The Ruby Prince: Book Two of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 2) by Beth Brower

and stretching his arms along the rim. Basaal’s pulse was racing in the cold air of the morning.
    “Come to make yourself clean, have you?”
    Basaal looked towards the door. An old man stood there, with a robe over his arm and a slight smile on his face. Basaal did not answer, but rather studied the man’s features. They touched him as familiar, yet he recalled no previous interaction, only that he’d seen him in the Marion throne room the day before.
    “You are a member of King Staven’s court,” Basaal finally responded.
    “Yes,” the old man said as he walked around the small pool opposite the prince. He laid his robe on a bench and quickly stripped off his clothes. He was old, his hair gray, his skin having given way to soft folds and protruding veins. He smiled at Basaal and dipped his toe into the bath.
    “It’s a touch cold for an outside bath, but here you come, and so must I.” The man eased himself into the water with a hesitant expression, looking pained yet satisfied once he had settled all the way into the pool. “Now, rumor has it that Staven is trying to woo our Eleanor,” he said.
    Our Eleanor? Basaal eyed the man but did not respond.
    “We can speak quite freely,” the gentleman said, a glint in his eye. “I’ve a faithful servant keeping watch, who will signal if anyone comes close.”
    It struck Basaal that the old man was enjoying his bit of intrigue, and he laughed. “I’m afraid, sir,” Basaal said, “I do not speak ‘quite freely’ with people I know, let alone with a total stranger.”
    The older man opened his mouth, not to speak but to run the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, as if thinking. “I’m afraid you must,” he said after a moment had passed. “I believe that you met my younger brother while in Aemogen, Thayne of Allarstam. He has settled Old Ainsley Fen, charming place, from what I hear. Ghosts and whatnot,” he added. “Never been for a visit.”
    The old courtier shrugged dismissively. “What Thayne could have told you,” he continued, “if he had known who you were, was that we are cousins to your mother’s family.” The old man wrinkled his nose. “I can’t see how Thayne missed it. You have so much of Edith in your face I almost can’t believe you are real. You were given a name after him, a second name: Wiliam. Thayne carried it first, and Edith named you for him.”
    Basaal did not show the emotions he felt at this revelation. He kept his face steady. “Say what you have come to say, and I will decide if I may trust you or not.”
    “Bosh,” the old man replied. “You’re as guarded as they say. I’m not arguing that there isn’t good reason, seeing as how you are Shaamil’s son and all.” The hair on the back of Basaal’s neck pricked. “Edith was a sweet soul, my stars, she was. She wrote several letters about you, by and by. I brought one with me,” he added. “Nothing like good reading in the bath to start your day, right? It’s in the pocket of my coat. I might be willing to give it to you if you can speak openly with an old man.”
    “I don’t understand what you want to hear,” Basaal said.
    “Has Staven offered for Eleanor?” the old man said directly. The drop in his voice indicated he was through with making acquaintance.
    “Yes,” Basaal said.
    “Do you know the terms or the understanding of it?”
    “Yes,” Basaal responded. “He thinks he can negotiate with Emperor Shaamil, that if he and Eleanor marry, annexing the two countries, they will open trade and pay a tax to Imirillia, retaining sovereignty of Aemogen—and Marion.”
    “But, you do not think Shaamil will go for the idea,” the old man said. “I can see it in your face.”
    “Staven is a fool,” Basaal said, then he splashed water over his face. “Shaamil would have, perhaps, considered the proposal years ago, before—” Basaal left off his thought and shrugged. “Once he hears that they brought down the mountain, it will become