the large trunks, which Eleanor had already tried to open after Basaal had left the pavilion. The catch released with a click, and the prince lifted the lid and withdrew a small velvet bag. He then stood up straight, tilting his head upward in the attitude of delay, before he turned back towards Eleanor. She pretended to be focused on the notes before her so the prince would not see that she’d been watching him.

“I need to ask a favor of you,” Basaal said.

A favor? Eleanor looked up, knowing that her expression was unforgiving. Did he really think she would grant him any favor?

Basaal approached the table and set the velvet bag on top of the half-opened scroll.

“Would you be willing to help secure my Safeeraah in place?” he asked.

Eleanor reached for the velvet bag, holding it in her hand a moment before slipping her fingers into the closed opening. She pulled the mouth of the bag wide, and turned it over. Its contents fell onto the table: bands and bracelets of sorts, made of fine metals or strips of stamped leather. Some were simple, but some were elegant, fine beyond any workmanship Eleanor had ever seen.