The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) Page 4

Once, while leaving a small town, a woman rushed forth with a bouquet of late summer flowers, red and delicate. She bravely slipped through the mounted guard and thrust the flowers at Eleanor, who took them in her bound hands with gratitude. Prince Basaal watched and did nothing. But, one of his guards brought his fist down on the woman.

  Eleanor felt nauseous and turned to see what had become of her, relieved that the woman had stumbled into the safety of her friends, who were nursing her cheek. Eleanor raised the flowers in her hands in acknowledgment. What cared she for the loyalty of King Staven? She had that of his people.

  ***

  It took five days to reach Marion City. The palace gates opened before Basaal and his company, and the sound of seventy horses on the smooth stones of the courtyard echoed off the elegant palace. The Marion guards saluted Basaal as he dismounted. Annan had stayed close to Eleanor throughout the journey, so it was he who helped her dismount.

  Eleanor wore a peasant’s gown of blue, as light as robin eggs in spring. She had arranged her hair that morning as well as she could, but she knew her disheveled appearance would contrast sharply with King Staven’s court.

  Basaal signaled for half a dozen of his soldiers to accompany them, and unprepared stable hands rushed forward to help with the horses. They led the remaining men towards a guardhouse. The Vestan assassins were not invited to follow Basaal.

  Their small company walked up the large stone steps towards another sequence of well-crafted gates. Marion soldiers stood there, lining the steps, their armor inlaid with silver, bright in the sunlight. Eleanor noted the beautiful metalwork, aware that most of the precious metals had come from Aemogen.

  They were admitted immediately into the throne room. Annan followed, his hand gently around Eleanor’s arm. King Staven turned from a conversation with several courtiers, and looked at Basaal a moment before speaking. Eleanor could not tell if he was more annoyed or unnerved.

  “Nephew!” Staven said as he put a calculated smile on his face, raising his hands in greeting. Eleanor raked her eyes over his clothes; they were, as always, very fine.

  “Uncle,” Basaal replied.

  Staven’s eyes crossed to Eleanor, and he gave a polite nod then offered a slight bow. “Queen Eleanor.”

  Eleanor lifted her chin. “I don’t greet traitors with friendship.”

  Staven raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. Then a thought seemed to change his mind, and he indulged himself by offering her a wicked smile and motioning towards Basaal. “Well, little Eleanor, that’s not what I’ve been hearing.”

  The courtiers, many of whom were acquaintances or had even been friends to Eleanor, whispered among themselves. Their whispers itched at Eleanor’s ears.

  King Staven turned back towards his nephew. “I see you’ve brought your dirty Imirillian thugs with you,” he said. “Queen Eleanor should be pleased. They have about the same level of class as those she usually associates with in any matter.”

  Eleanor glared, and Basaal seemed to simmer.

  “Your manners have not improved since the last time I was here,” Basaal said, walking slowly towards his uncle. King Staven lifted his fingers, notifying his guards to be on the ready. Basaal laughed outright and paused before the king.

  “Really, Uncle,” Basaal said. “You are so primitive. I’ve not come to harm you. Neither have I come to hand over Queen Eleanor as a trophy for you,” he added. “No, she travels back to Zarbadast with me despite your plans.”

  Eleanor eyed the Marion king with a sinking feeling in her stomach. What plan of Staven’s was Basaal talking about?

  “I have simply come to let you know that I’ve decided to return home for the winter,” Basaal continued. “You, no doubt, know of our little setback with the mountain and all. But, bringing home seven thousand troops of infantry and cavalry with supply wagons through the desert, only to turn around and come right back?” Basaal clucked his tongue. “No, I think they will winter here, in Marion,” he said. His tone was light but his mannerisms were not. “And you will see that they are comfortably kept and fed,” Basaal added, “until I return next spring.”

  King Staven laughed. “Really, Nephew, surely you jest. I cannot house seven thousand men over the winter. There must be another option for you.”

  Basaal put his hands on his hips and looked around him impatiently. “There is another option, Staven. I could send word to my father, and another fifteen thousand troops would arrive not only to keep here for the winter but also to take control of Marion.”

  Eleanor resisted the desire to open her mouth and stare at Basaal for his casual brashness in another king’s throne room. But King Staven did not. He gaped, and then he turned red.

  “I have a treaty,” he said, gulping at his anger, but to no avail, for the man was shaking.

  “And I have the ear of the emperor,” Basaal replied.

  “The wedding of my sister was the symbol of Marion’s alliance with Zarbadast.”

  “Yes.” Basaal shrugged. “But she is dead.”

  These cold words seemed to hang in the air between the two men. Staven apparently did not know what to say, and neither did Eleanor. Basaal signaled to his men, who then moved towards the exit.

  “I will pay you handsomely from my personal coffers, Staven. You’ve never turned your nose at gold before,” Basaal said. “I can’t picture you doing it now. You will have enough and to spare. I’ll take my usual suite for the night,” Basaal added, giving the king a slight wave as he turned to leave. Annan guided Eleanor by the arm, following the young prince out, as surprised whispers trailed them out the door.

  ***

  “Are you determined to burn every bridge that I have as you take me north?” Eleanor demanded. “Or will you leave some of my relationships intact?” Eleanor’s voice carried a sharp edge, for she was agitated, albeit slightly amused, as if they were back on the battle run, and Wil, or rather Prince Basaal, had lost his temper. They had arrived at the guest suite and had been left alone, Annan remaining with the other soldiers in the antechamber.

  “What are you talking about? King Staven?” Basaal asked as he turned away from the window and looked at Eleanor with incredulity. “Trust me, he has never been a friend to your reign.”

  “Yes, and I know we are no longer allies,” she said. “That does not mean I wish all diplomacy to be thrust aside in exchange for insults. I still plan for an Aemogen future, independent of Imirillia. And Marion is still Aemogen’s neighbor.”

  “My uncle is a slimy creature, far below your consideration. You need not spare any time for his opinion.”

  Eleanor sat down in a carved chair and moved her fingers against the grain patterns in its wooden arm. “You mentioned that he’d had other intentions in his dealings with Aemogen?”

  “Yes.” Basaal sunk onto a sofa nearby. “His plans included a marriage with you, now that his wife’s dead, thus annexing your country. If you did not cooperate, he would annex Aemogen some other way—by force, if necessary.”

  “King Staven is older than my father—”

  “And an old fool at that,” Basaal said, stretching out. “His alliance with your country was growing weak, regardless of the Imirillian invasion. So, now,” Basaal added. “Instead of facing matrimony with him, you get to marry me.”

  Eleanor did something then that she had never done before in her life: she snorted. Basaal looked towards her with a grin.

  “It’s that appealing?” he asked.

  “I didn’t realize you were in a position to make such demands on Staven,” Eleanor said, ignoring his comment. “How could you march into his throne room in such a way and not expect repercussion? Not to mention inviting yourself to be a guest in Marion Palace.”

  “We’re not at all close,” Basaal said. “Not that it should surprise you. As for my own invincibility, it’s simple: he knows that if I am harmed, Marion will be desolated, just like Aramesh.”

  The prince now appeared uncomfortable with his thoughts. He
stood up and removed his cloak, throwing it across a chair. “This apartment has several rooms. I trust that you will be comfortable in there,” he said as he pointed towards a door in the corner. “Several of my men will be guarding outside the door, so you should be safe. I am going for a walk in the gardens.”

  “You were there in Aramesh, then.” Eleanor stated it as a fact.

  Basaal shook his head. “I will not speak of such things, Eleanor. Not to you, not to anyone.”

  Not long after Basaal had left, Eleanor heard voices in the hall. The exchange was brief and sounded heated. When the door opened, it was King Staven himself who entered the suite. Eleanor stood but said nothing.

  “Queen Eleanor.” He bowed gracefully, then he placed his hands behind his back. Staven had been a handsome man, but his deeply lined face attested to the pleasures in which he indulged. Eleanor’s father had had little respect for Staven’s character, and she held the same opinion.

  “Staven.” She left off his title deliberately. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  “Is it?” he said. “Well, it is my country. My palace.” He settled himself into a comfortable-looking chair across from her. “Please sit,” he said, motioning for her to join him.

  Eleanor sat. She was curious to hear what King Staven had to say and would not unnecessarily ruffle his feathers before she found out what she wished to know.

  “I see my nephew’s habits of personal attire have not changed.” He sniffed at Basaal’s discarded cloak. “He always did prefer black, from what I understand. A morose fellow, to be sure.”

  Eleanor did not respond.

  “So, you’ll go away to Zarbadast to become the first bride of Prince Basaal, seventh son.” Staven ran his eyes over Eleanor. “That should please you.”

  Again, she was silent.

  “That was quite the feat,” King Staven continued, almost smiling. “Pulling down the mountain, racing out on your horse to stall the army. Oh, yes, I read the reports. My own people have been watching the conflict,” he explained. “And yet, you now leave Aemogen and all her resources without a queen.”

  “I am Aemogen’s queen,” Eleanor said. “Are you still the King of Marion? Or have you become a lackey to Emperor Shaamil and his egotistical sons?” Eleanor knew she had hit a nerve, for Staven’s jaw tightened.

  “It is a foolish king who does not assess what is best for his country,” he replied. “I had hopes that, perhaps, you and I could join our countries. You see, Zarbadast has had its eye on your resources, your port, and your fertile lands,” he explained. “Well, if I annexed your country, then Emperor Shaamil would still respect your sovereignty. He would leave Aemogen to be ruled as it always has been, by its queen—and a new king,” he added. “There may still be a small tax, but the emperor is not unreasonable when he is granted access to what he wants.”

  “And the symbol of this annex,” Eleanor said, “would be our marriage.”

  “Yes,” Staven said.

  “How do you know Shaamil would support the idea?” she asked.

  “We have corresponded enough for me to know his mind,” Staven assured. “I certainly believe that he would. I am surprised Basaal is determined to take you north, when our alliance and pledge of allegiance to Imirillia could very well satisfy the emperor. Well,” Staven said, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps I am not surprised. He desires the crown—and the lady—for himself. He is the seventh son after all, too far down the line to even scheme himself into power.”

  Eleanor tried to appear unaffected by keeping her voice even and steady. “Had Emperor Shaamil been amicable to the idea, surely that option would have been explored earlier.”

  King Staven shrugged. “Do you trust my nephew’s motives to be for your best interest?”

  “Should I trust your motives to be for my best interest?” Eleanor countered. “If I were to accept your offer, how would you ensure that we wouldn’t be invaded by the Imirillians?”

  “I would obtain the word of Shaamil and a declaration to prove it,” he answered. “Also, Marion has had a long-standing alliance with Imirillia, one that your late father shunned. Shaamil would get what he wants with less of a mess. And we would rule our countries without threat from any other power on the Continent as a result of our connection to Zarbadast.”

  “And, if I refuse the marriage and the annexation?” she asked.

  “Word will be spread far and wide,” he said, “about how the Aemogen queen forfeited her country into the hands of an unknown power, when she could have joined with Marion, for the selfish reason of wanting to marry the young prince.”

  Before Eleanor could answer, the door opened, and Basaal entered. “Staven,” he said, his displeasure at seeing his uncle evident with the icy way he had spoken his name.

  “Young Prince,” Staven said, adjusting himself in his chair. “I have provided company for your fair companion whilst you were pursuing your own pleasures elsewhere.”

  Basaal laughed. “I’m sure you have.”

  The king stood. “You must be tired from your long holiday in Aemogen,” he said. “It takes energy and strength to not accomplish anything of significance for so long. I trust that you will be staying at Marion Palace for a time to recover?”

  Basaal’s mouth formed a thin line. “We are indeed tired from our travels,” he said. “Will you please send dinner for my men, Queen Eleanor, and myself? I am afraid we are too fatigued to join your evening entertainments.”

  This request was one made to a messenger boy, not a king. But Staven chose to ignore Basaal’s insolence and turned to Eleanor. “Please consider my invitation,” he said. “I’ll await your answer in the morning.” The king ignored Basaal and exited the room.

  The prince sat down across from Eleanor. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “I missed the proposal of marriage? Did he get down on a knee and whisper poetry in your ear?” Clearly, Basaal considered his uncle a joke.

  “Is he right to say there is a possibility of sparing Aemogen further trouble with Imirillia if we annexed with Marion?” she asked.

  Startled, Basaal stared, and his smile froze in place. “You don’t mean that you would ever consider marrying a man like Staven?”

  “Is it a possibility?” Eleanor pressed, her blood racing.

  “The emperor would agree to nothing of the kind,” Basaal replied, still looking at Eleanor, seeming stunned. “You would never consider a man like that, would you? An immoral, power thirsty—”

  “You were right to say that we were fatigued,” Eleanor said, standing in haste. “I am quite tired. Please excuse me.” Eleanor left Basaal sitting alone, and withdrew to her chamber, throwing the windows open, looking out into the darkening evening. In truth, Eleanor did not think Emperor Shaamil would consent to such an alternative, but part of her did wonder if he would. And, if her marriage to the old king could be a saving act for her people—

  Eleanor sat on the bed, picturing herself at her council table with Gaulter Alden, Aedon, Crispin, and Edythe. She imagined explaining her situation. In her mind, they listened intently but said nothing.

  Then Eleanor remembered the nights of the battle run, when she had counseled with Wil, with Prince Basaal. His words had been faithful and honest despite his deception. Eleanor pushed him from her mind and considered if there was any hope to be found in an alliance with King Staven.

  ***

  Basaal stayed up late into the night. The lights had all been put out, and Annan and the rest of Basaal’s immediate guard had settled in the antechamber. Eleanor’s door had remained closed all evening, but he did not believe she was asleep.

  The windows were flung wide open, letting in the cool air, which came down the distant mountains of Aemogen and pooled in the Marion valley. The season was turning, and the air was crisp in Basaal’s lungs. He stood before one of the open windows, arms outstretched, palms against the cold stone, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His mother had spoken often of the beauty of Marion City
: the palace, the music, and the court. She had cared for her family. Basaal let out a breath and laughed aloud to himself. His uncles and Aunt Anne had been hesitant to receive him during the only time he had visited his Marion relations a handful of years ago. Their children, who were close to Basaal’s age, had looked at him in wonder and fear. He’d received no warm welcome, tepid at best. Yet, Staven had suggested a marriage with one of his Marion cousins. Basaal cringed at the thought.

  Remembering how Eleanor had questioned his ability to make demands of hospitality on King Staven, Basaal glanced back at his suite. This apartment had been his mother’s, left empty, at first, in anticipation of her returning for visits, then later, as an inheritance for Basaal. It was a Marion custom, but he’d had no desire to explain this to Eleanor. The soft colored tapestries of blue and pink complemented the beautifully carved furniture, painted in soft creams. The fabrics were rich, carpets adorned the floors, and paintings hung on the walls. Ainsley Castle seemed two hundred years in the past, compared to the artisanship of the Marions.

  Ainsley. Basaal turned away from the open window and sat down on the sill, facing the now dark room. King Staven had made an offer of marriage and annexation to Eleanor, assuming that Emperor Shaamil would sanction this course of action. Basaal believed that his father of ten—maybe even five—years ago would have considered that agreement. But, he had no reason to believe that the emperor would approve this negotiation now.

  Once Shaamil heard about the pass, his hunger to swallow Aemogen would drive him forward. So Eleanor’s alliance with Staven was not an option that Zarbadast would grant. Basaal grimaced. Even if the emperor would endorse this plan, King Staven was not a good man. He would strip Aemogen with as greedy of an eye as the emperor’s. The thought of watching Eleanor align herself with such a foul man was horrifying to Basaal.

  It was not until the sky was dressed in purple and hinting at a new day that Basaal settled himself on the sofa and slept. His dreams were filled with the faces of those he had known in Aemogen, but then each face would turn into his brother Emaad’s and would stare up at Basaal from his grave. A rush of noise caused Basaal to sit up, grasping at the ornately carved wood along the back of the sofa. He had been woken by the sound of his own screaming.