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

  “What does it mean?” Eleanor asked, looking up at the maid.

  “It is a religious symbol of one who likes to go about, to wander or travel,” Hannia explained. “It brings protection to them when they are far from home. It is an omen of sorts, not as strong as an oath, not as weak as a charm.”

  Eleanor thought carefully how to phrase her next question. “Where on the body is it often worn?”

  “It depends,” Hannia said and shrugged, turning her face towards the window. Her earrings swung, catching the light, as she looked back towards Eleanor. “Merchants who travel through the desert often put it on the inside of their wrists,” she explained. “It is to mark that their traveling is for work, for goods, and for gain. It blesses them to bring an abundant caravan home.”

  Eleanor considered this as Hannia continued fussing with tidying the elegant room. “Some people wear it on their feet,” Hannia said, straightening the pillows on a chair, “as a symbol that it is not in their blood to stay put and that they will never find a place of rest. Theirs is the life of the traveler, the journeyman,” she added, looking back at Eleanor.

  “Soldiers put it on their arms,” Hannia continued, “that they will be blessed in battle as they travel far afield. Holy men wear it on their palms as a reminder to do the work of the Illuminating God wherever they may be. If you think yourself a great thinker,” Hannia laughed, “you put the mark on your forehead, showing that you wander so much in your mind you have no need to leave the city.” She laughed again and straightened the chairs.

  “But, everyone will call you a fool if you do this,” Hannia explained. “Stuck in your own brain, so you can’t see the value of anyone else, we all say. Each place on the body has its own meaning, you see.”

  “And, do lovers put it on their hearts?” Eleanor asked nonchalantly.

  “No, not on their hearts,” Hannia said, looking up at Eleanor. “On their stomachs, a symbol that, while they wander, they will always be hungry until they are again with the one they love. Sometimes, in a show of lifelong commitment, they put it on the top of each hand to say to all the world, ‘Though I am apart from my love, it is they, only they, of whom I think.”

  “Then, what of the heart?” Eleanor asked.

  Hannia pursed her lips and eyed Eleanor. “Why do you ask this?”

  “I have seen it, that is all,” Eleanor said and shrugged.

  “And I think I know where you have seen it,” Hannia said. She raised her eyebrows at Eleanor with a disapproving look before continuing. “When a wanderer places the mark over his heart, it means, no matter how far he may travel, no matter the delights or dangers of the way, his heart will always be calling for his home and there he will choose to remain all his days.”

  Music rose then from the women’s garden below, ending Hannia’s explanation. Eleanor glanced out towards the trees and the clear azure of the Zarbadast sky. It was a sky that Eleanor had never seen the likes of in her gray Aemogen—the blue skies of her country were so reminiscent of the sea and the wind. In Zarbadast, the color was different, clearer and richer, hanging above the desert, making promises to the people below, deep, bright, and vibrant all at once.

  Eleanor thought of Basaal having placed this symbol over his heart. The music; the carved white stone; the gardens and fountains, defying the arid desert; the colors and sparkle and finery; his family—it was all here, the heart of Basaal, the place where he would choose to remain all his days. He belongs here, Eleanor thought, as I belong to Aemogen.

  “It is a beautiful symbol,” Eleanor murmured as she turned back to the drawing before her.

  Hannia did not respond but went about her work silently.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Wait!—” Basaal yelled as he leapt from his bed and crouched onto the floor, breathing slowly. It was a dream, just a dream, he told himself as he stared at his weaponless hand.

  A member of his personal guard rushed into the room.

  “Do not worry, Miluuse,” Basaal said as he sat back down on the bed. “I was dreaming again, is all.”

  The guard nodded but scanned the room regardless, before retreating back into the corridor. Basaal lay down, taking a deep breath to still his heart. He had been invited to spend several days as a guest in Emir’s palace and had hesitated to accept the invitation. Basaal was still uncertain about who had sent the assassin. And, while he did not wish to believe it could have been one of his family, he admitted to himself that he did not know. But, it was a tradition for the heir to the throne to host his kin during the month of purification.

  And, he thought, Laaeitha had asked him to come, so how could he say no?

  “Basaal?” Laaeitha said. She stood in the doorway, her figure lit only by the lamp that she held in her hand.

  “Come in,” Basaal said, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I’m awake.”

  “I know,” Laaeitha said. “I heard you from far down the corridor.”

  Basaal shifted himself back, against the wall, one knee raised, his arm resting on it. Laaeitha sat on the end of the bed, her feet curled up underneath her. The lamp glowed softly in between them. She was as beautiful as Basaal had remembered, graceful and soft, with large eyes as black as night and soft brown hair that fell in cascades to her waist—she seemed to never age.

  “How long has it been?” Basaal asked. “When did you marry Emir?”

  Laaeitha looked down. “It will be eleven years this next season.”

  “Eleven years,” Basaal said as he shook his head. “Was I that young?”

  “You were,” she said. “And you were adorable.” Laaeitha gave him her patient smile. “It was soon after your mother had died.”

  Basaal nodded, seeing those days from a different perspective now. “Eleven years,” he said. “And yet, you have never born children?”

  “Well,” Basaal’s sister-in-law said as she tilted her head. “As you know, Emir and I have never been partial to one another. So, perhaps a child will come along, but the likelihood is not high.”

  “Pardon me, for asking about what is none of my business.” Basaal ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Since when have you apologized for being impertinent?” Laaeitha asked. “Has this Eleanor of Aemogen taught you such manners?”

  “Maybe,” Basaal said. He gave Laaeitha a cocky grin before returning to his earnest questions. “But, in all seriousness, do you regret Ammar?” he asked. “Do you still think of him? I know it is another thing I shouldn’t ask,” he added. “But, considering recent events, I ask with a purpose.”

  She shifted her feet beneath her and began to trace the pattern of Basaal’s coverlet with her fingers as Basaal waited.

  “I am married to his brother,” she finally said, “by command of the emperor, and so, my mind stays there. But,” she said as she raised her eyebrows and met Basaal’s gaze. “Were I to take any time to examine my heart, yes, I believe I would find Ammar there, and so, I do not go.”

  “For eleven years?”

  “For eleven years.”

  “Are you happy?”

  Laaeitha laughed ruefully. “Not really,” she said. “But, what is to be done? When one has known such a love—and they still live, and you still breathe—I do not think it is possible to have happiness elsewhere,” she said, pausing for a moment. “You only move into being.”

  Basaal pulled at a loose string on one of his cushions and thought of Eleanor.

  “And now,” she redirected, “you are to marry.” Laaeitha’s smile was genuine. “She looks to be a lovely person—brave. Many of us were rooting for you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Seeing you defeat your father’s scheme so—” she began but hesitated, looking around. “Well, let me say that your joy now makes me feel as if happiness is not far away for any of us.”

  “Have you met her?” Basaal asked. “Eleanor, I mean, in the women’s quarters?”

  Laaeitha shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “Emir does not like his wives to s
pend too much of their time there. And, for the first week of purification, Eleanor would not have associated with the other women,” Laaeitha explained. “I do not know if she has by now.”

  “If Emir doesn’t like you to go into the women’s quarters, does that mean you spend most of your time with Amee and Kaaiel?” Basaal asked.

  Laaeitha’s expression confirmed his guess.

  Basaal laughed outright. “You poor soul,” he said. “I feel most miserable for you.”

  “The children are sweet,” she said, laughing with him. “Now, since I have not yet met this Eleanor, only having seen her, you must tell me about her temperament.”

  “She’s—” he began but hesitated. Basaal rubbed his chin and shrugged. “I don’t really know what to say,” he said. “What would you like to hear?”

  “Anything.”

  “Anything is a very big space to fill,” Basaal said.

  After rolling her eyes at him, Laaeitha clucked her tongue. “I want the romantic details,” she said. “How you acted during the challenge and then at the betrothal—my!” She beamed. “It made everybody think you quite the pair of lovers. Many women cried that night, I assure you.”

  “Liar,” Basaal said, waving her away, pretending to be bashful before shaking his head. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

  “Oh?!” Laaeitha said as she threw a cushion at Basaal. “I spill my soul and answer question that were not yours to ask, and you are not going to have this conversation with me?” she demanded. She threw another cushion at his face, then another, accidentally putting out the flame of her lamp. “Now look what you’ve done!” Laaeitha said.

  “I can’t!” he said. “The light’s gone out.” When Basaal could finally stop laughing, he grabbed a kiayn from the bedside table, twisted the pieces of flint together, creating a bright spark, and relit the lamp. After the flame was lit, Basaal lifted his hands in a truce as Laaeitha reached for another pillow. “Stop,” he said. “I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”

  “You just start talking,” Laaeitha instructed. “If I have a question, I will ask.”

  “You’re not even supposed to be here,” he reminded her. “Is this not my month of purification?”

  Laaeitha gave Basaal a threatening glare. “I’m your sister,” she said. “Now, begin your tale.”

  “I rode down to invade Aemogen, met the queen, and informed her that I was to steal her country away,” Basaal said.

  “And how did she take those words from such an impudent boy?” Laaeitha asked.

  “She said that even if her body was in the grave, her ghost would stop me. And I said, ‘Then let us marry. Away with me to Zarbadast.’” Basaal spoke in the same tone his mother had used when telling stories to him as a boy.

  “Be serious now,” Laaeitha prodded softly.

  “They really do believe in ghosts,” Basaal said, leaning his head back, looking up towards the ceiling. “It’s strange. There are many tales of people seeing them,” he explained. “Crispin, the captain of the guard down in Ainsley—that’s where the palace is, you see—he once said that Eleanor had seen them. But I’ve never asked her.”

  “What does this Ainsley look like?” she asked, saying the name with difficulty.

  “Gray stone, green slopes and fields—Aemogen is absolutely covered in green. You can’t imagine what it is like to stand atop the battlements of Ainsley castle, so exotic and strange, wonderful even. There are gardens—extensive gardens inside the walls and out—and a long path through the grasses that leads to a river,” he said, glancing at Laaeitha.

  She smiled but didn’t say anything, so he continued. “The woods stretch into the hills on the north and past the downs to the west,” he said, picturing them. “I would ride there with Crispin or Aedon, once even with Eleanor. There were these cliffs,” Basaal said as he adjusted himself, looking at Laaeitha. “They made up the eastern border, dropping down to the sea, water stretching as far as you can see, but wild, gray and green or blue, changing color and shape like—I’m not certain what—some unpredictable creature. I would love to see it again.”

  Basaal thought of the day that he had spent on the cliffs near the fortress of Anoir. “Apparently,” he added, “my mother desired an alliance with Aemogen through my marriage to Eleanor years ago. But I never knew—”

  “Laaeitha!”

  Basaal and Laaeitha both jumped. Emir stood in the doorway, looking rumpled and tired. Basaal watched as the light in Laaeitha’s eyes clouded over, and she looked down.

  “There’s no harm,” Basaal said evenly to Emir. “I was only telling Laaeitha of my travels.”

  Emir did not look angry with Basaal, but there was no love lost between him and his third wife.

  “Can a man not sleep in his own house,” Emir began, “without having his wife slinking from room to room?” Emir stepped towards them, coming to a stop above Laaeitha. “Can a man not come to his brother without finding his wife in his brother’s bed?” he demanded.

  Laaeitha looked up, her mouth open, obviously angry at this insulting implication. “Can a woman not speak with her brother,” she responded, “without her husband being a vile serpent?”

  He lifted his hand as if he would strike her, and she flinched. Emir laughed.

  All the muscles in Basaal’s body tightened, and he moved slightly, enough for Emir to look in his direction.

  “Go to your bed,” Emir ordered, sending Laaeitha from the room.

  After giving Basaal a weak smile, she picked up her lamp. “You will have to tell me more of your travels,” she said. “I truly would like to hear them.” Then she slipped silently down the corridor.

  “Light a lamp,” Emir ordered Basaal.

  Basaal sighed and again reached for his kiayn, lighting the lamps on the sides of the bed. Then Emir sat where Laaeitha had been.

  “You really are a beast,” Basaal said to his older brother.

  Emir shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Laaeitha and I have an understanding,” he said. “I bellow, and she cowers and snaps, then we go on with our lives without having to be with each other much.”

  “It’s cruel you deny her a child,” Basaal replied, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out on the bed.

  “Oh, is that what she told you?” Emir laughed.

  “Not in so many words.”

  “I come to give you marriage advice,” Emir said with feigned anger, “and you chastise me on my third wife? My third!,” he added. “I have more experience than you, my boy. Now, about this impending marriage of yours,” he said. “You certainly picked a viper for your first wife, eh? Taking after Father?”

  “Eleanor is nothing like your mother,” Basaal said. “She is very brave, though, standing up to him as she did.”

  “She must have pleased Father, for he has allowed you to have your way,” Emir said, looking towards the empty doorway where Laaeitha had disappeared. “May you not live to regret it.”

  Basaal snorted. “Why have you really come, Emir? Forgive me if I do not believe that it was under the banner of marital advice.”

  “You are right,” Emir said, leaning back on his hands. “I was notified that I had a wife wandering the halls. Not that I was worried,” he added. “Laaeitha, for all the ways she frustrates a man, is not that woman. And, you have always been a steady brother to her, have you not?”

  Basaal nodded.

  “I thought I would take advantage of this time to speak with you alone,” Emir explained. “Have you discovered yet who sent the assassin to your room?”

  “You know about that?” Basaal asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “We all do,” Emir said.

  “Did you send him?” Basaal asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?”

  Emir grinned and scratched is beard. “No.”

  “Well, then,” Basaal said. “What else have we to discuss?”

  “I will someday be the e
mperor of all Imirillia,” Emir said, turning the conversation as if he were rolling a pair of dice in his hand.

  “And?” Basaal asked.

  Yawning, Emir shrugged. “And I need to know where you stand, my Ruby Prince. Your exhibition during and after the challenge has given way to much court gossip, especially among us brothers.”

  Basaal let out a quick laugh. “You are a flock of old women—I could swear it. And what is being said?”

  “That your loyalties have altered,” Emir explained. “Kiarash certainly thinks so, and so does Ashim.”

  “What do you think?” Basaal asked.

  “I think that I do not know,” Emir said. “I could blame your actions on a sparrow’s song, as they say, on young love, but you are much more careful than that by nature.” His eyes washed over Basaal. “So, I say that I do not know.”

  “We have spoken of this, Emir. You know I don’t approve of all of Father’s methods, but I am faithful—I am true—first, to the Illuminating God, and then, to Father and the empire,” he insisted, “as I will be to you.”

  “And where is loyalty to self?” Emir asked as he stood, another yawn coming on.

  “Loyalty to self?” Basaal asked, his mouth twisting in emotion. “Is there such a thing in Zarbadast?”

  Emir shrugged and walked towards the door. Before he left, Emir turned towards Basaal. “That is what I would like to know,” he said. “Now, sleep. You will find no assassins here. And you must go and seek out Laaeitha tomorrow. Speak of what a horrible husband I am ‘til your soul is content.” He paused. “I do not go unto Laaeitha,” he explained, “out of respect for my brother, Ammar. Not that any of that is your business, Basaal. Seek her out tomorrow. She is lonely here. Perhaps your Eleanor could be her friend. Who is to say?” Emir added, offering a lopsided shrug. “These women will ruin us all.”

  Then Emir left. Basaal extinguished the lamps with his fingers and lay back down in his bed, thinking of Laaeitha, Emir, and the empire. It was not until the early morning that he fell asleep.