by Beth Brower
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 th
ere.” 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.
***
“Of course you’ll join in,” Basaal said, leaning against the open doorframe of Zanntal’s room in the travelers’ house.
Zanntal sat on his bed, back against the wall, polishing his scimitar. “I make a far superior nursemaid than a dancer.” Zanntal paused and looked up at his prince. “And I am no nursemaid.”
Grinning, Basaal ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting long; it needed cutting. “There are many simple dances, and even standing by, drink in hand, watching the merriment, is an evening well spent before a man rides to war.”
Zanntal did not look convinced. “I’ll dance with no one. As surely as no one would dance with me.”
“I’m sure Eleanor will. She’d slight me for you, as clear as day. And what about Edythe?” Basaal asked with a half shrug. “You could ask her for a dance.”
A disbelieving smile broke across Zanntal’s face. “Edythe would no sooner dance with me than with the emperor. She humors me for the sake of her sister.”
A movement in the hall caught Basaal’s attention, and he looked to see Crispin just leaving his room.
“Crispin! Come help me convince Zanntal to dance.”
“What? You’re trying to get him to dance with you now?”
“Of course not.” Basaal rolled his eyes. “Just come here.”
The war leader did not come with quite the boyish enjoyment Basaal had been used to seeing from the days of the battle run, but he did come, stepping past Basaal into the room.
“Zanntal,” Crispin said as he nodded.
Zanntal nodded in return.
“You might as well come,” Crispin said as he put both hands on his hips. “Your battle dread will ease. We’ll all end up smiling, girls will abound, and hopefully, for my sake, the drinks will flow. Come,” he said, kicking lightly at Zanntal’s shoe. “Don’t waste your last chance at a dance, and don’t throw away a night with an easy mind.”
Basaal translated all Crispin had said.
When Zanntal made no verbal response, Crispin shrugged and clasped Basaal on the shoulder as he prepared to leave. Basaal was startled by the show of camaraderie, and it must have shown on his face, for Crispin actually broke into a grin.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Crispin said. “You’ve thrown your lot in with ours. And, I don’t think many of us are getting out of this war alive, so I might as well forgive you for being such an ass.”
Basaal’s head went back, and he laughed. He brought his hand up to Crispin’s arm, gripping it with a sense of brotherhood. “I wouldn’t know how to navigate the terror of an Aemogen dance without you.”
“No fear of that,” Crispin said. “I’ll help you through.” Crispin turned back to Zanntal. “Don’t go all grandfather on us now—get a move on it.”
Crispin winked at Basaal and slid past the prince. Basaal looked over his shoulder just as Crispin paused and half turned to face him. “You know, I might as well say this before I get into the evening and forget I’ve ever owned the thought. I am almost wishing now I would have settled before this, perhaps even married. I don’t know.” Crispin shrugged. “I always supposed I had all the time in the world.” The young war leader knocked his fist against the wall gently, pulled by a thought beyond what he had shared. “Well, I’ll see you at the square.”
Basaal reached absentmindedly for the hilt of his sword as he watched Crispin disappear down the hallway of the travelers’ house.
***
The violin was eager. The violin was hungry. As Basaal descended the Ainsley stair with Eleanor’s hand in his, he could hear the strains of the music already swirling around the feet of the dancers. Edythe, Aedon, and others of the royal company surrounded him and Eleanor, talking anxiously, finding it impossible to fight the music’s energy that was anything but what they had experienced during the last month.
It was not as grand as the spring festival had been the year prior—there were no games or booths—but the people were gathered around the d
ance floor, and they were intent on each other’s company. They weighed one another’s words with more earnestness. They laughed, and the laughter was really a way to say good-bye. They would dance tonight, and then they would leave for war. And every pair of sweethearts refused to part for even a moment.
Eleanor’s company settled on a temporary dais, where chairs had been set, and the musicians stopped their playing as Eleanor welcomed them all.
“We do not know the outcome of what is ahead,” Eleanor said after a brief welcome, pausing as she brushed the wooden arm of her chair with the tips of her fingers in uncertainty. Basaal, sitting at her side, reached his hand up and took her fingers in his. “But, we stand together and for Aemogen. May the blessing of all those who have gone before us work in our favor. And, may we return to our homes in peace come the end.”
The crowd roared, and the musicians took up a lively tune that transformed the entire square into the dance. As Eleanor sat, Basaal took her hand in both of his and leaned towards her. “Well done. Shall we dance?”
“I don’t think I can.” Eleanor felt weighed down into her chair. “I’ve spent all afternoon thinking about the next several days and I—”
“All the more reason,” Basaal interrupted. “Come on.” Basaal stood and grabbed both of her hands, ignoring her protests as he led her to the center of the floor. Couples parted to make way, and Eleanor stopped her protests to smile and put on a face. When Basaal spun her around to face him, her expression was a careful mix of gratitude and peevishness. Basaal laughed. “You might have to take the lead if I fail,” he shouted over the noise.
They danced. Several melodies were familiar to Basaal, and what was not Eleanor helped him through. After an hour of music and dancing, the torchlight filling the entire square, Basaal brought his face close to Eleanor’s with a question: “Where’s Edythe?”
“I don’t know.” Eleanor said, turning in concern to scan the chairs, but could not see her sister there.
“Is she dancing?” Basaal asked.
“I haven’t seen her on the floor,” Eleanor said. “But I had assumed she would not join in.”
Crispin had pushed through the press of the crowd to join them and asked Eleanor for a dance.