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.
~*~
His vision blurred. His blood pounded. His muscles bunched and coiled. Xerxes could not remember the last time the rage had come upon him so intensely. When the bridge was destroyed? No, this was worse. This was not about wood and rope, earth and water.
This was about flesh of his flesh, wife of his heart.
How could he? How could his son—his own son, the boy he had spoiled, had taught, had handed the reins of his kingdom to—do this to him? He knew—knew—what Kasia meant to him. He could take any other woman—blast it, most any other wife— with minimal consequences. But not her.
Not. Her.
Why had he thought it worth the risk? Had she encouraged him in some way? Never—he had no doubt Kasia fought him with all the might she could spare, but she had been weak with the pregnancy and would have feared hurting their child.
Poor Kasia, having to endure such a thing. No wonder she refused to look at the prince, no wonder she changed the subject whenever he came up. What agony must she feel around him? He could not blame her for not telling him. It would hurt too much, and she would fear his reaction. But he knew exactly who to blame.
His son would pay.
He stormed to the palace that had once been his father’s personal quarters, the one he had given to his son upon his wedding. Just inside the front columns, he halted and spun to face his servants. “You come no farther.”
The furrow in Zethar’s brow was deep as a canal. “But master—”
He slashed a hand through the air. “No. This is between me and my son. Stay here.”
Knowing they would obey whether they liked it or not, Xerxes strode forward again, through the cavernous entryway, through the empty receiving rooms. Where was he? “Darius!”
He pounded into the bed chamber when all others proved empty, sending the door crashing into the wall. If his son were not here—
A startled cry drew his gaze to the corner of the room. Artaynte stood by one of the low windows, hand clutching her throat.
Xerxes was in no mood for female dramatics. “Where is your husband?”
Her hand fell away, and with it went all expression from her face. She looked as cold as he felt molten. “I do not know. Probably off trying to get a glimpse of your wife.”
The blackest of curses tripped off his tongue as his hand sought and found something to send into the wall. Its crash resonated perfectly with the notes of fury within him. “You know.”
Artaynte made no reaction to the display of temper. “I would have to be blind not to see the way he looks at her. And deaf not to hear him cry her name when it should be mine.”
A roar left his throat raw and aching, like the rest of him. “Do you know what he did in Sardis? Do you know he forced himself upon her?”
“I saw him kiss her and assumed the rest.” Her voice was low, but it throbbed. “I thought I could still take back his heart. I was a fool.”
“I will not forgive this.” But how to punish him?
Artaynte turned her face away. “What good is forgiveness? I would see him humbled.”
“Humbled? He is all pride.”
And he was his heir. Xerxes could not smite Darius without smiting himself, not if he took any public action.
“Then I shall strip him of his pride.” The girl trembled as she spat the words.
“How?” Then again, it had not been a public crime. It had been a private one, an intimate one.
She raised her chin. “The same way he stripped me of mine. I shall give myself to another and let the court laugh at him.”
He realized his vision had been edged with red only when it went dark. The room felt heavy, shadowed in spite of the afternoon sunlight.
His voice sounded strange to his ears, too cold for the rage slicking through his veins. “Who did you have in mind?”
~*~
Something was wrong. Kasia could not put her finger on what, but she could feel it. A discord, a pebble in life’s shoe.
She studied her husband as she bounced little Zillah gently against her shoulder. They sat in the gardens, the sun bright and warm, the flora fragrant. But sorrow lurked in the corners of his smile, tension shadowed his eyes. It had been there for weeks, but she could not figure out why.
Xerxes caught her gaze and quirked a brow. “Why do you look at me like that, my love? Have I an epic inscribed on my forehead?”
She refused to smile, though it took some effort. “I will figure it out eventually, you know.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Yet the sorrow flickered before he smiled it away. “Unless perhaps that you will figure out what gift you ought to request during my birthday feast?”
She breathed a laugh. “I maintain it is a dangerous practice—granting everyone whatever they want on your birthday, unable to say no . . .”
“I have to agree to grant them something—then I am powerless to deny them. Hence why I only allow a few requests every year.” He stroked Zillah’s bald head—Kasia was not certain where all that dark hair had gone—and grinned. “And I am eager to extend the right of request to you this year, my love.”
“Unnecessary.” She kissed his hand, then the babe’s head. “I have everything I want already.”
“Oh, come now. You could ask for that city you have always wanted. Up to half my kingdom—say the word and it is yours.”
Laughter bubbled up and spilled out. “Very likely. Perhaps I shall instead ask that you tell me what troubles you.”
His grin faded away. “There is nothing to tell.”
“Xerxes.”
He sighed and cupped her cheek. “And if there is, and I want to spare you the concern of it, you ought to grant me the indulgence. It is my birthday.”
“It is not.” But he needed the indulgence. Anything to banish that sadness from his eyes. “Your birthday is next week, and I think it strange you take seven days to celebrate it.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps that was how long the empire celebrated when I was born.”
“Ha! At the time, you were only another son.”
Something flickered across his face when she said son. Whatever bothered him was linked to Darius then.
In which case, she would stay out of it. “Ve
ry well, I will relent. Consider it the first of my gifts to you.”
“You are the only gift I need.” His eyes slid closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “Join me at the feasts. I know you have not been purified yet, but I read these Levitical laws. There will be nothing sacred—”
“No, my love. I do not feel up to presenting myself before the court yet. Between nursing and diaper changes and restless nights—”
He pulled away with a hum. “Did I not tell you to ask for a nurse to help during the nights, at least?”
“And in the middle of the night, I am tempted to do so.” She offered him a cheeky smile. “But in the morning, I cannot bear the thought of letting another give her life instead of me.”
“Stubborn woman.”
“I must be, to hold my own against you.”
He offered her a crooked smile. “And on that note, I must go.” He pushed himself to his feet and helped her to hers. “I love you.”
She echoed the sentiment and watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched. A frown tugged at her brows. What could be between him and Darius, to cause such distress? Had he discovered that the prince approached her in Sardis?
No, it could not be that. If he knew, he would not be sad—he would be angry. He would rant and rage, and Zethar would call on her to soothe his temper. He had not.
She would give it some prayer. With a smile for her servants, she headed toward her room.
“Kasia?”
She paused at the semi-familiar female voice. Another wife approached her, one a decade her senior. One who had muttered against her before the war. She had not interacted with her since. “Good morning, Aglea.”
The woman gave her a flustered smile. “Good morning. May I walk with you back to your room?”
“Oh . . . of course.” She repositioned Zillah and tried not to look too curious. “How have you and your children been?”
“Quite well.” Aglea sucked in a breath. “It is my son I wanted to discuss.”
Kasia’s brows lifted. What advice could Aglea possibly need from her? “I saw him yesterday—he brought his little sister to the garden when I was telling stories.”
Jewel of Persia Page 34