Jewel of Persia (46 page)

A grin tugged on her mouth. “Oh, I have not forgotten.”

He chuckled in her ear, and then nipped playfully at it. “It is almost strange to remember that day now, after all we have been through in so short a time.”

“Mmm. And yet it is still clear as crystal in my mind. The derision on Haman’s face, the intrigue on yours.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “All because I enjoyed wading in cold waters. What would you have done had I been drowning?”

Xerxes rubbed the spot where the babe prodded. “Dashed in and hauled you up. And once I had you in my arms and gazed into those eyes, I imagine I would have fallen in love as surely as I did through your conversation. Although had it happened that way, I would not have seen your loyalty and bravery—facing down two of those awful Persians to protect your sister.”

Her sister. Only in heart. She ought to have told him long ago that it had been her friend behind her, not one of the twins, but what was the point, now? “She needed protecting from you barbarians—she is a beautiful girl.”

“Is she?” He tickled her side. “I confess I could not tell you anything about her, other than that she
was
. You had my total attention.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You still do.”

“Well I . . .” She lost her breath when her stomach tightened.

Xerxes turned her halfway around. “What was that? Was that a contraction?”

“Doubtfully. Not a real one, anyway. My mother often had small contractions in the weeks leading up to a birth. She said it got her body ready.”

Her husband frowned, looking far from convinced. “You should be resting. The quick travel has probably taken its toll on you.”

“I am fine.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I will see you safely back to your little speck of a room and into bed, and if these not-real pains continue, one of your servants had better notify me.”

She wanted to grin at the renewal of insults for her small room, but her stomach was still so tense—and hard, like a rock. Lying down would be welcome. “I will not argue. But it is nothing.”

“If it were nothing, you would argue.” He led her away from the wall, down through the garden and into the women’s palace.

Her room was at once unfamiliar with all its new furnishings and blessedly recognizable. Her father’s touch, Zechariah’s. The artistry that must be Joshua’s. And, if she were not mistaken, the soft, thin cover on the bed had been woven by her mother’s hand.

Though she had spent only a few hours in it this morning, already it was home. She settled onto the bed and gave her husband a smile. “There, resting and docile. Go plan some ridiculous extravagances for your son’s wedding and leave me in peace.”

After a grin and one long, sweet kiss, he left. Kasia covered the taut muscles of her abdomen with her hands as another preparatory contraction gripped her. In all likelihood, they would taper off as she rested.

Still . . . she wished Ima were here.

~*~

Xerxes sighed, his heart giving a twist at the way little Chinara hid behind her mother’s legs. What had he expected? That she would remember him, when he had been gone nearly half her life? He would have to either win her affection again or accept this new reality—his favorite daughter no longer knew him.

Still, it could hardly hurt to bribe her. He crouched down and held out the confection he had ordered from the kitchens especially for her. “I brought you something, my little sweet.”

The girl regarded him for a long moment, then the impish grin he adored flashed. She grabbed the cake and scampered off with a giggle of delight.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Do not let her fool you—she remembers you, and loves you as always. She also remembers that you are generous with your gifts when you think she needs bribed into something.”

He straightened and chuckled. “Smart little devil. I shall reward her for it with some trinket she does not need.”

“Some things never change.” Jasmine glanced around, stepped nearer. “Even some things you intended to. I did as you asked, my husband, and kept my eyes and ears open to the goings-on of the harem.”

“And?”

She shook her head. “You will not like it. Amestris has grown more powerful than ever. The women still cower in fear of her, and the palace guard answers to her without question. Everyone calls her the queen again.”

Xerxes scrubbed a hand over his face. He should have had her killed after she delivered his child. Mercy was troublesome. “I shall banish her to Persepolis again after my birthday celebration, but I want all my children present for that. I imagine her youngest is still quite attached to her.”

“Artaxerxes, yes. Have you met him yet? He is a dear little boy.”

“Not yet. Soon.” He sighed and surveyed the garden where most of his wives were out, trying to look as though they were not vying for his notice. He would have to get to know them again, divvy out his favor.

There would be time enough for that when Kasia was indisposed after giving birth. For now he would focus on her, on his son’s wedding two days hence, and on planning his birthday feast in a few weeks.

He glanced down at Jasmine, still as plump and pleasant as she had been when he left her. A worthy friend. “Kasia would appreciate a visit, I am sure.”

The woman smiled. “I saw her briefly this morning, when she returned from your palace. We plan to dine together later.”

“Good. See that she is still resting. I worry for her.”

“Another thing that has not changed.” She settled gentle fingers onto his arm, then withdrew altogether. “I had better chase Chinara down.”

He let her go, glanced through the garden again. And froze when he spotted the shadowed figure hovering in the far entryway.

Amestris. She would not dare take another step, not while he was there—she would never enter his presence again. But he knew what look would be on her face, what challenge in her eyes. He could sense the darkness of the god hovering around her.

You shall be undone by the women you think you rule
.

Xerxes spun on his heel. Let the god try to bring his curses to reality. He would fail. No one, not even Ahura Mazda, would take Kasia away from him.

Thirty-Five

Artaynte laughed and spun to a halt, clapping with the rest of the guests for the musicians and their magical beat. She wore the finest the world had to offer, soft linen embroidered with gold, fastened with jewels. Her hair flowed in a glossy river, sparkling with gems, and a diadem of precious metals encircled her brow.

All her life she had been the daughter of a prince, but today she was the wife of one, destined to be queen. As she looked out over the sea of faces crowding the palace for the wedding, she saw rejoicing everywhere. Everyone was still so thrilled to have the king and his family back in Susa that spirits already soared. Never had wedding festivities been so festive.

Darius gave her one more twirl and then tugged her off the dancing floor, toward the wine. He seemed happy today, genuinely content. Perhaps her plan was working, and that handful of nights they had already spent together helped him warm to her.

Wine in hand, he led her toward the throne where his father sat. His was the only unsmiling face in the crowd, which she had not looked at him long enough to notice before. Darius obviously had.

“Father. Not enjoying yourself?”

The king offered a tight-lipped smile. “It is a magnificent celebration, and the two of you are a beautiful couple.” An unspoken “but” hovered in the air.

Darius frowned and looked around. “Where is Kasia?”

Artaynte forced a swallow. He only asked because her absence would explain his father’s mood, surely. But why, then, that dark curiosity in his eyes?

The king drew in a long breath. “In labor.”

“So soon? I thought she had several weeks to go.” And why did her new husband know when Kasia ought to have been having her child?

“I suspect the journey taxed her. The pains began two days ago, though they did not apparently become ‘serious,’ as she called it, until this morning.”

“Let us know how everything goes with her.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “You will not have time to worry with my wife today, Darius—not with your own fetching new bride and all the guests here to celebrate you.”

Darius smiled. “She and Artaynte are close friends. It is for my bride I ask.”

She barely refrained from snorting. Perhaps the king would believe that explanation, but her bridegroom had some gall to claim it in front of her.

The king’s gaze burned into her, too discerning. She glanced at him long enough to verify that he had seen her reaction, then focused on the golden vessel in her hand.

A sip of wine did nothing to cool the fire building within her.

~*~

Kasia bore down, every fiber of her being concentrated on pushing. She remembered well Ima’s labors and births, the easy ones and the difficult. She had thought she knew all she needed to about this process.

It looked different through the cloud of pain. Desma and Leda kept asking her questions, but the words made little sense. She just shook her head—she cared about nothing but getting this child out, healthy and well.

“I can see the head, mistress.”

Kasia closed her eyes, drew in a long breath during the uncomfortable calm, then gathered her strength when the tension built again. Pushed. Bit her tongue against a scream when searing pain continued after the contraction abated.

Desma patted her knee. “That has to hurt. The head is halfway out.”

The next contraction could not come fast enough. After it did, relief followed quickly.

“One more.”

She pushed, then strained forward, hungry for a glimpse of her daughter.

“It is a girl.”

She smiled when her maid settled the squalling babe on her chest. “Of course it is. My precious daughter.”

Desma cut the cord and took the babe back so Leda could swaddle her and wipe her clean. Another contraction struck, which Kasia had been braced for. Her maid helped her with the afterbirth, then gave the babe back.

She put her to her breast, but she had barely had time to admire the healthy pink skin and matted dark hair of her daughter. Warmth spread where it should not have. “Desma. Something is wrong.”

“You are bleeding.” Her maid’s smile was strained. “It is normal to bleed.”

“It does not feel normal. It feels . . .” It
felt
. The only time Ima had mentioned feeling the blood like this was when she hemorrhaged with Eglah.

Her arms grew heavy, but she worked to keep them around her now-suckling babe. “Desma . . . Desma, you must pray. This is not right. I should not . . . I cannot . . .”

The world tipped.

~*~

Mordecai slipped away from the wedding feast, wishing he could have declined the invitation altogether—or convinced Esther to come with him. He had stayed as long as he could tolerate the isolation, but he tired of feeling like the one guest who did not belong. He set a course that would take him through one of the gardens and toward the gate nearest home.

Passing under a palm tree, he halted. Images flashed before his eyes, his spirit shouted within him.
Kasia
.

The need to pray for her had not struck so intensely, so clearly since that time a year ago. He found a quiet spot beside a fountain and fell to his knees.

~*~

Xerxes sneaked away at twilight. The celebration would continue long into the night, but the bridal couple had said their farewells. Surely no one would begrudge him a reprieve too.

He headed straight for the house of wives, trying to convince his fingers to relax as he walked. There was no reason to dread what he would find. Kasia would be fine. Their babe would be fine. All would be well. He would hold his daughter, kiss his wife, and go back to the feast.

The moment he stepped into the hall with her chamber, Desma appeared. She sketched a quick bow. “Master.”

She looked exhausted, and blood stained her garment. Normal, surely. Surely. Xerxes swallowed. “How does it go?”

“You have a beautiful daughter.” The maid smiled, and it looked sincere. “She joined us a few hours ago.”

He tried to stop his frown but could not. “Why was I not told immediately?”

The smile faded away, and she glanced over her shoulder. “There were complications with my mistress. She is fine now,” she rushed to add. “Resting. She told us not to tell you, but—”

“But you have more sense than that.” He planted his fists on his hips. “What happened?”

“She was bleeding. A lot. I have seen such things before—sometimes massaging the stomach is enough to stop it.”

“And sometimes it is not. Like with your previous mistress.”