Jewel of Persia (47 page)

The maid nodded. “I was afraid the same would happen with Kasia. The blood would not stop, no matter what we did, and when she lost consciousness . . .”

He squeezed his eyes shut. She was all right now. That was what mattered. But . . . “Obviously something worked.”

“The flow did not stop until we did. Until we dropped to our knees and prayed to Jehovah as she had told us to do at the start. Then it slowed, dried up. She slept for a while, woke up hungry and wanting her babe. They are both sleeping again.”

“I will be quiet, but I must see them.” He stepped around the maid.

“Master?”

And halted again with a sigh. “What is it?”

The girl drew in a long breath. “Mistress did not want you to know because she is afraid your fear for her will keep you away again.”

“No. Never again.” But she knew him well—already worry gnawed at him, worry that if it had been so close this time, next time may be worse.

Desma sighed. “I understand your concerns. But Jehovah preserved her.”

“He always does.”

Desma nodded and motioned him toward the room.

As he entered a soft cry came from the bed, and a moment later the cadence of Kasia’s voice, speaking in Hebrew. When the babe hushed, she looked up with a smile. “Xerxes. Come meet your daughter.”

After a moment’s deliberation, he settled beside her on the bed. Usually he would have taken a chair, let a servant give him the child for a moment, praised mother and babe, then taken his leave. He had no intentions of following his usual pattern today. So he scooted close, where he could see the tiny girl as she nursed.

“She is so small. Are you certain she is well?”

Kasia chuckled and smoothed down a wisp of the girl’s black hair. “Very. Smaller than average, but I can detect nothing wrong with her. Is she not beautiful?”

“She is perfect.” Despite the threat of the god. He caressed her little ear, then offered his finger for her to grip. A smile possessed his mouth. “And strong. Just like her mother. I will have a message dispatched to your father’s house. Perhaps he will let your mother come.”

“Speaking of that . . .” She trailed off, worried her lip. “I would like to call her Zillah, after Ima. Though if you prefer a Persian name—”

“Zillah.” He tested it, weighed it, measured it against their daughter. Then nodded. “I like it.”

Kasia beamed. “You do not mind that it is Hebrew?”

“Why should I? Yours is too, and there is no sweeter name on the earth.” When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. “Though when we have a son, I may insist on a family name.”

The gleam in her eyes said she understood his promise of more children. “That is only fair.”

Silence held for a few minutes, until little Zillah fell asleep again and Kasia handed her to him. It felt as though he held a doll rather than a babe, the way she fit in his hands—though no doll could ever snuggle against him and make love expand his chest.

He glanced at Kasia and found her blinking heavily. “You look like you could sleep too.”

She hummed. “I am still tired from the birth.” And the bleeding, though of course she would not mention that. “But I will stay awake to visit with you. You will have to return to the feast soon.”

“I am the king, I can avoid it however long I want.” He grinned and kissed her brow. “Right now I want to hold our daughter a little longer.”

With a slumberous smile, she stroked his cheek, then trailed her fingers through his beard. Her smile went crooked. “You are wearing jewels in your beard.”

“The occasion called for it.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Why is that so amusing?”

“We used to laugh at stories of such outrageous wealth.” Her lashes eased onto her cheeks. “Tell me, my love—what would you do if one fell into your soup?”

He chuckled and traced Zillah’s miniature nose. “Have it ground up for its impudence, of course. And then used to season the next night’s meal.”

She laughed quietly. “Remind me to fast the next day, if ever a jewel goes missing during a feast.”

“Well, if it would cause you to go hungry, perhaps I would simply dry it off and reattach it. Though then all the other jewels may think they could get away with such behavior.”

How he loved that smile of hers, especially as she curled against him. She kissed their daughter’s head, then him. “I love you, Xerxes.”

“And I you, lovely Kasia. More than anything. Now—sleep.”

He must have slept too, for he jerked awake when the babe in his arms began to fuss and root for nourishment. Smiling, he passed her back to Kasia and stretched. “I suppose I must bid my guests good night. I will visit again in the morning.”

Kasia nodded, eyes closing again once Zillah was settled at her breast. “Good night, my love.”

He stole another kiss, then left her room. The hall outside was not as quiet as he had expected—two of the other wives walked down it, laughing. Just returning from the celebration, he would guess.

They bowed, their gazes darting from him to Kasia’s door. Their contemplation was obvious—never before had he left a feast as important as this one to check on a wife and new child.

Well, let them all learn anew that Kasia was like no other wife. He picked up his pace, the servants who had been waiting for him rushing ahead to open doors. The refreshing evening air breathed over him, scented with jasmine and night-blooming water lilies.

“Father.”

He paused, knowing a thunderhead gathered on his face. That particular voice ought to have been nowhere nearby. He turned slowly. “What in the world are you doing here? It is your wedding night—you ought to be with your bride.”

Darius smirked. “She is sleeping and satisfied. I thought I would check on Kasia for her.”

Every muscle in his body went taut. He stepped close to his eldest son, pitched his voice low. “You think you fool me? Not for a moment. Artaynte does not care so much about Kasia anymore—probably because you care far too much. Leave my wife alone and go tend your own.”

The smirk faded away, challenge sprang up. But only for a moment—whether by force or acknowledgment that he would lose this battle, Darius looked contrite. “She is my friend, Father. I only wanted to make sure she was well. I asked a servant for an update, but all he knew was that you had been with her for more than two hours. I feared the worst.”

Would that have been enough to lure
him
away from his beautiful bride on their wedding night? He did not think so. But there was little point in arguing it. “She is well, as is our daughter. Now return to your own house before your wife awakes and realizes you are gone.”

Charging past Darius and the guilty obstinance on his face, Xerxes returned to the celebration.

Thirty-Six

“This is ridiculous. How many times can one woman flirt with death and still escape it?”

Haman sighed as Amestris paced and muttered. He understood her frustration—since their return a fortnight ago, the king’s behavior had been disturbing. Every spare moment, he was with the Jewess. Even when about business of the empire, he seemed all too eager to dispense with it so he could leave the throne room.

All the work Haman had done, all the rumors he had carefully planted . . . perhaps he just needed to tend those sprouts more diligently now that they were home. “It matters little if she lives, lady. There is still much hurt between them, and your husband is more jealous than ever where she is concerned. I can use that.”

“See that you do.” Amestris shoved a coil of hair off her forehead, though it looked as though it had been placed there deliberately. “It is insufferable. When he was gone, I could do as I pleased, and all knew better than to disagree with me. Now—it is that snake Parsisa leading the women against me. Now that her daughter is married to my son, she thinks the kingdom is hers. Then there are these whispers that the king fell in love with her at Sardis—preposterous!”

Haman studied a mosaic on the wall. “I cannot speak to Parsisa’s ambitions, lady, but I can assure you the attention the king paid her was only to make his brother jealous. Masistes had attempted a seduction of the Jewess.”

Amestris stopped before his seat and glared. “We agree that the Jews are a menace, one that will only increase in power as long as that witch holds the king’s attention. I will do what I can within the harem, but since I am not allowed in the king’s presence . . .”

“Leave that to me.” He stood, dredged up a smile. “I will go speak with him now.”

“Good. That frees me to deal with Parsisa. Had she been here all along, she would not dare spout such poisonous words as I have heard from her—about me, her natural superior . . .”

Haman escaped with a roll of his eyes. He would indeed leave the battles of women to her. It would be effort enough to deal with the men.

The god must be with him—when he finally located Xerxes, he was directing a fierce scowl at Darius’s retreating form. Hopefully Haman’s smile did not look too victorious. “Good afternoon, my king. Trouble with the younger generation?”

“Tell me, my friend, did I not arrange the most favorable marriage imaginable for my son? Is his new wife not everything a prince could possibly desire?”

Ah, perfect. Haman nodded. “You did indeed, master. Masistes’ daughter is everything desirable. What is more, I happen to know she is very much in love with the prince.”

“Exactly!” The king spun with a growl, though Haman could not guess at his destination. “Yet when I asked him why I saw his bride in tears this morning, he said she was impossible to please and he had given up trying. Apparently more than two weeks of effort is just too much to ask of him.”

Haman pressed his lips together against the observation that Xerxes rarely gave a woman more than a single night to win his affection. To be fair, he had not been so impatient twenty years ago, when he had fewer wives. “Perhaps, master, you ought to let them work things out on their own.”

“Stay out of their marriage? That is what my son said I should do.” That particular scowl was one that had led to mountains being smitten in the past. The prince ought to know better than to provoke his father . . . though it did play perfectly into Haman’s hand. Xerxes’ nostrils flared. “Strange he would dare say such a thing to me, when he is doing his best to interfere in mine.”

Haman cleared his throat.

The king stopped and glared at him. “You said I ought to speak with them. I did, but neither said anything to explain the fact that Darius cannot keep his eyes off Kasia, and she refuses to look at him at all. I will ask
you
. What went on between them in Sardis?”

Praise the god—this opportunity must be from him. Haman kept his countenance serious. “I am not surprised Darius would tell you nothing—though I expected the Jewess to admit what transpired.” True enough—she seemed the type to think she needed total honesty in her relationships.

Honesty had its place, to be sure—a kernel of truth went a long way toward convincing others of whatever you wanted them to believe.

Xerxes’ hands fisted. “She said he may have been infatuated, but nothing more. I did not want to push her. But I would know whatever you do.”

He nodded and clasped his hands together. “It started innocently enough, I suppose. Parsisa forbade Artaynte to associate with her, after what happened at the start of the campaign, and all the other women followed her lead.” Helped along, no doubt, by the rumors he had started about her being sent away because her child was illegitimate. “The prince sought her company solely to ease her solitude.”

“Laudable, until I consider the look now in his eyes when he regards her. Tell me it is as simple as a one-sided interest—that he fell in love, she rebuffed him, and hence what I see.”

“I cannot.” That version of the truth certainly would not help his cause. Haman shook his head. Sadly, he hoped. “I saw them together one afternoon. He sent her servants away, then embraced her.”

The king’s cheeks went red. “And you did nothing to stop it? Why do you think I sent you to Sardis, Haman?”

He spread his hands before him, palms up. “He was the acting king—if I had dared come against him, I would not be alive to tell you about it.”

Xerxes grunted and stomped onward. “So he embraced her. She would have fought him, acting king or not.”

“Yes, she did . . . for a moment.”

The king’s jaw ticked. “What are you saying?”

“Only what I saw. I cannot say whether he convinced her or forced matters—I left at that point—but surely you realize he would not have let her go without getting what he wanted.”

His companion shook with rage, and Haman fought back a grin. The king may rant at his son, but he would not harm him. And the Jewess would be damaged in his eyes. The king of kings would have no use for spoiled goods when he had his pick of the most beautiful virgins the world over.

“You did your duty,” the king said through clenched teeth. “Now excuse me.”

“Certainly, master. I only wish I did not have to report such a truth.” He kept his head bowed until Xerxes stomped off. Then he let the smile curl his lips.