The Wanderer's Mark: Book Three of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 3) (21 page)

“I had convinced Father to try one last effort at diplomacy. He sent me as punishment, I am certain. Blindfolded, riding an uncomfortable horse, hearing jeers I thankfully did not understand—Drakta acted on his own accord when he attacked you, but Eleanor is right, you are provoking. It’s a wonder that she loves you as she does.”

Basaal opened his eye and stared at the shadow that was his brother. “I don’t know what to do with love, mine or hers. I still can’t grasp that I am now separated from Imirillia forever. And she, fairly or unfairly, has become the symbol of that. I’ve been trying, Ammar. I really have. And, once or twice, it’s been as if we were back in Zarbadast, contented with each other’s company. But then,” he made a motion with his hand, “it’s gone. A word, a misplaced expression, and all is replaced by pride or circumstance. To make it easier, I tell myself she doesn’t care for me in a significant way.”

Shrugging, the physician sounded as if he had lost interest in the topic. “She appears to.”

“What?”

“Care,” Ammar said, “despite more pressing responsibilities.”

“Well,” Basaal said as he shook off his serious thoughts with a black grin, then grimaced at the pain of it. “How could she resist?”

Ammar guffawed. “Very easily, I assure you.”

Chapter Fourteen

“It’s settled then,” Eleanor said, drumming the table with her fingers. “We will send the Imirillians, save Drakta, back to Shaamil with a stalling response, as our forces move into the Maragaide valley.”

Crispin had said earlier that the Imirillians were close to clearing the pass but had no hope of making enough headway to break through Aemogen’s fortifications within the week. This was a relief to Eleanor. They reviewed again the progress of the smithies then heard a report Thayne had received from Marion. Several of the explosives were en route to Marion, and Thayne would leave three days early to be in position with his Marion troop the day before Crispin would lead the attack.

Edythe then reported she was preparing a group of women to come through the mountain to see to the wounded after the fight. They were gathering blankets, preparing basins and rags, and searching for herbs and teas.

“And, will there be a celebration, per Aemogen tradition, the night before the armies depart?” Thayne asked.

The thought surprised Eleanor. She glanced at Aedon and then at Thayne, rubbing her finger along the wood grain of the table. “I don’t see how we can hold with the tradition, Thayne,” she finally said. “The entire nation is heading to war. It is not always a time to dance.”

“Begging your pardon, Eleanor, but this is exactly the time,” Edythe affirmed quietly. “All of your men are marching to battle. Their wives and sweethearts deserve to dance with them one last time. We should come together, regardless of the situation, as we Aemogens always do.”

Aedon leaned back in his chair and looked toward Eleanor.

Eleanor’s thoughts glanced on Blaike as she met Edythe’s eyes honestly. “Then let us dance.”

***

Hours later, Eleanor cornered Edythe in the records room and asked her to bring Zanntal with her to dinner.

“Please,” Eleanor begged. “I know it is a strange request, but I cannot tell you how much I care for him and want him to be comfortable in Ainsley. I am meeting with Aedon up until we eat, and I don’t want to send a soldier to fetch him into the castle. He speaks nothing of our language.”

“You always give me these assignments, Eleanor. I wish I could finish some of my work.”

“And I wish I did not have to review fen planting reports with Aedon for two hours before dinner,” Eleanor said. “If you would like to trade, I will happily host Zanntal.”

Edythe was annoyed. “I could swear we’ve had this same argument time and time again.”

“Over what? Me bossing you through your day?” Eleanor snapped, feeling sensitive.

“You always having a list for me,” Edythe said as she stood and lifted a pile of records to return them to their shelf. When a book tumbled to the floor, Eleanor picked it up and followed her sister.

“Have I been unfair about it?” Eleanor asked. “Were you not grateful, when I was in Imirillia, that I had prepared you as a regent?”

Edythe turned to face her. “This is a silly argument. I will host your friend if you promise me this is not your way to introduce me to this man.”

“Heavens, no.” Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “I—the thought had not even crossed my mind.”

“If that be the case, I will be happy to make your friend feel welcome.”

***

As Eleanor prepared for her meeting with Aedon, Ammar sat at her table, reading an Imirillian scroll she’d had in her chambers.

“Eleanor,” Ammar said, looking up from his reading. “You said the Imirillian delegation is to leave tomorrow for the pass?”

“Yes,” Eleanor replied as she sorted through the papers on her desk. “I have a message for your father, if you could be so good to see it delivered.” When Eleanor looked up, the physician was actually smiling.

“If it does not cost me my head,” Ammar said, “I would be happy to oblige.”

“Happy even?” Eleanor said, raising an eyebrow. “The Aemogen air has made a positive impact on you already.” She smiled and set her report aside. “I am so grateful you cared for Basaal while you were here, but I must ask you if there is anything you may have overheard of Aemogen’s defenses that you are planning on carrying back to your father.”

“I have nothing to say to the emperor upon my return to that
delightful
camp,” Ammar drawled.

“Thank you,” she said. Eleanor ran her fingers over her pile of reports and, without looking up, asked, “How is Basaal today?”

“He’s out in the training yard.”

“What?” Her eyes shot to Ammar’s face in question.

“His right eye has all but cleared, his vision quite good. And, as he informed me forcefully this morning, if he is going to fight, he has no more use for sleeping draughts and vapors.”

Eleanor’s mouth curled in an unsurprised smile. “And his left eye?” she asked. “And, will he regain his full sight?”

“It remains clouded—blurs and shadows,” Ammar said. “Time will tell if it’s to improve.”

“Blurs and shadows,” Eleanor repeated. “It feels like that is all any of us can see these days.”

***

Basaal was greeted warmly when he arrived for the evening meal. Even Crispin expressed his relief that the prince did not come off worse than he had. Eleanor realized she’d not told him of Zanntal’s arrival. Before she could, Edythe entered with the Imirillian soldier.

The expression on Basaal’s face held more joy than Eleanor could remember having seen since Zarbadast. The prince jumped up from his place and embraced the soldier, laughing and taking a step back, his hands still gripping the young man’s shoulders.

“When did you get in?”Basaal asked.

“This afternoon,” Zanntal said, looking at Basaal’s left eye with concern. “Arillian salts?” he guessed.

“Yes,” Basaal said. “I’ll tell you more later.” Feeling self-conscious of the entire Aemogen court watching the reunion, Basaal led Zanntal towards the table. “I believe Eleanor has a seat for you next to her,” Basaal said. “We’ll converse afterward.”

After evening meal, Basaal and Zanntal spoke late into the night. The prince, needing treatment for his eyes, took Zanntal back to Eleanor’s private rooms, where Ammar was waiting. Eleanor, Edythe, and Ammar were sitting before the fire, talking, when they arrived.

After Ammar had treated Basaal, they returned to where Zanntal sat with Eleanor and Edythe. It was an odd thing for Eleanor, sitting before the fire with Basaal, Zanntal, and Ammar, laughing and exchanging stories and jokes. Edythe had picked up her embroidery, not seeming to mind the conversation carried on in flowing Imirillian.

Basaal slipped in next to Eleanor, sitting close to her as he bantered with Zanntal and argued with Ammar about Imirillian politics. Eleanor spoke only occasionally, tired, content to just listen.

This time spent with Ammar and Zanntal clearly pleased Basaal. It had connected him to his lost country. And, when it hit her—the understanding that Eleanor could not bear the thought of losing these men from her life—she realized that no matter how the campaign ended, it would end in sorrow.

***

Before Emperor Shaamil’s delegation left the next morning—blindfolded and heavily guarded, to be taken out of Ainsley Rise before dawn—Basaal arranged to meet with Ammar. But taking leave of his brother was more of a struggle than Basaal had anticipated.

“What will you say to Father about my being here?” Basaal asked him as they sat in the predawn light of Eleanor’s audience chamber.

“I will say it as it is, in fewer words,” Ammar said. “I will mention your capture and your decision to stand with Aemogen.”

Basaal nodded and rested his hand on Ammar’s shoulder. “I hope to the Illuminating God this is not a final goodbye.”

After an embrace, Basaal accompanied Ammar to the waiting company in the courtyard then ascended the spiral stairs behind the travelers’ house, watching from the battlements as a company of Eleanor’s soldiers escorted the blindfolded Imirillians back toward the pass.

“I am sorry to see him go.”

Basaal turned at hearing Eleanor’s voice. She stood behind him, quiet, her arms wrapped around herself in the chill of the morning.

“Yes,” Basaal agreed.

“Will you spend the day training with Crispin’s men?” she asked.

“Your men,” Basaal corrected. “And yes. I have been accepted back in some form or another.”

“How is your sight this morning?” Eleanor replied, the concern evident in her voice.

“Better,” Basaal said as he leaned against the battlement and crossed his arms. She was looking more rested than she had when he’d first returned from Common Field. Basaal had not even thought to wonder if she still wandered the halls of Ainsley Castle at night. He had been, well, he had been drugged. “Though, I do not think I will regain perfect vision in my left eye.”

“Does that alter your fighting?” she asked.

“Yes.” Basaal watched the meandering breeze lift a lock of hair from Eleanor’s cheek. The brown dye had now faded, leaving an accidental auburn on the end of each strand. “I intend to spend what time I can training in the hope of making the necessary adjustments come time for battle.”

Eleanor gave a single nod and looked out over Ainsley. “And how is your dancing?”

“Dancing?” Basaal questioned. “Is there to be dancing?”

“Tonight, down on the large Ainsley square, since we ride out for the Maragaide valley come morning,” Eleanor explained. “You will be expected, at very least, to make an appearance. And I would like to have you there.” If Basaal had had any intention of saying no, the moment she tilted her head slightly to the side swept away any opposition.

“You do remember,” he ribbed her with a straight smile, “that the last time we danced in Ainsley, I was using it to announce my betrayal to you?”

Eleanor clucked her tongue just like Hannia would have, and Basaal found it as endearing as her expression was distracting. “Not likely I would forget that.”

“I know I never will,” he said, the words off his tongue before he could realize they were being said aloud. Eleanor blushed, and he could feel his own color rising before he forced a loose smile. “I will attend and dance awhile,” he said casually, “if you are not above being embarrassed by my mistakes.”

“It has not stopped me thus far,” Eleanor rejoined as they naturally fell into step together, walking back towards the northern tower.

“No, I suppose it hasn’t,” Basaal said as he shrugged. “What that says about your judgment—”

“Are you trying to talk me out of dancing with you?” she asked.

“No, no,” Basaal replied readily. “A fair warning is all.” Eleanor’s lips were pink in the morning cold, and he traced the lines of her face with his eyes.

“What?” she asked after noticing he was watching her.

“I am memorizing the lines of your face,” he admitted.

Eleanor stopped and considered him. “I am still before you.”

“Yes.” Basaal had no other words to counter the weight he felt in his lungs. They had reached the north tower, where Hastian stood, waiting. Basaal opened the door and leaned against it. “Thank you,” he finally added.

“For what?” Eleanor asked him earnestly.

“You’ve been with me more than you had time for in the last few days,” Basaal answered. “I thank you for it.”

Eleanor did not reply. She did, however, step close to him, lift herself up onto her toes, and kiss the corner of his mouth, as light as the morning.

His skin still felt cool from Eleanor’s kiss even after she disappeared through the tower door.

***

“It’s all in ready,” Crispin said, waving his hand across the camp. “Everything in place, all supplies and weapons accounted for. Thistle Black has already taken most of the powder weapons on ahead so they can be brought through the tunnel before the men have to go through it.”

Eleanor knew this, but she nodded anyway, her fingers gripping Thrift’s reins for whatever comfort she might find there.

Crispin continued. “Wil—Prince Basaal, I mean—has been invaluable in sharing knowledge about moving a large army. I am glad to have had his help, though I still retain my opinion he’s a tricky devil.”

“I’ve never said he wasn’t. But it’s the steadiness underneath that is to be relied upon,” Eleanor said. “Have you seen him fight since the attack?”

“You’ve no need to concern yourself on that score.” Crispin leaned forward in his saddle and looked at Eleanor. “He fights with more rage than he ever did before; the man is a dragon. If anyone can make it out of this alive, he can. Whether the rest of the men—the farmers, the craftsman, the miners—can make it through…? I’ve found I just can’t think on it or else my courage fails me.”

Eleanor spent the rest of the afternoon at her desk, staring at reports and paying them no mind. Her thoughts were on her civilian army and on the Aemogen plan of attack. They were also on Basaal. They then moved to her parents, memories she had avoided so meticulously in her mind because she could not stand how lonely they made her feel. Did they, Eleanor wondered, think she had done well? Was there any help from the dead of Aemogen?

Drums and calls were coming from the western downs, and Eleanor felt her blood respond to the sound of so many men preparing for war. She took herself to the window, flinging it wide and taking in whatever air her lungs could house. Edythe was right: they needed the dancing. But it was not for farewells. Eleanor closed her eyes. It was for sanity.