Jewel of Persia

by White, Roseanna M.

  Kasia gasped and clutched at her throat, blinking to rid her eyes of the images before the hillside could attack her again. “Someone pushed me.”

  “You fell.” His voice was flat, empty. “It was a tragedy, but you will not blame it on another.”

  But she could feel hands, large and powerful, against her back. She could smell spice and man. She could hear the thud of footsteps. But all she could see was the glow of inhuman eyes in the surging darkness, so terrifying she had forgotten to pray for protection. “No. I was gripping the wall already, I could not have run into it. Someone pushed me.”

  “And you bring this up now?”

  “I just remembered.”

  “Convenient.” His doubt sliced through her, much as his hand slashed the air. “I will hear no more of this.”

  Shadows seemed to slink in again now, always in her periphery. “You think I lie?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Why not? You lied when you promised you would not bow your knee to Jehovah. You lied when you said you would not speak of certain things. You lied, for that matter, when you said at Abydus it was only I you wanted, that you cared not about getting with child again.”

  She staggered back a step, not sure what was shadow and what was tears. “That was not a lie. Yes, I want a child. But it was not only the loss of our son that consumed me those months, Xerxes, it was the loss of you. I would have been content to get you back, even if I had never conceived again.”

  “Yet you disobey me at every turn, insisting you know better than the wisest men in my empire. Do you know what your problem is, Kasia?” He jabbed a finger at her, and though he still stood several feet away, she felt the poke in her soul. “You trust your illogical, blind faith above evidence and reason.”

  Her tears dried up, her hands fisted. “And your problem is that you cannot abide anyone or anything not bending to your will.”

  His nostrils flared. “You are nothing but a Jew.”

  “And you are nothing but a king.” She spun for the exit, not sure her arrow had hit its mark until she heard the crash of metal striking wood.

  He cursed and threw something else. “Do not walk away from me, Kasia. If you leave this tent, you will never step foot in it again.”

  She pivoted back around, tired of relenting every time he made a demand that threatened her soul. “Will you banish me again? Go ahead. This time I will not waste any suffering on it, I will not fade away for needing you.”

  “You want banished?” He released a breath of dry laughter. “Have it your way. Zethar! See that Kasia’s things are packed and loaded. At first light, she will return to Sardis.”

  The ground rocked and sank in on itself. She was uncertain how she remained upright with nothing solid beneath her. “Sardis? Why not send me all the way back to Susa, like you did your uncle when he dared to speak against you?”

  He lifted a condescending brow. “So you can run away and be hidden by the other Jews? I think not. Sardis, where you will wait until I have finished my campaign. I will decide then what to do with you.”

  What to do with her? Fire consumed her, burning her eyes and her soul behind them.

  “And Kasia—you will not pray to Jehovah for me or my army. I do not need anything from the God of slaves.”

  He did not want blessing, did not want God to go before him? “As you will, master.” She pulled the torc from her arm and dropped it to the dirt as she left.

  Twenty-Seven

  Haman staggered through the retreating night, rubbing a hand over his eyes. An hour or two remained before dawn, but when the king called . . .

  He blinked against the lamplight when one of Xerxes’ eunuchs ushered him in. “My lord, you called for me?”

  The king did not look up. He sat on his throne and toyed with a broken circle of silver. “Have you heard I ordered Kasia back to Sardis?”

  His heart danced at the reminder. “Everyone has heard, my lord.” Most assumed it was out of concern for the babe she obviously carried, but the coin he had pressed into a certain palm revealed they fought. Finally the witch went too far and got the punishment she deserved.

  “I want you to accompany her.”

  “I—what?”

  Xerxes looked up. Shadows circled eyes dark with exhaustion . . . and something more Haman did not care to name. “I need someone I trust to go with her, to keep his eyes and ears open until I can make it back.”

  Ah. A spy against her then. “I would be honored to watch her for you.”

  “She is not the one I would have you watch.” The king’s eyes slid shut. “I trust her. But I do not trust others with her—I have seen the way the men look at her.”

  Haman swallowed his distaste. “Certainly, my king, but how much a danger could this be now, when . . . her figure has changed so much?”

  One corner of Xerxes’ mouth pulled up. “The danger is still there. You are the one man I trust not to fall in love with her.”

  “There is certainly no fear of that.”

  Xerxes chuckled. “Exactly. But she is more than another Jew to me, Haman.”

  Perhaps it was too much to hope that love would turn to hate through one argument. But distance would help. The chains of influence she had over the king would loosen—and Haman suspected he could further that in Sardis. “Of course, my lord. I accept this task gladly.”

  The king nodded, but his eyes had narrowed. “If anything happens to her, you will be held responsible.”

  So then, no second attempt at the wall. Haman smiled. “Obviously, my lord.”

  “Very good. Go ready yourself. I have ordered a hundred Immortals to accompany her to Sardis and then catch back up with us. They will see you safely there.”

  Haman bowed and took his leave. This twist of fate was unexpected, but he would harness it. What favor the king still held her in would not last long now.

  ~*~

  Mist from the sea blurred the world, rendering it unreal and cool. Kasia moved woodenly to the wagon. Her belongings were inside, except for the jewels she deliberately left behind.

  The pearls he had said were like her skin.

  The diamonds that dimmed in comparison to the gleam of her eye.

  The jet that put him in mind of her hair.

  The jasper, no redder than her lips.

  They were worth no more than his empty promises. If he was going to take back what mattered, he could keep what did not.

  She jerked to a halt when the mist shifted enough for her to make out the clothing of the guard that would escort her to Sardis. “Immortals?” Spinning to Theron, she frowned. “Why would he send Immortals with us? Surely he does not think me so big a threat.”

  Zethar emerged from the cloud to stand beside Theron. “The opposite, mistress. He wants to be sure you arrive safe and well.” He leaned closer and whispered, “You surely realize he already regrets his command.”

  She snorted and pulled her cloak tighter to ward off the mist. “He always regrets what he does in anger. That never keeps him from doing it, nor does it ever change his mind.”

  Zethar stepped nearer and held out his hand.

  She looked at the torc he offered, at the plea in his eyes. No sympathy stirred within the cavity of her chest. Did Xerxes think he could undo it all so easily? “Tell the king that since I cannot have both, I would rather have my God than my husband.”

  “Mistress.” Zethar’s voice strained, begged.

  She lifted her chin. “According to your master, I am no mistress. Only a slave.”

  “He did not mean it.”

  “It does not matter. He is the king—his word is law.” Perhaps if the man had come to her . . . but instead he sent his servant to bear the burden of humility. Until he shouldered it himself, she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Zethar’s face crumpled. “You will break his heart.”

  “He is an expert at ignoring his heart. He will hardly notice.” She spun away just in time to see three soldiers approach.


  The eldest took a knee. “Greetings, lady. I am Fotius, and it is my honor and privilege to lead you back to Sardis. Please, advise me or one of my men if you need a slower pace than we set or wish to stop. We were given strict instructions to put your comfort and safety above all.”

  Was that supposed to touch her? She dredged up a smile. “Thank you. But I would like to reach Sardis as soon as possible.”

  “Certainly. I will be at the head of the company, my brother at the rear.” He stood again and motioned to the man on his left, then indicated the remaining soldier. “Our most valiant warrior will remain at your side. This is—”

  “Bijan, son of Navid.” Of course. In his belated attempt to appease her, Xerxes would send her brother’s friend.

  Bijan frowned and met her gaze. “You know me, lady?”

  She gave him a bare smile. “Only through my brother Zechariah.”

  “Kasia?” A thunderhead stole over his features as recognition lit his eyes. “Your family thinks you dead.”

  Perfect. Even her escort judged her lacking. “Zechariah and my mother know the truth. My father forbade them to speak it.”

  That seemed to restore his humor. “That does indeed sound like your father. The only man I know who would be ashamed that his daughter is wife to the king.”

  She granted that with a halfhearted breath of laughter and let Theron lift her into the wagon. As Zad bounded up behind her, the three Immortals left with nods. Bijan returned a few minutes later with his horse, and the entourage moved forward.

  Kasia turned so she could see Bijan, who rode within reach of the wagon. “Have you heard anything lately from Susa?”

  “Plenty,” he said with a chuckle. “My sister squeezes as much gossip as possible onto one wax tablet. Your brothers and father have been very busy with work from the palace. Everyone assumes the king saw the things I ordered, though I now suspect that credit belongs to you.”

  She grinned, but it faded quickly. Would Xerxes cancel his orders with them after the war? “The king let me commission a few pieces, and his steward was impressed with the craftsmanship.”

  “Far more likely.” He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes sharp. “Not that I knew you well, but I grieved for Zech when he lost you. It never occurred to me you could be alive, much less the concubine of the king everyone speaks of.”

  Something thudded in her chest. Not her heart, surely—that was either absent or frozen. “Why would everyone speak of me?”

  Bijan lifted a brow. “You are considered all but a goddess—the only creature in the world that can keep the king happy. When word spread that he was sending said creature to Sardis, a collective groan went out.” Bijan glanced at her stomach. “I am surprised he did not send you back sooner, but I suppose he did not want to part with you.”

  A furry head nudged her hand, and she obliged Zad with a scratch behind his ears. Did Xerxes not want anyone to know he had sent her away in disgrace? That changed nothing.

  She still knew.

  Bijan cleared his throat. “I feel as though I should apologize. I think I said a few things over the years concerning the king’s favorite concubine that I would not have, had I realized she was you.”

  She chuckled to cover her wince. “I suppose it is natural for people to be curious about any woman of interest to the king.”

  “That seems a poor excuse when I consider the thrashing your brother would give many of my friends here, had he heard the speculation.”

  Heat stung her cheeks. Time to nudge the subject elsewhere. “Ah yes, my brother against a band of Immortals. Would he have stood a chance?”

  Bijan snorted. “More than. He is a better warrior than most of them. I am heralded as one of the best, and I know it is only because of the extra practice I got with Zech. He challenged me as few of these men ever have.”

  “Did you see battle?”

  An odd expression settled on his face. “I did. The first day, and also yesterday. It was not what I expected.”

  “Worse?” She could not imagine facing down the Spartans.

  “No.” Brows knit, he drew in a breath. “When I faced the enemy, it was as if . . . as if another’s arm steadied my own, as if someone breathed confidence and strength into me.” He shook his head, dislodged the frown. “That must sound odd.”

  She pressed her lips into a close smile. “Actually, I prayed Jehovah would send his angels to do just that.”

  “You prayed to Jehovah for me?” Shock glazed his eyes, but under it she thought she detected recognition. “Why?”

  “Because I felt the Spirit whispering that I should. Because you are my brother’s friend.”

  He nodded and gazed ahead of them, silent. Content to leave him to his musings, Kasia settled back and patted Zad’s side. There would be plenty of time to talk.

  At the moment, she preferred to sit and not think.

  Twenty-Eight

  Susa, Persia

  Zechariah soothed the plane over the wood. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he swiped at it with his forearm. His gaze went out the door, open to receive whatever sweltering winds might blow in.

  His throat tightened when he saw Esther crouched in the street. She laughed at something Ima said and swept barley seeds from the hot road into a basket. He wanted her to glance his way. Wanted her to flash that perfect smile at him. Just to see if his heart would pound as it had every other time she looked at him lately.

  Abba gave him a playful thump to the side of the head. “Watch yourself instead of her or you may slice off a finger.”

  Zechariah swallowed and checked to make sure no siblings lurked about. Joshua was out making deliveries, and the rest were in the house. “How does this happen, Abba? A few short months ago, I saw her as a sister. Now . . .”

  “It only takes one stray thought.” His father grinned. “I knew your mother all my life, just as you have known Esther. I never expected to fall in love with her, but then one day I saw her, felt a bolt of attraction before I realized who she was, and I was doomed.”

  He laughed because Abba expected him to. “I feel doomed. So long I ignored her infatuation with me, and now I worry it is not as strong as this thing building inside.”

  This strange, stretching thing. It was not just attraction. That was far too simple a word for the complicated mess his feelings for Esther had become since that night they prayed at Mordecai’s house.

  There had been a seed of it before then, he would admit it. A seed planted when he rescued her from that over-zealous Persian. But that had been attraction. Since he put his heart right with Jehovah and refused to see Ruana again . . .

  Esther glanced his way, perhaps sensing his attention, and grinned. His heart hammered. “Doomed,” Zechariah muttered. “Completely doomed.”

  His father chuckled. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Please.” He smiled back at Esther then turned to Abba.

  He found his gaze serious. “Take your time with her. She has loved you since she was a child and has been telling herself for years that you were not interested. While you could go to Mordecai today and arrange a betrothal, she would doubt your heart and think you did it because we pushed you. Woo her. Make it clear you love her before any arrangements are made.”

  When had Abba gotten so wise? “Good idea.” He set down the plane and drew in a long breath. “Abba . . . I cannot marry her with secrets between us.”

  His father’s hand stilled, awl poised over wood. “When you are the head of your own family, Zechariah, you may tell your wife what you please. But you will caution her not to speak of it here.”

  “Abba, it is ridiculous. Mordecai already knows she lives—Jehovah asks him frequently to pray for her.” He had learned of that the day Mordecai writhed in pain he claimed was Kasia’s. Keeping that from Esther had grated, even before the blossoming attraction took root.

  His father’s brows pulled down. “I did not know that. Even so, my decision holds.”

&nbs
p; “But Abba—”

  “If you are serious about marriage, Zech, you ought to get started on an addition for your bride. We have the revenue now to expand the house.”

  Zechariah spun to look out the back door and into the open space behind it. Until his father’s parents both passed on, they had all been crammed into their small house, as there had been no money for Abba to build extra rooms. But a space of their own . . . one with Esther puttering around inside, able to visit his family without being overwhelmed by them . . .

  Abba chuckled. “Go out, look around. We could get started next week.”

  He ought to finish here, but the allure was too great. Knowing he grinned like a fool, he strode outside.

  He could build there, at a right angle to the main part of the house. Esther and Ima could share a kitchen, but they could make it bigger, add a second hearth. He would not put a door between the new and the old, not directly. But the kitchen would serve as a connection.

  How large to make it? They had plenty of room, being on the outskirts of the city, but he needed to leave space for the rest of the boys to build too, as they married. Still, he wanted room enough that it would not be so cramped as his parents’, no matter how many children Jehovah blessed them with.

  “Zech? What are you doing out here?” Esther stepped out to the kitchen, where she set down her basket of roasted barley.

  His lips tugged up. “Planning. Abba has decided it is time for me to begin the addition to the house. For my future family.”

  She paled, eyes flashing distress. “You . . . you are to marry?”

  “Eventually.” He sidled over to crowd her, under the guise of peeking into the basket. “First, though, I must win my bride.”

  Her breath came too fast, and a flush stole over her cheeks. Zechariah smiled and snatched a few heads of barley. What he really wanted to do was slip his arms around her waist and pull her close, take her lips with his . . .

  Her kiss would be innocent and sweet, with an undercurrent of eagerness. Those graceful arms would come about him, cling to him. Best of all, she would look at him with eyes brimming with love.