Jewel of Persia (13 page)

The tray was silver, as were the bowls with her food. The rhyton of wine was rimmed in gold. The meat was covered in a sauce she could not name, the grain baked into a beautiful loaf, the fruit exotic, the wine sweet and strong.

All looked like sand.

“Is it not to your liking, mistress?” Desma asked with wrinkled brow. “I can send it back and get you something else.”

And appear ungrateful. “No, it is fine.” She sat, even reached for the wine.

Her stomach clenched, and she tasted bile. In front of her eyes dropped a hazy veil and on her spirit weighed a desperate need to commune with her Lord. She pushed away from the table and stumbled over to the multi-colored rug under one of the windows. Sinking to her knees was not enough, so she stretched prostrate on the ground.

“Mistress?” Voice alarmed, Desma dropped down beside her. “What is wrong? Do you need a physician? A magi?”

“No.” Never in her life had her insides vibrated with this urgent need to pray. In her father’s house, her faith had been relaxed and easy—here in the palace it seemed to demand every ounce of her being. Was this how it had been for the great prophet Daniel a century ago? For his friends Azariah and Mishael and Mordecai’s ancestor Hananiah?

She was no prophet. But if spending her days in prayer was what Jehovah required in return for his presence, then she would lie on this rug indefinitely.

“Mistress?”

“I must fast and pray, Desma. There is no need for alarm, but I . . . I must. Please go see to your own meals now. I will need nothing further tonight.”

After a moment of silence, feet shuffled out the door. But Desma sat on the corner of the rug, and Theron took up his protective stance against the wall.

The closest she would get to solitude. So be it.

Time washed away, all her senses focused on supplication. She saw only the ever-shifting lights behind her closed eyes, smelled only the sweet fragrance of prayers, heard only the whisper of the Spirit’s wind.

She prayed for her husband. She prayed for herself. She prayed for the queen. She prayed for Esther and Mordecai, for her parents and siblings. She prayed for the children she may someday have. She prayed for Jasmine, for her servants, for the coming war.

Then her door opened and hurried feet pounded into her room. Leda fell to her knees before Desma. “The food—it was poisoned. The dog I fed a bite too has become paralyzed, his breathing slow and hard. Hemlock.”

A chill danced over Kasia’s back. She sat up and looked from one maid to the other.

Desma’s mouth was agape. “How did you know, mistress?”

She shook her head.

Desma swallowed hard, her eyes wide. “Your God watches over you. If you would share him with your servant, I would learn to pray to him as well. For your sake.”

Kasia nodded, even smiled. It would seem she had another true friend in the palace.

She dared not count her enemies.

Ten

Darius cuffed his brother on the side of the head with a laugh. “Hystaspes, you make me late. Go bother Mother.”

The ten-year-old lunged at him with a mighty roar. “I am a lion! You must fight me off, Darius. What if you get attacked by a lion on your way to Greece? They have them in one of the mountain passes, you know. My tutor told me of them today.”

Hence why he had been fending off these lion attacks all afternoon. Yesterday it had been bears. What would come tomorrow? Crocodiles? He flipped the boy off his back, careful to help him land gently. “There, lion, you are defeated. Now stay that way. Father wants me at the feast.”

Hystaspes scowled and rested his elbows on his knees. “It is unfair. Why do you get to meet all the dignitaries while I am expected to eat in the nursery? I am a man too.”

Darius arched a brow. “Amytis and Rhodogune would miss you.”

The boy made a face. “Girls are so dull.”

Darius laughed and tousled Hystaspes’ hair. “If you were a man, you would not think so.”

The boy wrapped his arms around Darius’s legs and held on tight. “Take me with you. I will hide under a rug if I must, but please do not send me back to Mother. She was raving to Haman about some Jewess and will be in a sour temper all evening, then leave for her feast. And I do not
want
to go to the nursery!”

Darius’s heart tripped at the mention of the new concubine, but he pushed her image away. “Then go find some of our other brothers to play with. What of Parham?”

“He got in trouble, and his mother told him he may not play this evening. Please?”

Darius sent his eyes to the dimming skies. “You can come with me as far as the hall, but then it is up to you to stay out of the way and hidden from Father’s eyes.”

The boy leapt off with a whoop of victory. “Yes! Thank you, Darius. I will be invisible as a specter, I promise.”

Darius straightened his brightly colored tunic and gave his brother a light push, just for the point of it. “Hurry. Hopefully the new guests will still be presenting their gifts, and I will not have missed anything important.”

With Hystaspes dogging his heels, Darius sped to the ceremonial palace where the new guests would be received. At least he was not the only late arrival—Haman rushed up the steps ahead of them.

Darius looked down at his brother. “Why was mother talking to Haman about the Jewess? Did you hear anything?”

Hystaspes shrugged. “They stopped when I came in.”

“Hmm.” He jogged up the endless stone steps and passed through the first of the columns when he realized his brother had stopped. “Hystaspes!”

The boy stood with head craned back. “I have never noticed before that those are griffins up there. Have you ever seen a griffin, Darius? In the wild, I mean?”

His tutor obviously needed to work a little harder. “They are mythical, you blockhead. Are you coming or not?”

“Coming, coming.”

Darius led the way into the great reception hall. Its ceilings soared high overhead, precious stones embedded within the cedar. The black marble columns gleamed and reflected the low light of the sun like a hundred mirrors. Under his feet stretched a carpet as long as the hall, its pattern an intricate mosaic of every color. He motioned his little brother into the shadows and took a moment to survey the gathering.

All around him his father’s military commanders were gathered into tight groups. At the front of the chamber the throne dominated on its step. Father still sat, scepter in hand, and smiled down at the visitors before him. One carried a huge gold bowl, another a length of rolled textile.

Excellent—they had not adjourned to the enclosed garden yet. He skirted the room until he had made his way to the front where several of his uncles waited.

“Ah, Darius, there you are.” Artabanus smiled and motioned him to his side. “A bit late, are you not?”

“I was waylaid by a ferocious lion.”

His father’s uncle loosed a rich laugh. “Was the lion named Hystaspes?”

“How did you guess?” Darius looked toward the back of the hall but could not see his brother. Good.

An unmistakable shadow fell over him. “I am glad to see you emerged from the attack with your limbs intact, my son.”

Since laughter coated his father’s voice, Darius smiled up at him. “I wrestled the beast into submission with my bare hands.”

“An able warrior indeed.” Father nodded to one of his attendants, and a moment later a trumpet call rang out. All eyes on him, Xerxes raised his arms wide. “Welcome, noble guests and esteemed friends, to the final night of our feast. Let each man sit where he will and drink his fill—to the garden!”

A cheer went up. On most nights, no one could drink more than the king, and all was ordered at his command. He must be in a prime mood. Persia had Kasia the Jewess to thank, Darius suspected.

A sigh snuck past his lips as he followed his father to the garden. Xerxes was not just the king—he was the epitome of what a man should be. One of the tallest men at court, his figure was well hewn from years of military training. Though he passed most of his days on the throne, he could wield a spear or loose an arrow with the skill of any Immortal. He held his authority with a firm fist but a ready smile. He was fair, he was affable, and when his temper snapped, usually without much warning, he was as fearsome as the god.

Darius would be like that. A man of reputation, one who had earned respect through war and wise counsel. He would prove his bravery in battle, he would increase his strength through training.

Maybe then Artaynte would greet his advances with something other than laughter. She would realize that his being heir apparent was in fact
not
his only attribute, as she had accused a week ago. Those enticing lips would turn up in welcome instead of mockery. She would realize how blessed she was to have his heart.

If he asked his father for her, Xerxes would arrange a marriage with a snap of his finger. A better match could not be made—she was his cousin, her blood pure and strong. Masistes would be ecstatic to know his daughter would reign as queen someday. If Darius asked, she would have no choice but to wed him. She would be his.

But she would not be his. She would be like Darius’s mother, the wife with all the honor but no affection for her husband. That was not the marriage he wanted.

Better first to earn her love. Right now she was but a girl who saw him as a boy, one she had known all her life. But once he returned a hero from Greece, that would change. She would see him differently, would come to love him. Then he would ask his father for her hand, and their marriage would be celebrated through the whole world.

Xerxes settled beside him with lifted brows. “I know that look. What lovely curves are you dreaming of, my son?”

Darius felt his face flush and cleared his throat. It took firm resolve to keep from darting his gaze to his uncle, who sat on a couch at his father’s other side. “None worth mentioning. What of you? Is your pleasant mood thanks to that exquisite concubine we met the other day?”

The Jewess was a far safer subject than Artaynte, and thought of her had provided a welcome distraction over the past few days. Claiming such a creature was one of the benefits of being king. Concubines could be enjoyed and dismissed at will.

Strange though . . . that flash in his father’s eyes spoke of involvement. Perhaps nothing was ever simple. “She pleases me well, yes.”

Masistes laughed and picked up his rhyton of wine. “I imagine. Will you take her with you into Greece?”

Xerxes took a long drink from his gold cup. “I have not thought on which of my concubines will travel with me.”

“My wife and daughter are already begging to go with us as far as Sardis.” Masistes shrugged and chose a piece of meat. “I imagine it is safe enough for them to go that far. With your blessing of course, my lord.”

Darius’s father waved a dismissive hand. “As you wish, Masistes.”

A bite of bread lodged in Darius’s throat. It would take them over a year to meander to Sardis, gathering the army as they went, and then they would likely wait out the winter there. Time he thought he would spend
away
from Artaynte.

“What of the queen? Will she go into Lydia with us?”

“Doubtful.” Xerxes surveyed the assembly. Darius looked over the garden too. The white and blue tapestries fluttered in the breeze as guests chose their couches of gold and silver. Slaves circled the room offering golden goblets of wine. It was a fine feast.

“It would be rather soon after her confinement,” his uncle mused. “Parsisa will miss her, I am sure.”

The words were right, but the tone of his voice made them all smile. It was no great secret that his aunt Parsisa did not get along with his mother. Most people did not get along with his mother.

Xerxes laughed outright. “Well, we must think of the health of her and the babe. I shall have to make do with concubines and send the wives to Persepolis where it is safe.”

Masistes shook his head. “You agreed that Sardis would be safe enough.”

“Safe enough for
your
wives. Not for mine.” Xerxes winked and took another drink of his wine.

His uncle loosed a guffaw. “Which is to say, you would rather not be bothered with them. Understandable—your mind will be occupied with stratagem. And the Jewess, perhaps?”

Again, Darius saw a strange flash in his father’s eyes. “Did I not just say I had not made up my mind?”

“But if rumor is to be trusted, you have seen no one else this week. Surely if she holds your attention so completely, you would not want to be parted from her. She must be an exceptional lover.”

“Masistes. Enough.” Temper colored the smile he turned on Darius. “What of you, my son? A man at war often needs a woman to soothe him. Will you choose a girl to take with you?”

A fine idea. He could find a slave so beautiful Artaynte would grow jealous, one who fawned over him instead of pointing out his shortcomings. “I may, at that. One with a fire to match what I saw in your Kasia. Does she have sisters?”