Jewel of Persia (41 page)

He did not even turn to see who came up with that one. He looked toward Artemisia. “What say you? You fought more like a man than the men around you today.”

She inclined her head, a silver braid slipping over her shoulder. “My advice has not changed, my lord. You have the victory that matters. You burned Athens. Why concern yourself with anything else? If one of your slaves—” She motioned toward Mardonius “—wishes to keep some soldiers here and fight in your stead, that would suffice. If he wins, the victory is yours. If he loses, the defeat is his.”

Mardonius glared at her. “The woman’s tone aside, the idea has merit. I would be honored to keep a select group of soldiers behind to fight for you.”

His cousin must have been able to read in Xerxes’ eyes that he was finished. Finished with the war, with the nights filled only with cloistering shadows. He needed Kasia.

Standing, Xerxes pulled his shawl around his shoulders—the one Amestris had woven, the one Kasia had complimented. What was it she had said when he mentioned putting it away? Something about remembering the good days.

He wanted their good days back. Would she forgive him? If he begged, if he fell to his knees before her? If he took back all he had said?

He did not know, and could only hope all these people before him could not see that their king stood in pieces.

“I will think on this overnight.” He strode from the gathering and to the quiet of his tent.

Waving his servants away, he extinguished the lamp and settled onto his bed. No sooner did he close his eyes than the god appeared.

That handsome, leering face. “King of Persia,” he said, voice echoing with disdain. “Will you curl up in defeat and slink away?”

Xerxes turned his face away.

“You are a coward—you would have changed your mind about this war before it started had I not interfered.”

“I wish I would have. Do you know how many men I have lost?”

The god sneered. “What are they to you? The mighty Xerxes has taken Athens and has all the world at his feet. Why concern yourself with the cost? Are you not the wealthiest man in the world? The ruler of all?”

He motioned outside. “Could you not see from your realm what happened today?”

“One lost battle does not mean a lost war.” The god folded granite arms over his marble chest. “You are a soft, feeble ruler—I should have struck you down rather than raising you up. You will trade everything for that woman, when you know she is the enemy of your god.”

Xerxes breathed an unamused laugh. “And why not? All you bring me are shadows and night, darkness and constriction. She brings light and freedom.”

The god thundered, his rage filling every crevice of Xerxes’ mind. A glowing iron appeared, its point a deadly red-white. Xerxes planted his feet and faced down his angry god.

“Turn from my will,” the god seethed, “and I will smite you with all my wrath. Your war will be lost, your kingdom rent in two. Give your favor again to the Jewish whore and I will purge her entire people from the face of the earth. Choose carefully, O King. Your god or your lover.”

The smothering darkness of Ahura Mazda or the soft light in Kasia’s eyes? There was no choice, not really. He only wondered why he had tried so long to convince himself there was. “I would rather have her.”

The roar from the god-man’s mouth deafened him, and the poker loomed glowing before his eyes. “Then you will have neither! No longer will I send blessings your way, and you shall be undone by the women you think you rule. And the Jewess? I will destroy her.”

“Jehovah will protect her.” He may have doubted her God more than once, but he had always preserved her life.

“You dare to mention that name?” His very voice a flame, the god aimed the poker.

The dream held him captive. He could not lunge away, could not spin, could not raise his arms in defense. He could only stand there as the hot iron found his shoulder and scream when it seared his flesh.

He bolted up in his bed, hand covering the burn.

Zethar led all his eunuchs in at a run. “Master, what is it?”

Using the light from their lantern, he pulled down his tunic and looked at the front of his shoulder, where an angry circle of red defied logic. “Since when can dreams injure a man?”

Zethar crouched down and touched a finger to it, pulling away with a gasp. “It burns like fire.”

Xerxes clenched his teeth. Was this the god he had lost Kasia for, one who attacked his followers, who hurt rather than healed? That was not the Ahura Mazda he had read about in the prophecies of Jartosht . . . but it seemed to be the one who had heard their prayers.

He tossed his cover aside and surged to his feet. “Gather the commanders again.”

“They are still there, master. You have only been in here half an hour.”

“Perfect.” He strode out, back down the hill to where the officials indeed still sat together and talked. All heads turned toward him when he barreled into the assembly. Xerxes looked from one trusted face to the next, and cared not a whit what any of them thought. Not anymore. “We go home.”

“Master!”

He raised a hand to hush Mardonius. “My decision is made. The Greeks could decide at any moment to sail for the Hellespont and destroy our bridge. I for one do not intend to be trapped here after the harvest—the army would starve.”

“But master, you cannot accept this defeat! After all, it is not about the planks of wood, but about men and horses, and we still outnumber the Greeks on that score.”

“You want to take a land force into the Peloponnese, then do so, Mardonius. Choose whatever troops you want. I am going home.”

Artemisia nodded. “It is the wisest course of action, my lord.”

“You will lead the fleet back, Artemisia.” He met her gaze through the night. “Take Cyrus and my other sons with you, and go to guard the bridge so that we might cross in safety.”

Her head tilted up, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. “I am honored by your trust in me.”

“You have earned it. Otanes, supervise the building of a causeway to make the Greeks think we are mounting another attack. While they focus on that, the fleet can slip away. By the time we march, the ships will be able to guarantee our delivery home, and the Greeks will not bother coming after them. Mardonius—”

“I will escort you out of Europe and winter in Thessaly with the men I select.”

Xerxes nodded and then looked at each of his advisers in turn. None argued—none would dare. “So it is settled. We will be back in Susa in time for my birthday feast.”

And back to Sardis within six weeks, back to Kasia’s arms.

Assuming she would open them.

~*~

Susa, Persia

Esther had never heard such a joyous roar in the streets, such music and singing. She edged around a woman leaping and strewing myrtle. “What in the world?”

“Have you not heard?” A young man grabbed her by the hands and spun her with a laugh. “The king has taken Athens! Persia is victorious!”

He released her and scooped up another passerby to twirl. Esther shook her head and smiled. Fetching the spices Martha had asked for might not happen this morning, but the high spirits were contagious. She tucked her basket’s handle into her elbow and contented herself with strolling through the market-turned-festival.

And why not rejoice? Each day brought a new treasure these past weeks—a tender, secret smile from Zechariah, a hint from one of his parents that she would soon be one of them. She had been afraid to hope that first time he asked her on a walk, but now . . . how could she not?

He sought her out daily, sometimes for glorious hours at a time. They walked, they talked of future dreams, they reminisced and laughed. Each time he asked for her opinion on something to incorporate into his house, Esther’s heart danced a quick step.

He had made no declaration for her yet, but she knew. He built their home, where she would someday live as his wife. His
wife
. She had not been so happy since Kasia lived.

She paused beside an unattended cart of pomegranates and wished her friend could share this time with her. Oh, the fun they would have! Laughing, planning, whispering.

Sisters at last.

Awareness kissed her neck, and she looked around, knowing Zechariah must be somewhere nearby. She knew not how she always sensed his presence, but . . . there—across the market, at the corner of a side street. He had an empty handcart with him and looked out over the dancing citizens with confounded amusement.

A female form spun into him, grabbed his hands, twirled him back into the street he had come from.

Esther chuckled and turned toward home. There would be no shopping today, and weaving through the crowd to find Zechariah would probably prove useless. But that was fine—she would have time with him tonight. Every night.

Yes, it was a day of rejoicing.

~*~

What a miserable day. Zechariah slathered another protective layer of clay onto the south-facing wall and wished there were a way to make the sun trace backwards, to undo what he had done. He had already asked forgiveness of Jehovah. He had snuck off to the temple and purchased a sin offering.

Still he felt dark inside, stained with the knowledge of what could happen if Esther found out.

Had he known he would run into Ruana that morning, he never would have left the shop. But she had rushed at him, smiling and laughing and dancing like every other half-crazed Persian in Susa. She had pulled him into a secluded alleyway, pulled his head down to hers before he could object.

He cut his thoughts off there, before he relived the shame of what followed. Yes, he had been overcome. But he would not allow it to happen again. He had not planned this tryst, and surely that counted for something.

“There you are.” Esther slid from behind the wall and smiled. She looked so perfect, so beautiful. So innocent, so trusting.

No, the spontaneity counted for nothing. Not when it could hurt her. He was the lowest of men, and he did not deserve her love—but he craved it. Would do anything to keep it.

He smiled, praying it held no shadow of guilt. “Do you mind if I get some work done tonight rather than walking? I find myself eager to finish.”

A blush caressed her cheek, and she bit back a smile. “I do not mind that at all.”

“Good. I brought you a stool out.” He motioned toward where it sat in a shaded spot nearby. “If you would still like to keep me company.”

“Always.”

Dear Lord, let it be so.

Thirty-One

Sardis, Lydia

Kasia repositioned herself on the cushion and glanced at the prince. He still laughed, still held a cup of wine, still seemed inclined to continue the feast. Her eyelids felt weighted, and her back ached, but she could not leave until Darius either dismissed the gathering or granted her permission. She kept trying to get his attention to ask, but each time their eyes met, he only smiled before looking away.

Perhaps she ought to slip out as if attending to personal matters and then not return. Who would really care, anyway?

No one. The prince was the only one who ever spoke to her at these insufferable feasts he had been having all week, and he had company enough that he would not miss her. For the life of her, she could not understand why he insisted she come. She had nothing to offer this gathering.

She had nothing to offer anyone. There was nothing left of her. Even her prayers echoed dull and lusterless, never making it to heaven.

“You look unhappy.” Darius settled beside her, grinning Xerxes’ grin.

Smiling felt as foreign as the lush landscape around the citadel. “I tire easily these days.” This was even worse than the shadows and fog—at least then her prayers had still come. Now . . . she had chosen Jehovah over Xerxes. So why did she end up with neither?

The prince frowned. “You ought to have said something.”

“It is hardly worth complaining about.” She turned her gaze on her plate. Darius had never seemed much like Xerxes when they were side by side, but now he reminded her of him with every expression.

“Kasia.” There, that same teasing inflection his father would use. “Your well-being is more important than a dinner. Come, I will see you back to your quarters so you can rest.”

“Oh, there is no need for you to leave your guests. My servants will—”

“Nonsense.” He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “When Father returns, I intend to tell him I took the most excellent care of you.”

“I doubt he will care.” She did not mean to say it out loud, and the mutter was low—but the prince obviously heard her. His brows arched as he helped her to her feet.

He waited until they’d left the chamber before saying, “I find your thoughts surprising. You admitted my father regretted his anger before you even left Malis.”