Jewel of Persia (49 page)

“The shawl.”

He growled and spun away muttering, “No one wants my cities.” Whatever that meant. When he faced her again, she knew they were finished. Part of her cried out thanks to the god while another prayed he would relent and come again if need be, and again until Darius opened his eyes.

His shoulders edged back. “Take the shawl. It had better be enough for you, because this is over.”

Her limbs trembled. “It is enough.”

But what if it were not? Would she have to play the harlot with someone else? She certainly hoped not. There was no other affair that would hurt Darius if this one did not. No, if this did not work, she would be out of options. Out of hope.

Which was why she must succeed now.

Thirty-Seven

Zechariah brushed the shavings from his tunic and craned his head to look into the street. Esther should be by soon. Most of the city was celebrating the king’s birth, no one conducting business, but Abba would still expect him to put in a full day in the shop. He would not mind him taking a break when Esther arrived though. Not today.

The addition was finished. He had smoothed the last coat of clay onto the last wall that morning. Had moved in the last of the furniture he had fashioned for it. Today he would show it to Esther, tell her he loved her. Today he would speak with Mordecai and ask for her hand in marriage.

Sweat slicked his palms. He knew she loved him, knew Mordecai would agree. Yet his stomach was in knots.

He stepped out into the warm winter breeze just in time to see Esther exiting the house three doors down. His heart galloped. The knots loosened just enough to release a smile onto his face. “Good morning, Esther.”

“Taking a break already?” She grinned as she approached. When he held out a hand, she fit hers into it.

Her fingers were so soft, so small. He squeezed them gently and pulled her into the shop. “It is a special day—a break is allowed.”

“Ah yes, the start of the king’s birthday celebration.”

“Not quite what I was thinking of, no.” He led her through the shop, out the back to where the house he had built for her cast its shade. “It is finished. Do you want to see?”

Her breath caught, her eyes widened to enchanting circles. “Yes. Of course.”

“I thought you might.” With a wink, he pushed open the door.

“Oh . . .” She turned the word into a happy sigh as she stepped inside and moved in a slow circle. He had not invited her in since he started filling it. Seeing the pleasure on her face as she saw all he had done, he knew it was worth the wait. “Zech. What a beautiful home.”

“This is the main living area. Through here are bed chambers for the children.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “Room enough for a large family.”

“Blessed is the man with a quiver full of children, as Abba always says.”

She chuckled and ran a hand over the chair he had worked on day and night, one he had envisioned her sitting in as she soothed his babe to sleep someday. “When did you make all this?”

“Whenever I could. Abba and Joshua helped too. Come. There is more you must see.” His heart kicked up again as he led her back through the main part and into the remaining chamber.

The bed took up most of the space, its frame carved into a delicate design. Beauty disguising strength, to match its mistress. He had incorporated the same pattern in the chest, in the vanity, in the table.

“Zech, it is exquisite.” She stopped just inside the door.

“Not so exquisite as you.” He stepped in front of her and framed her face with his hands. Had he ever been blind to her perfection? Impossible. She filled every crevice of his being now. “I love you, Esther.”

She blinked rapidly, but tears still crowded her eyes. “I feel as though I have waited a century to hear you say that. You know I love you, Zechariah.”

He eased a little closer. “I know not why Jehovah blessed me so, but I praise him for it. I want you to be my wife, Esther. I want to spend my life beside you, I want us to fill this house with children and laughter.”

Her eyes slid shut. “Nothing would make me happier.” One eye squinted up at him, and she grinned. “Though you will have to speak to my cousin.”

“I will. As soon as he gets home.” He leaned down until his lips hovered a breath from hers.

“Mmm. You will have to wait—he will be at the feast into the night, but will be home all day tomorrow.”

Disappointment struck, but it could not take hold. Not when she was so close, when he knew that, though unofficially, she was his. Unable to wait another second, he brushed her lips with his.

His blood sang, his heart soared. When her arms came about him, he knew this was the key to paradise. Esther. Only Esther.

He deepened the kiss, ran his hands down her back, pulled her close. Just as he had expected, her response combined the sweet and the eager, the innocent and the confident. How he wanted to lose himself, to be overcome—but no.

Easing away, he drew in a long, shaky breath. “I am hoping that since we had a lengthy courtship, your cousin will agree to a short betrothal.”

Her eyes smoldered, her lips curved. “I do not see why he would object.”

“Good.” He took one more kiss, which stretched longer than he intended, and then stepped away. “Tomorrow? Perhaps I will hunt him down at the palace, demand an answer this very hour.”

She chuckled and closed the distance between them again. “You have waited all these months—you can wait one more day.” She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down again.

“Not if you do that much more.” He pivoted them so that he could walk her into a safer area. Gave her one more kiss, then propelled her outside. “I am going to be a menace with the tools today—my thoughts will be all on you and none on the blade.”

“Well, mind your fingers.” She caught both his hands and raised them to kiss a knuckle. “I am fond of them.”

He could not hold back the grin. “Away with you, woman, before I forget that there is work to be done.”

She gave him a smile, his fingers a squeeze, and scampered through the kitchen into his parents’ house.

Zechariah hooked a hand around the burning back of his neck and watched her go. He had known she would like the house. And once they were wed, he would give her something she would love far more—the knowledge that Kasia lived. Perhaps he would even take her to the palace sometime, if it could be arranged.

He smiled as he returned to the wood shop. Abba was nowhere in sight, and the quiet of the room wrapped around him. Humming a quiet psalm, he picked up his awl.

“Excuse me.”

The voice struck some distant bell in his memory, but it was not until he looked up that he recognized the man as one of Ruana’s servants. His shoulders tensed. “Yes?”

The man stepped inside, glancing all around as if to check for listening ears. Apparently the emptiness did not satisfy him, for he stepped close, leaned closer. “I have a message from my mistress.”

Zechariah sighed. Why today of all days? Why must she interfere in his life now? “Deliver it and go.”

“She must speak with you. Today, she says.”

He snorted and struck the end of the awl with a hammer. “Not a chance.”

“She bade me beg on her behalf. It is urgent, or she would not ask it of you. She says if you do not meet her, she will come here.”

“No.” He tossed the awl down with a clatter and breathed a curse. “Not here. But I will not go to her home again.”

The man nodded. “She expected as much and proposes a meeting. Wherever you would like, at whatever time.”

A headache pounded to life, and Zechariah pinched at the sudden pressure in his nose. Why was it that wherever Ruana was concerned, he felt as though his hands were bound? He had no choice. But he could at least make sure there would be no temptation, no opportunity—and yet remain unseen. “Beside the bend in the river, at moon rise.”

Perhaps if he were in the place he associated with weapons training, he would be quicker to see and avoid any traps.

~*~

Amestris straightened her robes, her jewelry, and smiled at her eldest son. “You are certain I will not be breaking any laws?”

Darius chuckled, but his gaze admonished her for the sardonic tone. “Father will not be there until evening.”

“Good. I tire of solitude. I can hardly venture from my rooms without some servant barring my way and forbidding me go this direction or that because your father is there.” She scowled and corrected the position of one of the roundels on Darius’ garment. “Perhaps if he did not spend all his time in my palace with that Jewess. . .”

“Let us not speak of her.” Darius turned away and started for the exit.

Amestris hurried to catch up. She only had a few hours to present herself, to show the world she was still the queen they had known before. A few hours to dazzle them, strike fear into their hearts. She would not waste a moment.

“It is good to have you back, though I did not expect to see you so much. You have been neglecting your bride.” She could not stop the smirk. “Do you not like life with Parsisa’s mouthpiece?”

“Mother—”

“I warned you years ago to stay away from her. I told you when you arrived to break off the betrothal. When will you learn to listen to me?”

“Perhaps when you offer something other than negatives. Can we not speak of Artaynte? I would like to enjoy the feast.”

Amestris huffed and lifted her chin. “Of what shall we speak then?” They mounted the stairs into the spacious garden where the feast had been set up.

“I am sure you will think of something. You never . . .”

When he let his sentence hang, Amestris glanced at his face. It had washed pale, and his gaze was caught on something across the garden. She scanned the crowd for what might have struck him dumb.

She saw the colors first. Those bright, distinctive colors she had chosen with such care, had dyed over and again until the hues saturated each fiber. They swirled and danced in the pattern she had sweated and cried over, the one so detailed that at times she feared she would go blind trying to focus on it.

Her shawl. The one whose weaving had cramped her hands for months, the one she had presented to her husband with such pride when he became king.

Her shawl—on that empty-headed harlot her son had married. She hissed where she wanted to scream, clenched her hands where she wanted to rip the cloth from the whore’s shoulders. “What is she doing with that?”

Darius’s nostrils flared. “I think it fairly obvious. He must have given it to her. And there is only one reason he would do that.”

A million vile names vied for a place on her tongue. How could he? Was it not enough he had given the Jewish wench the torc she had commissioned for him? Was it not enough he depose her? Did he now dare to toss her most acclaimed creation—the one thing he still wore that she had given him—so carelessly onto the shoulders of that—that—

Darius’s arm shot out like a bolt of lightning and hurled a pedestal and its bowl of fruit into the crowds. After a few shocked screams, silence pounded through the gathering.

Amestris held her rage close while her son’s pulsed from him in waves. She watched the wordless accusation fly from his eyes, saw when it pierced his wife. Could hardly believe that the girl dared to raise her chin and meet his burning gaze, even pull the shawl a little closer.

Unbearable. Unacceptable. She had not worked so hard to have her son destroyed by a careless father unable to contain his lust and an insipid wench that never should have been promised his crown.

Darius spun and thundered back the way they had come. The twit had the audacity to smirk when he left.

Amestris turned to her servants. “I want you to go to the king during his feast. Wait until he is merry with wine, and then ask him to grant me a request. Remind him, if you must, that I have obeyed his edicts entirely and do not wish to go against them now. Promise anything, but get him to agree.”

Her maid bowed. “As you wish, mistress.”

She headed back to her quarters, one thought crystalline in her mind—Artaynte never did anything without her mother first telling her to.

~*~

Xerxes set his rhyton of wine upon the table and laughed. “Artabanas, I have missed you.”

His uncle smiled and lifted his own cup in toast. “And I you, my nephew. It is with the greatest joy that I welcome another year of your esteemed life. Long live Xerxes, the king of kings!”

A cheer went up around him, echoing throughout the gathering as people surged to their feet. How could a man not smile at that? Not feel the warmth all the way to his core? Xerxes motioned his guests back to their seats. “May this year bring wisdom as well as age, eh?”

Laughter filled the garden, and Xerxes sat back with a sigh. It was a good evening, even if Kasia was not beside him.

“Master.”

He looked over his shoulder to where a maid genuflected. “Yes?”