The Wanderer's Mark: Book Three of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 3) (2 page)

He finished speaking his pledge and knelt on the ground beside the table as a silver bowl was placed before him. Pushing his sleeves back, Basaal dipped his hands into the water, washing them in symbolic promise of cleansing himself to honor God, empire, and emperor. Then Emir handed him a towel, uttered a final blessing, and it was over.

Kiarash clapped Basaal on the back and helped him stand, which dissipated his dreamlike vision of following Eleanor from the city. The noises of the room flooded his ears, and Basaal finally felt present. Each brother congratulated him, and Kiarash made a comment about being the only brother still unmarried.

“Aside from Ammar,” Kiarash rushed to add. “Not that he could get a girl if he tried.”

Ammar did not look entertained. Shaamil rose from his chair at the head of the room and actually smiled as Ashim said something to him that Basaal could not hear. Then he walked to where Basaal stood and extended his hand. “You have taken upon yourself the covenants of cleansing necessary to fully commit to God, empire, and emperor,” he said. “May you have the honor to keep them.” Basaal took his father’s hand and nodded. Then Shaamil continued. “Your seriousness in this thing pleases me.”

He hadn’t meant to jerk his head up so fast, but Basaal did, looking directly into his father’s eyes. He found no sarcasm evident there, no biting edge, but rather the shadow of sincere affection. Ironic, Basaal thought, that this had been the only holy ritual he had ever undertaken in his life where his mind was not fully present.

“Do I please you, Father?” he asked.

Shaamil lifted his ringed hand and touched Basaal’s neck only a moment. Then, saying nothing and with Emir at his side, he left the room. Basaal watched him go, feeling a sense of mourning. In a matter of hours, his ever-shifting relationship with his father would turn once again, twisting like the dry root of a starved desert plant whose wood would soon split irreparably. And Basaal was sad for it.

Arsaalan grabbed Basaal’s arm. “Come,” he said, “and spend some time with us.”

“I don’t think we should invite him along,” Kiarash said. “His sparrow’s song is so saccharine I can hardly bear his company.”

“I’ll come,” Basaal accepted with a forced smile. “Eleanor is much more to look upon than Kiarash, but if Ashim promises to be there, I’d be happy to make the sacrifice.”

In truth, it could not have been better had he planned it that way. This would buy Eleanor and Dantib the time they needed to disappear into the rocks east of Zarbadast.

Kiarash pulled at Ashim’s beard and mentioned something about bad taste.

“If you are going to be absent, would you mind if I check on Eleanor?” Ammar said from behind Basaal.

Basaal half turned. He had not realized Ammar was still in the room. “Why?” he asked.

“Jealous already?” Kiarash laughed. “That’s a bad sign.”

Ammar’s brow knit, and he looked at Basaal strangely. “You said she was not feeling well. As her physician, it would be unsuitable for me to ignore her fatigue.”

“Clearly,” Basaal said almost too readily. “Yes. It’s only—I don’t—I believe she was sleeping when I left. That is to say, she meant to rest,” he explained, trying to hide his unease. “But please, visit. I just did not want you to wake her—that is all.”

“I have a task that will take some time, and then I will go,” Ammar said. “Eleanor never does sleep long, even when ill.”

“Yes,” Basaal said, and he shrugged so stiffly that he almost laughed at himself. “And tell her I won’t be far behind you.”

***

The soldiers passed without looking twice in their direction, but Eleanor still felt her stomach twist until they had moved farther up the street. The eastern gate stood ahead of them, a tall, arched display of beautifully carved stone. Soldiers stood near it, eyeing the many people pouring in and out.

It was late enough in the day for them to leave the city unnoticed. So, although Eleanor’s entire body was beating with the drumming of her heart, she and Dantib passed through the gate, waiting patiently for the crowd to give way. She held Dantib’s arm with her covered hand, being careful to keep her headscarf pulled down, and tried to imitate the tired motions of the vendors and herders around her.

Walking away from Zarbadast without looking back was a surreal task for Eleanor. It seemed strange and so unbelievable that she was free of the city. Using a staff he had purchased in the market, Dantib altered his walk to reflect his many years; a worn figure with his knapsack, old sandals on his feet. No one would have ever guessed the treason he was committing.

Soon, they were pushed to the side of the road by a small band of horsemen and blended into those on foot as they spread out towards the eastern deserts.

“Rocks,” Dantib said to Eleanor not long after getting onto the road. “There are many rocks and canyons. By the end of the day, we will have dropped down into one of them and will be lost from the view of the main road.”

“Will we get far enough to be untraceable?” Eleanor asked quietly, aware that her accent would set her apart if overheard.

“Be the Illuminating God willing,” Dantib replied.

Then, as if it were a sign, a woman called out to them. “There, you, old man! I’ve sold my wares and travel east the day long, if you wish a ride.”

They turned to see a woman, covered with a jangle of cheap trinkets, her skin tight and discolored from years under the desert sun. She was driving a jumble of wood barely passing for a cart, pulled by an equally disreputable donkey.

Eleanor bent her head as Dantib greeted the woman warmly. “Seraagh herself could not have made a better offer,” he said. “My dear woman, I accept your ride. We have many days left in our journey and would appreciate a rest to our bones.”

With Eleanor’s help, Dantib lifted himself into the front of the cart. Then he began a congenial conversation with the woman while Eleanor climbed onto the back, sitting on the edge of the cart, where she could see the massive city spreading out behind her. There, to the north of the eastern gate, rising above a cacophony of buildings and structures, gleamed the white perfection of the seven palaces.

Eleanor grabbed the sides of the cart as the donkey shifted and moved forward, taking them over three rather large holes in the road. Pulling her teeth together against the resulting rattle, Eleanor watched as she moved farther from Zarbadast. Farther from Basaal, and his rituals and his honor and— Eleanor gripped the cart harder, taken off guard by the pain she felt at the thought of leaving him behind. If only he had come. If only he had come with her.

***

Basaal had endured almost two hours of long, stretched out anticipation, envisioning when and how the storm would break. As much as he tried to listen, Basaal could not take his eyes from the doors of Arsaalan’s grand salon, speaking only an occasional observation, waiting—and waiting.

It took longer than Basaal had thought for Ammar to come into the room, white-faced and stern.

“Basaal.” Ammar tilted his chin at him and stepped into the corner of the room. This was the first test, acting a part before his brothers. Basaal stood and walked to Ammar.

“Yes?” Basaal held a drink in his hand, swirling its contents. “Is Eleanor well? You did tell her I was coming?”

“She’s not there,” Ammar leveled.

“Isn’t there?” Basaal said, drawing his eyebrows together. “Strange. She must have gone to the women’s quarters.”

“I searched there.” Ammar led Basaal by his elbow farther away from the other brothers. “She has not been there all day.”

“But—”

“Hannia has not seen her either,” Ammar said.

Basaal could no longer look Ammar in the eye. He swore and stepped away, marching from the room. Kiarash called out to him, but he did not turn around. Ammar followed at Basaal’s elbow.

“Certainly she’s somewhere,” Basaal said through gritted teeth. “Did you check the archives? The gardens?”

“I have begun asking, that is all,” Ammar said. “I did not want to put the palace into an uproar unless—”

When Basaal reached his palace, he encountered a panicked Hannia, who repeated that Eleanor was not there and could not have gone anywhere else. Basaal walked from room to room, ignoring the frantic questions from the maid and ignoring the unspoken questions emanating from his brother. He walked through all of his gardens, and he checked every room. Servants and guards stepped away, wary of the murderous look Basaal conjured onto his face. By the seven stars, he hated this deception.

“The women’s quarters,” Basaal said, finally addressing Ammar. “You’re certain they were searched in their entirety?”

“Yes.”

“Hannia, have them searched again,” Basaal said.

After the maid left, Ammar narrowed his eyes at Basaal. “She won’t find her there.”

“I know,” Basaal said. “I wanted her out of the way.”

“Where is Eleanor, Basaal?”

“I can think of only one other person who might know,” Basaal said.

“You are really going to bring this accusation before the emperor?”

“No—perhaps,” Basaal said, moving his hand across his face. “But who else could have done it?”

Ammar’s mouth twitched, his response sounding thick. “Who else indeed?”

***

If Basaal had expected the luxury of taking the news to the emperor himself, he was not surprised when he did not receive it, for it was not long after Hannia had been sent off that the captain of Shaamil’s imperial guard arrived.

“The emperor wishes to know if the rumors are true,” the captain said.

“I am certain she is somewhere on the premises,” Basaal answered angrily.

“He has ordered that all personnel be charged with searching the entirety of the seven palaces.”

“Yes,” Basaal said. “I was planning on mobilizing my own men immediately.” Basaal nodded to one of his personal guard, who stood waiting near the doorway. The soldier bowed in return then left to organize the search.

“If you have nothing further to say,” Basaal said to the captain, pulling at the sleeve of his coat. “I will join my men.”

“You are to return to your palace with the Vestan,” the captain insisted. “They will track her movements from there.”

“But the Vestan are out of the city,” Basaal said. “Let my own guard—”

“The Vestan are in the emperor’s palace,” the captain interrupted.

Basaal’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “It’s the day of purification. They should be gone from here.” The captain did not answer, rather he turned on his heels and disappeared down the corridor. Basaal felt genuinely furious now. “The Vestan are supposed to be out of Zarbadast!”

“What sort of playacting is this?” Ammar asked as he grabbed Basaal’s shoulder and shoved him back into the wall. “What have you done with her?” he demanded. “Don’t pretend that you had nothing to do with it.”

Before Basaal could say anything, a company of six Vestan came around the corner. Basaal shook himself free, stepping forward, ignoring Ammar.

“What do you want?” he snapped at the assassins.

“The emperor has ordered us to your apartments, Your Grace, to find the missing Aemogen queen.”

Ammar followed Basaal with a glare so fierce that Basaal dared not look at him. As Basaal led the Vestan into his apartments—his palms wet, his eyes alert—he kept frantically counting the hours since Eleanor and Dantib had escaped. Would it be enough?

“She was here, in this room, when I left.” Basaal said, pointing toward the open windowsill where they had sat together before her disappearance.

The Vestan spread out wordlessly and began to canvass the chambers, paying attention to the slightest print on the rug or movement of a drape.

“I swear it, Basaal,” Ammar hissed quietly. “If you had anything to do with putting Eleanor’s life in danger—”

“Do you really think me capable of that?” Basaal turned and shot these words back at his brother. “You think that after all my efforts, I would let her go? That I would be such a fool?”

Ammar did not reply, but Basaal’s performance had done little to alter the expression on his face.

The next several minutes passed by in a blur, a blur composed of motions so slow he felt he were pacing at the bottom of the ocean, fighting a heavy weight against every limb. It took no more than a few minutes for the Vestan to take their search into the bedchamber. A few members of Basaal’s honor guard entered the room to report the progress of the search. Among them stood Zanntal. Being careful not to look in his direction, Basaal listened intently, arms folded, staring at the floor.

“Nothing has yet been found inside the palaces,” the guard said as he reported. “There is no evidence to show if it was an escape or an abduction. Should we begin to search the city?”

During the report, Basaal had looked up once towards Zanntal. The soldier had stood, serious-faced, quiet. But, when he caught Basaal’s eye, the side of his mouth lifted into an almost imperceptible smile.

She’d gotten out. Basaal hoped his internal relief appeared in the form of external frustration. “Search the city—” Basaal began.

Then another Vestan came into the room. “That will not be necessary,” he said. “We have found two tunnels leading from the bedchamber.”