She could only shake her head.
Pythius appeared at her side, opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, Darius appeared from around a hedge, face stretched in a smile. “We have victory! My father has burned Athens to the ground.”
Had there been anything left within her, it would have evaporated then. Without prayer, without anything from her, he had won. Now he would never be convinced that her God reigned over his.
Darius did not seem to notice her lack of response. With a joyous laugh, he twirled her around.
One rotation was enough to make her head swim. But at least lightheadedness was something. She chuckled and pushed away so he would put her back on her feet. “Enough enthusiasm, Darius. I get dizzy easily these days.”
He laughed and put her down, eyes alight. “Forgive me. It is such good fortune though—the Athenians had fled their city like cowards, and Father marched in and took it without any resistance. We are feasting tonight! Bring your whole house, Pythius.”
Pythius looked pained. “I thank you, my prince, but these old bones are weary. My sons will come, I am certain.”
A feast, without her one friend. All the nobles in Sardis in one room, eyeing her with disdain even though they knew nothing of her argument with their king—thrilling. “Darius, I am exhausted too. I think I shall just—”
“Nonsense.” Authority draped him, making him look so very like his father. Then it vanished behind a grin, and he reminded her instead of Zechariah. “Rest now, then dine with me, Kasia. There will be pomegranates.”
He said that last in a singsong, earning a snort of laughter. She had not been able to get enough of the juicy red seeds since they ripened a week earlier. No one else outside her servants cared enough to notice—she supposed she owed him gratitude enough to show up at his meal. “Very well.”
“Excellent.” The prince turned away and all but danced back toward the palace. So confident he would get his way in everything.
She clamped down on her thoughts before reflecting on Darius could make her miss Xerxes—she would not need him anymore—and headed for her room with a bare farewell for Pythius.
She had a feast to prepare for.
~*~
Salamis, Greece
Xerxes looked out over the ships waiting to wage war the next day. They should have been anchored, but he glimpsed their sails unfurling, the white fabric catching the feeble moonlight. “Mardonius! What is going on?”
His cousin rushed toward him. “The slave of a Greek named Themosticles just came to us. He reports that the Greeks are in a frenzy and planning to retreat. His master is secretly on your side, and so he sent the advice that we should surround the island now, in the dark, and cut off the enemy. They are disunited—we can defeat them easily.”
Trusting the word of a spy was always a risk—sometimes it yielded great reward, sometimes tragedy. Xerxes leaned back on his heels.
A flash of light caught his eye. He turned, expecting someone with a lamp to be nearby—but even as he swung his head, he sensed the shadows of night swallow up the flash.
He obviously needed more sleep. He shook it off and turned back to his cousin. What was the worst that could happen? They would fight, as they had planned to do tomorrow anyway.
Well, then. He nodded at Mardonius and turned back to his lonely tent. He would sleep—and hopefully dream of Kasia’s arms around him. Tomorrow . . . he would worry about tomorrow when it got here.
Thirty
Sardis, Lydia
Artaynte kept her pace sedate as she left the hall, forcing herself not to crane around and look at him again. Look at them. But she could not stop her hands from fisting in her garment, from twisting the linen until it was a web of wrinkles.
How could he? She had thought it nothing that afternoon, when she saw Darius lift Kasia high and spin her around. Excitement—understandable. Yes, she had heard the whispers that the prince spent more and more time with his father’s wife—who had not? She had thought that nothing, had even been glad of it. Glad Kasia had someone to talk to.
Why had no whispers warned her that he was falling in love with her? He looked at her with the same desire he did all the other maidens that ended up in his bed, but not so simply. No, there was nothing simple about wanting the concubine of one’s father, was there?
Nothing would come of it. Darius would surely not try to seduce her, and even if he did, Kasia would refuse him. But that was not the point. He could lose his heart to her. Since her arrival, he had paid attention to no other women. She had even heard he turned away his own slave girls. Could it be any clearer that he was in love?
Which left Artaynte exactly where she had been for years—in her mother’s shadow, watching him give his beautiful smiles to someone else.
She turned down a corridor and rushed into a darkened alcove so she could cover her face with her hands and let the tears flow.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped and spun, hand to her heart. When she saw it was only Haman, she let out a gust of breath. “You startled me.”
Her father’s dearest friend gave her a kind smile, as he always did. “You did not hear me over your tears. What distresses you, lady? I feel as though, in your father’s absence, I must try to put it to rights.”
Artaynte wiped at her cheeks. For as long as she could remember, Haman had been a close friend of her family often traveling to their home in Bactra. But to tell him this? She shook her head and gazed at the floor behind him.
Haman dipped his head into her line of sight. “I have daughters of my own, you know. And I believe the timbre of those particular cries denotes trouble with a man. Would I be correct to guess it is the prince you sigh over?”
Was she that transparent? Her sigh leaked out more like a groan. “It is hopeless.”
“Nonsense. Everyone knows you are the logical choice for his first wife.”
She blinked back fresh tears. “I want to be the one he loves.”
“But you see the way he has been looking at the Jewess and worry.” He nodded, no longer looking amused. “I confess his attention to her troubles me, as well. I hope he remains above her devious ways.”
Her chin snapped up. “Devious—Kasia?”
He pressed his lips into a grim smile. “I pray the prince does not succumb to her so-called charms. I would hate to see her lead yet another of the king’s trusted men into such a dangerous situation.”
“Another?” She shook her head—but still a rock sunk into her stomach. “She loves her husband.”
“Of course she does.” Yet his tone said the opposite. “But surely you know how things work within the palace. There is love, and there are lovers.”
The rock burrowed deep, made nausea churn. “Not always. My parents . . .” The look in his eyes stopped her. She swallowed. “Surely they . . .”
Haman sighed and patted her shoulder. “Your mother has protected you from this truth too long—it will only hurt you to realize the nature of princes once you are wed to one. Darius may very well choose to have an affair with the Jewess—and he would surely not be the first.”
No. Not Kasia. She would never . . . not with Darius . . . not with anyone but the king, surely. Surely.
So why did her heart already ache as though she had seen her friend betraying her?
~*~
Salamis, Greece
Xerxes cursed, then cursed again for good measure. Artemisia had been right. He had been right—they should not have met the Greeks at sea. His quicker vessels had no advantage in these straits. The smaller, heavier ships of his enemy rammed them continually.
He watched Artemisia’s trireme flee a band of Greeks only to find her way blocked by Persians. A moment later she turned, ramming the vessel by her side.
At least someone was learning from their enemy. “It would seem my women are becoming men, even as my men are becoming women.”
But the others? Groans tripped over curses as he watched the battle play ou
t. The problem was that the idiot sailors had not learned how to swim. Each time a ship sank, the men went down with it. The Greeks swam to shore, but his men? He did not want to count how many drowned before his eyes.
The longer the day dragged on, the worse it got. He sat, he paced, he watched, he turned away. And he knew. He knew as dusk crouched behind them that the Greeks had the upper hand. He knew it before he heard that his troops stationed on an island had been slaughtered. He knew it before darkness fell and the commanders gathered again.
Mardonius spoke the loudest. “We know their tactics now—we can regroup, and we will win. We have the manpower.”
But what did it matter?
“We will never defeat them on the sea,” Otanes said. “We should build a pass to the island, then march across and defeat them on land.”
“I say set the rest of our forces toward the Peloponnese and let the Athenians starve on their island.”
He did not even turn to see who came up with that one. He looked toward Artemisia. “What say you? You fought more like a man than the men around you today.”
She inclined her head, a silver braid slipping over her shoulder. “My advice has not changed, my lord. You have the victory that matters. You burned Athens. Why concern yourself with anything else? If one of your slaves—” She motioned toward Mardonius “—wishes to keep some soldiers here and fight in your stead, that would suffice. If he wins, the victory is yours. If he loses, the defeat is his.”
Mardonius glared at her. “The woman’s tone aside, the idea has merit. I would be honored to keep a select group of soldiers behind to fight for you.”
His cousin must have been able to read in Xerxes’ eyes that he was finished. Finished with the war, with the nights filled only with cloistering shadows. He needed Kasia.
Standing, Xerxes pulled his shawl around his shoulders—the one Amestris had woven, the one Kasia had complimented. What was it she had said when he mentioned putting it away? Something about remembering the good days.
He wanted their good days back. Would she forgive him? If he begged, if he fell to his knees before her? If he took back all he had said?
He did not know, and could only hope all these people before him could not see that their king stood in pieces.
“I will think on this overnight.” He strode from the gathering and to the quiet of his tent.
Waving his servants away, he extinguished the lamp and settled onto his bed. No sooner did he close his eyes than the god appeared.
That handsome, leering face. “King of Persia,” he said, voice echoing with disdain. “Will you curl up in defeat and slink away?”
Xerxes turned his face away.
“You are a coward—you would have changed your mind about this war before it started had I not interfered.”
“I wish I would have. Do you know how many men I have lost?”
The god sneered. “What are they to you? The mighty Xerxes has taken Athens and has all the world at his feet. Why concern yourself with the cost? Are you not the wealthiest man in the world? The ruler of all?”
He motioned outside. “Could you not see from your realm what happened today?”
“One lost battle does not mean a lost war.” The god folded granite arms over his marble chest. “You are a soft, feeble ruler—I should have struck you down rather than raising you up. You will trade everything for that woman, when you know she is the enemy of your god.”
Xerxes breathed an unamused laugh. “And why not? All you bring me are shadows and night, darkness and constriction. She brings light and freedom.”
The god thundered, his rage filling every crevice of Xerxes’ mind. A glowing iron appeared, its point a deadly red-white. Xerxes planted his feet and faced down his angry god.
“Turn from my will,” the god seethed, “and I will smite you with all my wrath. Your war will be lost, your kingdom rent in two. Give your favor again to the Jewish whore and I will purge her entire people from the face of the earth. Choose carefully, O King. Your god or your lover.”
The smothering darkness of Ahura Mazda or the soft light in Kasia’s eyes? There was no choice, not really. He only wondered why he had tried so long to convince himself there was. “I would rather have her.”
The roar from the god-man’s mouth deafened him, and the poker loomed glowing before his eyes. “Then you will have neither! No longer will I send blessings your way, and you shall be undone by the women you think you rule. And the Jewess? I will destroy her.”
“Jehovah will protect her.” He may have doubted her God more than once, but he had always preserved her life.
“You dare to mention that name?” His very voice a flame, the god aimed the poker.
The dream held him captive. He could not lunge away, could not spin, could not raise his arms in defense. He could only stand there as the hot iron found his shoulder and scream when it seared his flesh.
He bolted up in his bed, hand covering the burn.
Zethar led all his eunuchs in at a run. “Master, what is it?”
Using the light from their lantern, he pulled down his tunic and looked at the front of his shoulder, where an angry circle of red defied logic. “Since when can dreams injure a man?”
Zethar crouched down and touched a finger to it, pulling away with a gasp. “It burns like fire.”
Xerxes clenched his teeth. Was this the god he had lost Kasia for, one who attacked his followers, who hurt rather than healed? That was not the Ahura Mazda he had read about in the prophecies of Jartosht . . . but it seemed to be the one who had heard their prayers.
He tossed his cover aside and surged to his feet. “Gather the commanders again.”
“They are still there, master. You have only been in here half an hour.”
“Perfect.” He strode out, back down the hill to where the officials indeed still sat together and talked. All heads turned toward him when he barreled into the assembly. Xerxes looked from one trusted face to the next, and cared not a whit what any of them thought. Not anymore. “We go home.”
“Master!”
He raised a hand to hush Mardonius. “My decision is made. The Greeks could decide at any moment to sail for the Hellespont and destroy our bridge. I for one do not intend to be trapped here after the harvest—the army would starve.”
“But master, you cannot accept this defeat! After all, it is not about the planks of wood, but about men and horses, and we still outnumber the Greeks on that score.”
“You want to take a land force into the Peloponnese, then do so, Mardonius. Choose whatever troops you want. I am going home.”
Artemisia nodded. “It is the wisest course of action, my lord.”
“You will lead the fleet back, Artemisia.” He met her gaze through the night. “Take Cyrus and my other sons with you, and go to guard the bridge so that we might cross in safety.”
Her head tilted up, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. “I am honored by your trust in me.”
“You have earned it. Otanes, supervise the building of a causeway to make the Greeks think we are mounting another attack. While they focus on that, the fleet can slip away. By the time we march, the ships will be able to guarantee our delivery home, and the Greeks will not bother coming after them. Mardonius—”
“I will escort you out of Europe and winter in Thessaly with the men I select.”
Xerxes nodded and then looked at each of his advisers in turn. None argued—none would dare. “So it is settled. We will be back in Susa in time for my birthday feast.”
And back to Sardis within six weeks, back to Kasia’s arms.
Assuming she would open them.
~*~
Susa, Persia
Esther had never heard such a joyous roar in the streets, such music and singing. She edged around a woman leaping and strewing myrtle. “What in the world?”
“Have you not heard?” A young man grabbed her by the hands and spun her with a laugh. “The king has taken Athens! Persia is vic
torious!”
He released her and scooped up another passerby to twirl. Esther shook her head and smiled. Fetching the spices Martha had asked for might not happen this morning, but the high spirits were contagious. She tucked her basket’s handle into her elbow and contented herself with strolling through the market-turned-festival.
And why not rejoice? Each day brought a new treasure these past weeks—a tender, secret smile from Zechariah, a hint from one of his parents that she would soon be one of them. She had been afraid to hope that first time he asked her on a walk, but now . . . how could she not?
He sought her out daily, sometimes for glorious hours at a time. They walked, they talked of future dreams, they reminisced and laughed. Each time he asked for her opinion on something to incorporate into his house, Esther’s heart danced a quick step.
He had made no declaration for her yet, but she knew. He built their home, where she would someday live as his wife. His wife. She had not been so happy since Kasia lived.
She paused beside an unattended cart of pomegranates and wished her friend could share this time with her. Oh, the fun they would have! Laughing, planning, whispering.
Sisters at last.
Awareness kissed her neck, and she looked around, knowing Zechariah must be somewhere nearby. She knew not how she always sensed his presence, but . . . there—across the market, at the corner of a side street. He had an empty handcart with him and looked out over the dancing citizens with confounded amusement.
A female form spun into him, grabbed his hands, twirled him back into the street he had come from.
Esther chuckled and turned toward home. There would be no shopping today, and weaving through the crowd to find Zechariah would probably prove useless. But that was fine—she would have time with him tonight. Every night.
Yes, it was a day of rejoicing.
~*~
What a miserable day. Zechariah slathered another protective layer of clay onto the south-facing wall and wished there were a way to make the sun trace backwards, to undo what he had done. He had already asked forgiveness of Jehovah. He had snuck off to the temple and purchased a sin offering.
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