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

his neck, and he was filthy, desperate. “Please,” he said, his small voice whispering his pathetic plea. “ Please. ”
    The other soldier kicked the man, who yelped in pain. Basaal motioned that soldier away and frowned. Everyone in the courtyard stood, watching him. The image of the small boy who had stolen from his neighbors in Faenan fen came to Basaal’s mind—Eleanor had shown him great mercy. Basaal chafed now against the knowledge that the strict laws of his father gave no leeway for mercy toward thieves.
    “Where do you live?” Basaal inquired of the man.
    The wretch did not lift his head but answered, the words shaking against each other as they rose from the ground. “Here, in Alliet, in the western streets.”
    “And do you have a profession?” he asked.
    “I work with a carpenter.”
    Basaal grimaced. “You know the penalty for stealing in the Imirillian Empire, surely.”
    A whimper was the only response Basaal received. Silence surrounded him as all in the courtyard stood, watching. He thought of a thousand merciful answers that he could give, but then a flash of purple moved against the far wall. Basaal did not look at the Vestan’s face, but he knew his actions would be reported to the emperor.
    “Which is your lead hand?” Basaal asked quietly, and the man moved his right hand. “There is nothing I can do for you,” he said more loudly. “You know the law.” The prince turned towards Taiz. “Take his left hand, and see him away. Give him the fruit,” he added. “He’ll have paid for it.”
    Basaal walked away as the carpenter began to scream.
    ***
    Eleanor could hear screaming beyond the window of her room. It seemed to be a desperate cry of pain, turning short and repetitive until it grew distant, as if someone had pushed the pain past a door.
    The sound was interrupted by the stomp of footsteps on the tiled floor of the common room. Eleanor knew it was Basaal, for she could hear him cursing. Something crashed against a wall, the pieces sounding like discordant bells as they fell to the tiles. Then there was no sound. Eleanor’s door was ajar, so she slipped over in her bare feet and peered out.
    Basaal knelt prostrate on the ground, his head cradled in the crook of his arm on the floor, his other arm brought up, covering his neck, as if he would hide. He was speaking the same words over and over, but Eleanor couldn’t understand them. It was a pitiable lamentation.
    Eleanor pressed her cheek against the door, watching Basaal’s prayer, feeling it mirroring her own emotions—raw, rubbed too many times. What had happened? Did it have anything to do with the screaming in the courtyard?
    Sinking to the floor, Eleanor leaned her head back against the wall, listening to Basaal’s unintelligible words as if they could somehow soothe her, and she wished she could be gone from this place. After a time, he was silent. Looking back through the sliver between the door and wall, Eleanor could see that Basaal was now kneeling up, his eyes towards the window, his hand absentmindedly running along his bare forearm, where his Safeeraah should be.
    “If you still wish, I will help you seal your Safeeraah.” Eleanor heard these words cross her lips before she had even decided to speak them.
    Basaal turned his head towards her. His face was unreadable and his eyes, as heavy as stones, wandered slowly about what little he could see of her face before he answered. “It is a very personal thing. Probably, I shouldn’t have asked you. Are you—are you certain?”
    Eleanor nodded, feeling her cheek rub against the cold face of the stonewall. “Only tell me what I must do.”
    “I will need some time to prepare.” Basaal stood and took himself through the door opposite Eleanor’s.
    When he emerged after what, Eleanor guessed, was almost an hour later, she pulled herself up and opened wide the door to her chamber. He entered, the same small bag in his hand, handing it to Eleanor without looking