Jewel of Persia

by White, Roseanna M.

  “That was not death—it was the promise of victory.” He nodded to the open window that somehow held back the god. “It is only noon even now.”

  “There is no victory without Jehovah.”

  “Hmm?” He frowned down at her. “This has nothing to do with Jehovah, my love.”

  “That is my fear.” Her eyes slid shut. “I want to hold him.”

  It took him a moment to realize she meant the babe—when he did, he shook his head. “No, Kasia, it will only hurt you more.”

  “Please, Xerxes.”

  “Madness.” He touched his forehead to their joined hands, then stood and nodded to Desma. Denying her was impossible, but he could have no part in it. He wandered to the window and motioned Theron over.

  “Master?”

  Xerxes folded his arms over his chest. “I did not give Pythius time to explain—what happened?”

  The eunuch blanched. “She was saying farewell to Artaynte, and the dog ran off. She asked me to fetch him and sent Desma to the wagon with her things—we protested, master, but she insisted she would be safe with Artaynte’s servants. I went after Zad, but I had not found him before the darkness came upon us. I heard her scream, and Desma and I hurried back to where she had been but found no one on the wall. We heard Zad again, below us, so followed the sound. He led us to her.”

  Xerxes’ jaw clenched. “She must have stumbled in the darkness and fallen over the wall.”

  “Presumably—but that does not explain everything. Why did no one shout when she fell? Was she alone?” Theron shook his head. “Something foul is at work here, master.”

  “It was an accident.” Was it not?

  He looked out the window again. How many times had he gazed out at the mountain from this very spot while Kasia puttered around her room? He knew the landscape—knew how sharp a fall it was from the wall. How unforgiving the steep, rocky ground would be.

  It should have killed her, as surely as it killed their child.

  From the bed came a choking sob that made his throat close in response. He nearly went to her but held himself in place. When the babe had been taken away, he would hold her close and soothe her tears. But he could not look at the child. Better to pretend it was like their others, faceless and unformed.

  She should have done the same. It sounded as though her soul were being rent from her body with each cry. He spun around and motioned to Desma. “Take it away. Now.”

  “No!” Kasia strained up when the maid lifted the bundle from her arms, reaching, grasping.

  Xerxes rushed to intercept her arms and force her back down. “I know you want him, my love, but you must let him go.”

  Her face twisted in agony, her body twisted away from his hold. He held tight anyway. “Stop.” It was more plea than command. “Please, Kasia, I cannot lose you too.”

  Though her struggling ceased, she pushed herself up and into his arms rather than lying down as he had hoped she would. “I am well.”

  “Do not be absurd. I have rarely seen men survive such injuries.”

  “But . . .” Confusion flitted through her eyes. “I feel no pain. Only in here.” She splayed a hand over her heart.

  Xerxes shook his head. “Perhaps that is eclipsing the physical, but your looks tell the true tale. You are badly hurt—and I know not what lies under this bandage.”

  Theron stepped up behind Kasia. His face also told the tale. “It is bad, master.”

  Kasia went lax against his chest. Terror snapped its jaws around him, especially when he looked down and saw perfect peace on her face. She could not die now—lack of pain did not indicate the end, did it?

  She smiled. “My wounds will heal. I need only to rest in him.” Her eyes eased shut.

  He gripped her shoulder and barely kept himself from shaking her. “Kasia!”

  She hummed and turned her face into him again. Her breathing came deep and even. He relaxed. She slept, that was all.

  A knock sounded as Xerxes eased her onto her bed. Leda scurried over to open the door.

  “My king.” Masistes stood in the opening, all the high command behind him. “Pythius told us what happened. Does she live?”

  “She does.” He leaned down to kiss her softly, then stood and moved out into the hall. The expressions on the men’s faces varied from concerned to incredulous. No doubt they had assumed the worst. He swallowed. “She delivered a stillborn son.”

  Masistes winced. “I am sorry, brother. I know how you hoped.”

  Xerxes cleared his throat and straightened his spine. “At least she has been spared.”

  Pythius shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his face haggard, his shoulders bent in defeat. “I hoped the labor would stop and they would both live. And knew not how either could survive such a fall.”

  “Do we know what caused it?” Haman shifted a bit from where he stood behind Masistes and Mardonius.

  Xerxes shrugged. “We assume when the darkness descended, she tripped.”

  Haman frowned. “There have been no other reports of injuries, for all the confusion. Do you not find it odd that she is the one person out of millions to suffer from the darkness?”

  “I . . .” He had not. But Haman was right. Why would the god insulate the rest of the army but not her? “It makes no sense.”

  Haman gazed into the room. “It is not so dark there as everywhere else.”

  His blood seemed to chill, slow. “No. The god is not in there.”

  “Perhaps that is the explanation then.” Haman said no more—just bowed and walked away.

  Xerxes stared at the place he had been and tried to block out the thoughts clamoring to the forefront of his mind. Tried to cling to the promise Ahura Mazda had given him, to the sign they had received today.

  But then, the god had said victory and greatness lay before him. He had never said at what price it would come. What if victory was not given, but must be bought? Perhaps . . . perhaps his son was the sacrifice required of him.

  Pythius stepped close to his side. “Will she make it, do you think?”

  He glanced at the friend that had so quickly come to cherish her as a daughter. “I think so.” If not, why would she have survived this long? Surely if the god required her, too, he would have taken her along with the babe.

  And yet . . . she alone stolidly refused to give Ahura Mazda his dues. She alone lay in a circle of dawn’s light when the night of the god covered the rest of them.

  How long before the deity lost patience with her and swept her away from him too?

  Twenty

  Susa, Persia

  Esther dropped her basket, left the door swinging open behind her. There was no time to waste on such trivialities, not if Mordecai was as ill as Martha had said.

  “Cousin? Cousin!”

  She followed the low, excruciating cry to Mordecai’s chamber and pushed the door open with a creak. A gasp caught in her throat when she saw him writhing on the floor. “Mordecai!”

  He clutched at his head, muttered something unintelligible, and curled into a ball. Esther dropped down beside him. “You must tell me what hurts you, my father.”

  “Everything. Head.”

  He had never been prone to headaches, and the way he clutched at it . . . “Let me see. Did you strike it?”

  “Rock.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, let him be all right.” She peeled his fingers away and probed gently at the back of his head. And frowned. There was no blood, no knot. Nothing to explain the level of pain he seemed to be in. “I cannot find an injury, Mordecai. Are you sure you struck it? Did you fall?”

  “Cliff . . .”

  She rocked back on her heels. “Susa has no cliffs.”

  He groaned and rolled onto his side. Perhaps pain clouded his memory? Or he could be delirious. She touched her hand to his forehead. It was cool. “My father . . .”

  When she rested her fingers on his arm, he jerked it away with a whimper. She let her hand fall against her leg to keep it from shak
ing. “Does your arm hurt too?”

  “Cut.”

  “It is not cut.” Why did she even bother with the tight whisper? Her words obviously meant nothing to him. He felt something. She loosened her shoulders. “I will call a physician.”

  “No.” He grabbed her wrist and finally opened his eyes. The irises, usually a hazel as clear as the most precious of gems, were murky and dark. “No. Not . . . my pain.”

  “Cousin, that makes no sense.” She lifted his hand off her wrist and held it. “Tell me what to do.”

  He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes again. “Pray.”

  His answer to everything. Esther shook her head and squeezed his fingers. “How? For what?”

  “That this is sufficient.” He winced, writhed. “To save her.”

  She bit her lip to keep from asking what “her” she was supposed to pray salvation for—and why she ought to be concerned with whoever it was when her cousin lay writhing on the floor.

  “Esther?” Zechariah’s voice preceded his appearance in the doorway by only a second. He wore a deep frown. “Martha said you may need help . . . what has happened?”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I cannot tell. He says he fell down a cliff, which is obviously not possible, and he has no visible wounds. But if I touch him, he screams. He is in terrible pain, Zechariah, whatever the cause.”

  This time when he moaned, Esther thought she made out “Kasia.”

  Zechariah gripped her by the elbows and lifted her up. “Go brew him something to help with the pain.”

  She could not convince her feet to move when he released her. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and beg him to tell her Mordecai was not mad. She settled for wrapping her arms around herself and whispering, “Is it possible he misses her so much that . . . ?”

  Zechariah touched her cheek and offered a weak smile. “I cannot think so. Go, little one. He needs whatever relief we can find for him.”

  She nodded and obeyed, but busying her hands did nothing to still her rampant thoughts. The menial task did not calm the frantic beat of her heart.

  She could not lose Mordecai. She could not. He was all the family she had, the only one left in the world who loved her. If he were snatched away by some invisible pain, something she could not even fight or treat . . .

  “Is it ready?”

  She jumped, screeched, and nearly dropped the clay pot of brewed herbs. “Zech. I did not hear you.”

  He leaned into the door and studied her. “Whatever this is, it struck him at the river, where Kasia would have been. That is all he was saying.”

  “Oh. But . . . what is it?” She set the pot down before it could betray her shaking hands.

  Zechariah sighed and shook his head. “He said he prayed to take the pain of another near death.”

  Her confusion doubled. “Since when does Jehovah allow such a thing?”

  “I do not understand it either, Esther.” He glanced over his shoulder, back into the house. “He swore he would be well, that he only needs time—and our prayers.”

  She stepped away from the heat of the fire and blew a hair from her face. “Who do we pray for? Him, or this unknown, dying person?”

  “Both, I suppose.”

  Esther pressed her lips together. “Well. I shall take him his drink and then go pray.” She picked up the pot, even took a step. Then the tears caught up with her. “Tell me he will not die. That though he somehow feels the pain of this stranger, he will not die her death.”

  “Oh, Esther.” He took the pot from her and put it down, then pulled her to his chest. A stray wood shaving pressed into her cheek. She savored the feel—it meant Zechariah. “I am no priest or prophet, to tell you how Jehovah works. But I know Mordecai. He never would have asked for something that would take him from you.”

  She should pull away—instead, she clung tighter. “I know. I just—it is selfish of me, but I cannot . . . I do not want to be left alone again, Zechariah. He is all I have left.”

  Was that his lips against her hair? “That is not selfish, and you will not be left alone, even if something happened to Mordecai. You know my family loves you like one of its own.”

  Though she nodded, she had her doubts. His sisters would not miss her when they married and moved. His brothers had not teased her or joked with her since Kasia left them. Only Zechariah treated her as he always had—and he was the one person she wished would not.

  She pulled away, eyes on the ground. “I must return to Mordecai. I . . . thank you, Zechariah.”

  “There is no need for thanks. We are friends, and that is what friends do.”

  “I know.” Friends, always friends. He loved her no more than the rest of his family did. She picked up the pot and stepped past him.

  ~*~

  Sardis, Lydia

  The kiss of the sun had never felt so welcome—especially in contrast to the tears that fell like rain from Kasia’s eyes. She swiped at them, but more took their place. Perhaps she ought not have asked where they had buried her babe. Seeing that freshly turned soil marked by an irregular stone did not help her say goodbye.

  Xerxes’ hand settled on her shoulder, and his thumb rubbed at the nape of her neck. “We must go, my love. Unless you have changed your mind and would like to rest a while longer—”

  “No. I am ready.” She did her best to smile in proof.

  Her husband did not look convinced. “You cannot possibly be well enough for travel, Kasia. I saw the wound in your head last night. You ought to be . . .”

  “Dead.” The word made her shudder, but she rolled back her shoulders. “I know. But you cannot deny what you saw this morning, can you?”

  He pressed his lips together and trailed his fingers over her arm. The night before, a deep gash had marred her flesh and scored her muscle. When she awoke this morning, only the faintest of lines showed where it had been. Her whole body had felt saturated in light, as if she had slept under Susa’s summer sun.

  Xerxes shook his head. “It is unnatural.”

  “As was everything else that transpired yesterday.” She looked to the wall where she had stood and watched the first tendrils of darkness slip over the mountaintop. Her memory ended there. Her eyes followed the path she must have fallen, over the wall and down the steep hill. Theron had pointed out the rough, flat rock they had found her on, the dual stains of blood dark and taunting. “Praise Jehovah for hearing my cry. First he saved me, then he healed me.”

  “Jehovah?” Xerxes snorted a laugh—the derision in it knotted her stomach. “Where was he when your son emerged lifeless and still?”

  Eyes burning, she splayed a hand over the abdomen that should have been swollen instead of flat. “I know not why he spared me and not the babe, but he held me throughout it. Had he not . . .”

  “This would not have happened to begin with.” He took his hand from her shoulder and rubbed it over his face. “Kasia, you must stop denying Ahura Mazda. I know in my soul that is what killed our son, what nearly killed you.”

  There may have been some truth to that—the evil would have stolen her life if God had not intervened. “I believe we addressed this the first night I came to you, Xerxes. Jehovah is my God. Did you not grant that is a crucial part of who I am?”

  He huffed out a breath and started toward the wagon, pulling her along by her elbow. “That was before this happened. And that conversation was about whether you would serve me, not the god. I only ask you to admit what everyone else does this morning.”

  She pulled her arm free. “Everyone admits something terrible happened yesterday, and everyone puts their faith in you when you tell them it was a good omen. It is you they worship, Xerxes, not your god.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “It is not. Do you not see everyone’s fearful glances at the sky? Then they see you striding about with confidence, and they relax.” She halted and grabbed at his tunic. “You are a man above men, my love, and they follow wherever you lead. That is why you must keep your fe
et on the path of righteousness. If Jehovah does not go with you, you will meet with defeat.”

  A thunderhead gathered in his eyes then melted into concern. “All the world will follow me except you. Why must you tempt the god, Kasia?”

  She laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “I follow you in all things but this.”

  “You do not. Every time I order something you do not like, you turn those large eyes on me and plead until I relent.” Though the words were teasing, his face was not. “I cannot relent on this—I have too much to lose.”

  “Xerxes . . .”

  He shook his head, and his eyes went hard. “I will not watch another babe be snatched from your womb, and I will not tempt the god to snatch you from me as well. It seems Ahura Mazda will not grant me both a child with you and victory. So until I have one, we will not pursue the other.”

  A gust of wind screamed up the valley and whipped around her. In spite of the weaving of their fingers, it felt as though she could not touch him, that no bridge could span the chasm yawning open at her feet. An ache pulsed in her empty womb. “You will deny me the rights of a wife?”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I realize this is largely my fault. Perhaps the god is jealous of my love for you. Or perhaps he is displeased I allow such willfulness about Jehovah. Either way, I cannot risk your life anymore. Until we have our victory in hand, Kasia . . .”

  Her head spun as she stared into the nothingness below. “I just lost a son—now I lose a husband.”

  “You have not lost me.” Yet the assurance was tinged with frustration. “We will still spend our days together.”

  When he got that particular glint of determination in his eye, arguing with him was useless. Neither could she agree. So she just held his gaze until he looked away and tugged her forward.

  The ranks had taken up formation along the road again. Some of the commanders were already astride their horses, others milling about with last minute preparations. Kasia glanced at the palace to search for Artaynte and Parsisa—she had seen neither since their farewells yesterday.