Jewel of Persia (22 page)

“No!” Horror made her friend’s amber eyes go round and her cheeks flush scarlet. “Swear you will not!”

Kasia laughed and patted Artaynte’s arm in reassurance. “I will do nothing to embarrass you, I promise.” Her mirth died down when a familiar tug pulled taut inside, and another young man floated to the surface of her mind. “I have a brother the prince’s age—Zechariah. He has been on my mind much these past few weeks.”

As had Esther. She would be a woman now, of age to be married. Had they fallen in love, or had childhood affection vanished in the mists of time? For all she knew, they could have married other people, people she had never met. And what of the twins, of Joshua?

“When we return to Susa, you should ask the king to let you visit your family. I am certain he would approve.”

Longing welled up, only to be eclipsed by reality. “He would. My father, on the other hand . . .”

“Surely he will want to meet his grandchild.”

Kasia smiled, appreciating that her friend spoke with certainty about the babe in her womb. Xerxes had refused to discuss it more this past week, as if doing so might prove a curse. But there was nothing wrong with this child. She could feel the difference. “Perhaps. And even if Abba will not allow the younger children to see me, he and Ima and Zechariah could come to the palace. I would love to feel my mother’s arms around me again.”

Artaynte’s gaze tracked back to the prince. “What if he falls in love with one of these girls he charms so easily?”

She led her friend on a curve in the path, one that would take them out of view of the prince. “You have nothing to fear. He will not wed any of those girls.”

“Not yet, since his first wife must be noble. But one could win his heart. What good will it do me to be his consort and queen if he has wasted himself on one of low birth?”

If Artaynte did not look so worried and oblivious, Kasia may have been offended. She smiled instead. “Yes, one must look out for those low-born wenches. Trouble-makers, every one.”

Her friend flushed again. “Oh, Kasia, I did not mean—that is,
you
are not—the king is certainly not wasting himself . . .”

Kasia laughed and bumped her shoulder into Artaynte’s. “Rest easy, my friend, I know you meant no insult. But if I might make an observation, I think the fact that Darius avoids any young women of nobility speaks to his desire to wait for a particular one. And you are the one he watches.”

Artaynte came to an abrupt halt and looked around. The mountains loomed ahead of them in breathtaking splendor, the Meander River winding close on their right. “We had better go back—Mother will be furious if I am late for the meal, and you know she hates us to go off alone.”

Kasia sighed. They had no fewer than ten slaves trailing them, and they were still within the park adjoining the palace built by Cyrus. Getting back in time for the feast would be no great problem. But she had long ago discovered that Artaynte was no Esther—one could not lure her into adventure by dangling it before her nose long enough.

Which was a shame. The river gurgled by, all but begging for feet to be dipped in it. Far safer than the adventure bellowing from the jagged edge of the mountain ahead.

Male voices colored the air from nearby, and Artaynte’s face melted into panic. “Someone comes. Let us hurry back before Mother—”

“You go ahead.” Kasia smiled and released her arm. “It is my husband.”

Rather than calming her, that pronouncement sent Artaynte flying away like a terrified bird. Kasia shook her head, exchanged a smile with Desma and Theron, and turned back to the path. From behind a hedge Xerxes and Pythius emerged, laughing.

Her chest squeezed tight. Of the millions of men surrounding them every hour of the day, none matched her husband. The noble bearing and strong, fine features, the authority draping his shoulders like a cloak . . . the good humor in his eyes. How did a love as great as this not consume her whole?

He looked her way, and his smile bloomed anew. He held out a beckoning hand. “Kasia, my love. I ought to have known you would be out—there is a river, after all, and undoubtedly some trouble to be found in it.”

With a laugh, she rushed to Xerxes’ side. “The Meander is far too calm here to lead me into trouble. Though it is alluring nonetheless.”

Her husband slid an arm around her and dropped a kiss onto her head. “Hmm. Pythius, if I did not keep this woman surrounded by a crowd of diligent servants, she would be off climbing Mount Tmolus before I could stop her.”

Pythius gave her a fatherly grin. “The more I know of you, lady, the more you remind me of my daughter.”

She had already learned said daughter had died of fever a decade earlier. “The highest of compliments. And my husband, you must admit the mountain begs for an explorer’s foot.”

Xerxes ran a hand up her arm and gazed into her eyes. “Not yours, sweet one, given your condition.”

Warmth bloomed inside. “Perhaps on our way home again, then.
You
can watch the babe for a day, and I shall go exploring.”

Pythius laughed. “Where did you find this creature, my lord?”

Xerxes grinned. “In the river at Susa, crying in delight at the icy waters.”

“Perhaps she is a nymph, then.” Pythius nodded toward the Meander. “Our waters may not be icy today, nor sweet as the legendary Choaspes, but you should enjoy dipping your feet within, my dear. I shall go make sure tonight’s feast is ready.”

Pythius bowed and took his leave. Kasia turned to face Xerxes, grabbing his hands and tugging him toward the river. “What have you been doing today, O mighty king?”

He followed with a grin. “I just came from Otanes—we were discussing the likelihood of the city-states responding if we send out a demand for land and water again.”

She still found it a bit odd that Amestris’s father commanded the entire army and got on so well with Xerxes, but apparently Otanes was well aware of his daughter’s difficulty—and grateful her life had been spared. Kasia nodded. “And you were headed . . . ?”

“To Mardonius and Masistes, to get their opinions on the same.”

“Ah.” She laced their fingers together and glanced over her shoulder. The river’s edge lay a leap away. “Have you time to bathe your feet with me?”

“No.” He tugged her close and teased her mouth with his. “But I shall give it to you anyway.”

She released his hands so that she could link her arms around his neck. “That is the type of spoiling I like.”

“Shall I spoil you even more?” His lips traveled her jaw and nipped at her ear. “We could skip the feast.”

“Not a chance, my love. I could not keep down breakfast or handle much lunch. I am famished.”

He pulled away enough that she could see his peaceful smile. “Well, we certainly must not starve the little prince or princess you carry.”

She arched a brow at him as he bent down to untie her shoes. “You speak of it.”

Sighing, Xerxes unknotted the leather around her ankle and eased it from her foot. “Pythius assuaged some of my concerns. It seems his wife went through what you have in the beginning as well—but then she carried six healthy children and had easy, uneventful deliveries. He assured me I have every reason to believe this time will indeed be different.”

Kasia planted her hands on her hips and sent him an exaggerated glare. “And you believe him, but you would not believe me?”

He gave her the crooked grin she could not resist and tickled the arch of her foot. “I trust experience before blind faith, yes. But when they agree, we can all be happy.”

Another time, she may have jumped into the debate about experience and faith. But he tossed her other shoe aside and snatched her up with a playful roar, so she put it aside and squealed in laughter. It seemed the wise choice—even if that stretch of her soul said she would have to find a few minutes for quiet prayer before the feast tonight.

~*~

Haman nudged his friend on, deliberately keeping his gaze from the river where the king and his Jewess splashed like children. Masistes, on the other hand, halted again after a single step to study his brother. “I cannot fathom it, Haman. He has never been so dedicated to a single woman so long.”

Haman sighed. “Must we have this conversation again?”

“He is more worried for her than the war. I suppose we must admit at this point that he genuinely loves her.”

Haman snorted and frowned at Masistes. “Will that finally convince you to stop offering her your company? You will cause a civil war with your nonsense.”

“Nonsense. She may have been upset by my ill-advised proposal in Susa, but she realizes my later whispers are no more than a jest.”

Haman folded his arms across his chest. “Unless she were to accept, then you would undoubtedly forget you were joking. Sometimes I thank the god that I was not born in the palace. The lot of you have no more loyalty—”

“And you have no capacity for amusement. I know not why I tolerate you, Haman.”

Haman smiled and jerked his head toward the path. “Because
someone
has to keep you in line. You are a fool, and we all know it. Parsisa is arguably the second most beautiful woman in Persia, but you are still set on seducing your brother’s wives.”

Masistes waved an unconcerned hand but fell in beside him. “Parsisa knows she has my eternal affection and admiration. She does not mind if I seek harmless entertainment elsewhere.”

Haman glared at the two in the river. “That one is not harmless.”

“A point I must grant, much as it pains me.” Masistes released an exaggerated sigh. “Still, one must wonder what it is about her that has enthralled my brother so completely . . . and long to figure it out for oneself.”

“No, one must
not
.” Haman shook his head and then looked beyond his friend. “There goes your daughter—were you not looking for her earlier?”

“Ah, yes. Do you mind?”

“Go.” He waved Masistes off, then pressed his lips in a tight line. Given Artaynte’s course, she had undoubtedly been with the Jewess.

A shadow seemed to pass before the sun. When he had encouraged Xerxes to take a concubine from among the Jews, he had not expected that she would do anything but irritate him after his initial lust was sated. Had he anticipated
this
, he would have urged the king to forget her.

How was he to know the wretch would earn the king’s confidence, his heart? And not only the king’s at this point—she had won the affection of Masistes’ wife and daughter, of the other concubines. Darius still seemed beyond her reach, thank the god, but many of the other high officials greeted her with fondness whenever they saw her—usually on the arm of the king.

It did not bode well. Xerxes had already sent untold business to the Jewess’s arrogant swine of a father—what else would she seduce him into doing for her people?

Amestris had been right to fear the wench’s poisonous influence.

Haman headed for his quarters, sent his servants away, and pulled out a correspondence tablet. He opened the hinged wood and carefully peeled off the wax. A sharpened metal tool rested among his similar wooden ones, which he extracted for this task. It took twice as long to carve a message into the wood as it would into the wax, but Amestris must be apprised of this. She would send back
a message similarly disguised, advising him on what she would have him do.

Once finished, he sealed the wax back onto the tablet and, with a wooden stylus, pressed a missive to his steward into it. Then he clapped the wooden form together, secured it, and called a servant to get it on its way. Given the series of outposts the Persian kings had set up for their official riders, it would be in Susa within two days.

Within the week, he would know what to do about this threat.

Seventeen

Susa, Persia

Esther breathed in the silent air with relief. Much as she enjoyed her visits with Kish and Zillah’s brood, coming home brought blessed peace. Martha would be outside in the kitchen, and Jonah probably sat hunched over the accounts. Neither were much given to conversation; perhaps that was why Esther had grown so accustomed to uneventful, solitary days.

She paused when she spotted movement within Mordecai’s chamber. He was on his prayer rug again, just returning to a sitting position. How long had he been there this time?

Knocking on the post by his door, she stuck in her head. “Do you need anything, cousin? A drink, some bread?”

Mordecai shook his head and stood. “Thank you, Esther, but no. I have not been here but an hour.”

She could only nod. An hour in prayer seemed to her such a long time. Her cousin, though, sometimes spent a whole day on the floor beside his bed, moaning and muttering. He had been diligent about his prayers as long as she had known him, but these extended sessions did not begin until Kasia—

“Is there something I should pray for?” she asked to interrupt her own thoughts.