Jewel of Persia (14 page)

His father looked none too amused at the joke. “Four of them, but the next eldest, twins, are only twelve.”

Masistes arched his brows. “You know the ages of her sisters? Planning to add them to your harem after they age a bit, too? A wise idea. If one is pleasing, then three—”

“Masistes! Shall I define ‘enough’ for you?” With a motion of a single finger, Xerxes ordered his cup refilled. “Her sisters will be left alone. And while we are leaving things alone, no more talk of Kasia. If you wish a companion but not a wife, my son, look not among the Jews.”

Darius grinned. “A shame. If yours is typical, they are a people worth looking twice at.”

His father threw back the entire horn of wine in one long series of gulps.

Artabanus leaned close to Darius’s ear. “You will do well not to mention her again, my prince.”

Darius’s good humor turned into a frown. “It is a compliment of his taste.”

“Can you not see the light of jealousy in his eyes? This one is special to him. If you praise her, he will think you intend a seduction.”

“Absurd.”

“Not so much. It has been done before and will no doubt be done again.” The old man’s gray brows drew low over his eyes. “My council is ignored more often than not, but in this you ought to heed me.”

He looked back at his father. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set, and his third cup of wine in his hands. Artabanus was right. The Jewess had dug deep into his being already. No wonder, then, that Mother despised her. He turned to Artabanus. “If ever I mention her again out of turn, I give you permission to whip me.”

Artabanus smothered a chuckle. “To avoid such punishment, you will do well to school your thoughts as well as your tongue.”

He focused on his plate but made no other response. He would grant that speaking of the girl did not settle well with his father, but even the king of kings could not read thoughts. It would do no harm to let his mind wander over the image of her curves, of the passion that filled her. He had no desire to steal one of his father’s wives, only to distract himself from the critical cousin that was far too beautiful for his peace of mind. There was no danger in that.

“Darius!”

He looked up and smiled at the second eldest of his father’s sons, his half-brother Cyrus. At the motion of his hand, Darius turned to Xerxes. “Do you mind if I go join Cyrus for a while, Father?”

“What, you prefer the company of the young princes to the old?” Father grinned and waved his hand. “Go, go. Enjoy yourself. Soon enough you will be on campaign where the luxuries will not be so abundant.”

He smiled in return and stood. Still, he heard Artabanus’s low, “Might I remind the king that he must name his heir before we set out? The time draws nigh.”

His father’s sigh sounded impatient. “I plan to make my official announcement in a few days. Not that my choice will be any great surprise to anyone.”

Darius could not help himself—he glanced at Xerxes, who offered him a crooked smile and a lift of his cup. Blood surged through him and gave him wings.

He would be king someday. He had much to learn from his father, would not wish Xerxes’ days to be cut short. But someday. Persia would be his throne, the rest of the world his footstool. He would be Darius II, king of kings, king of nations.

“Why are you grinning like a fool?”

Darius lowered himself to the couch beside his brother. “Father promised to announce me as his successor in a few days’ time.”

Cyrus raised his cup. “Excellent. Better you than me—primarily because if Father dared to name someone else, your mother would see the someone else did not live long enough to claim the title.”

He chuckled, though his brother may be right. Mother had not earned her reputation through bluster. “Better to live as a satrap than die as an heir?”

“Here, here.” Cyrus looked past him and smiled. “There are Milad and Bijan.”

They joined their friends, laughed and joked, ate and drank. Darius could not have repeated anything they said, though. His mind was too busy painting himself a brilliant future. He would continue the expansion of the palaces at Persepolis. Authorize improvements here at Susa. Conquer the world, if there were anything left to conquer after his father took his vengeance on Athens.

When darkness had fallen and the moon risen high, Bijan passed off his rhyton. “I have to be going. A wonderful evening, as usual. Give your father my compliments.”

Cyrus smirked. “Have you a tryst to rush off to, Bijan? The night is young, and you did not even finish your first cup.”

Bijan offered a tight smile. “I need a clear mind. I am off to train.”

“You have already achieved a place in the Immortals.” Darius lifted his brows. “Why train extra now?”

“Because I would live past our first battle.” Obviously not interested in being swayed, Bijan bowed and backed away.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “He is too serious about fighting.”

“It is where his hope of advancement lies.” Darius surveyed the crowd. Most were well on their way to drunk, or already there, and the laughter and talk proved it.

His gaze fell on a group of high-ranking officials and visitors around his father. When Xerxes signaled his seven eunuchs forward, Darius wandered that way as well.

The wine had done its job on the king. Darius heard his belt of laughter as he drew within earshot.

“I have still the most beautiful queen in the world, even when she
is
large with child,” Xerxes said with a wide grin. “You shall see. Zethar, go to the queen’s feast and tell her to come in her royal crown so that all the world might appreciate her unsurpassed beauty.”

The eunuchs bowed and departed, but Darius’s heart thudded. If her mood had not improved . . . He heard the word fly over the room, watched as the men all came to attention. Darius groaned. “Why do I get the feeling Mother will not like this?”

Cyrus, beside him again, sighed. “Because much as your mother likes to create a spectacle, she does not enjoy being made one. Let us hope she is feeling the need to be admired.”

By a collection of men set on judging her, when she already felt large and cumbersome with the babe inside her?

Unlikely.

Eleven

Amestris glared at the eunuchs that dared intrude on her feast. “The king wills
what
?”

The head slave cleared his throat and bowed. As if a meaningless show of respect could soothe the vibration of rage inside her. “He has been boasting of your unsurpassed beauty, my queen, and wishes you to grace his presence so that his esteemed guests might bask in the awe inspired by your countenance.”

Her husband wanted her to parade her swollen body before his guests for the sake of his pride? If so much rested on the beauty of her face, then perhaps he should have spared it a thought when he gave that harlot the torc commissioned by Amestris’s hand.

Her fingers curled into talons and dug into her couch. “No.”

The eunuch blinked. “My queen?”

“Are you deaf, slave? I said
no
. The king has taken enough from me. He will not strip me of the last of my pride by forcing me before an assembly of men in my condition.”

He straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps the queen would like to rethink publicly disobeying her husband the king?”

“Perhaps the king would like to rethink the way he treats his wife the queen.” She grabbed the maidservant that she had charged with holding the symbol of his betrayal and ripped the torc from her. With a sneer, she slung it toward the eunuchs. “Give that to your king. Tell him I hope it keeps him warm at night, because neither I nor the Jewess will be.”

“Mistress.” Her maid sounded panicked. “The king will be furious.”

She leaned back against her chaise again, though she could not convince her fingers to relax. “His fury is no match to mine.”

~*~

Xerxes spied his seven eunuchs returning and frowned. There was no female in their midst. Was Amestris unwell? He ought to have made it clear she was only to come if she felt up to it . . . though it was rare she felt unequal to flaunting her beauty.

The wine’s stupor dissipated when he saw the expression upon Zethar’s face. Xerxes stood. “What is wrong? Is the queen in labor? Unwell?”

Zethar’s jaw ticked. He extended his hand. “The queen sends you this, master.”

Xerxes felt his forehead crease. He reached out and took the broken circle of silver. She sent him a gift by way of apology? It was a bit extravagant for that, what with the intricately fashioned lions’ heads . . .

The last of the wine cleared from his head, and Xerxes cursed. He stepped closer to Zethar, kept his voice low. “Did she send a message along with this?”

Zethar leaned forward. “One she delivered for all to hear. Forgive me, master, for bearing such a message . . . that she hoped it kept you warm at night, because neither she nor the Jewess would.”

He cursed again and closed his hand around the torc. He had forgotten Amestris had given it to him. But how did she get it back? She would have had to take it from Kasia . . .

Xerxes charged for the garden’s exit, not even slowing to order his brother and son not to follow. There was no time. Amestris’s threat that she would not keep him warm at night did not concern him, but Kasia?

“Father!” Darius broke into a run, but Xerxes refused to slow. “What are you about? Please, do nothing rash against Mother. You know how she is, especially when so near her time. She must not feel well enough to—”

“You do not want to take her part right now, Darius.” He held out an arm to keep him out of the way as he neared the corner.

Perhaps she only meant that she and Kasia had discovered together that he had given to one a gift purchased by the other, and that they were
both
angry with him. Perfectly reasonable, and that would be no cause for alarm.

Yet it did not sound like Kasia. Had she been distressed, instead of festering she would hunt him down and demand an explanation. Her anger may have been quick that afternoon, but so was her forgiveness.

No. Amestris had not been speaking of shared anger.

“Brother.” Masistes panted in his effort to keep up. “I called for your legal advisors as we left the feast. They can counsel you on how to deal with the queen’s disobedience. There is no need to race to confront her—”

“I will not confront her.” He turned toward the house of wives. His servants sprinted ahead of him to open the massive doors. They barely managed a wide enough opening before Xerxes reached them and hurried through, sideways.

“Then where are we going? What was her message?”

He ignored Masistes and barreled down the hall. All of his wives must still be at the queen’s feast, otherwise the commotion would have brought them to their doors. But he knew Kasia would not be with them.

Zethar must have realized where he was headed—he led the way to her rooms and opened the door. When Xerxes stepped inside, his heart lurched into his throat and choked him.

Kasia. His sweet Kasia lay stretched on the floor, undoubtedly felled by Amestris’s wrath. Why had he not been alerted? No, her servants lay about the room too. Had she ordered them
all
slain?

His hands shook. His stomach clenched. His vision blurred. Then his spine went stiff and his chin came up. She would pay. She would pay for Kasia’s life with her own and—

The figures on the floor shifted as the noise of his entrance hit them. All but Kasia. One of her wide-eyed servants leaned close to her, though, and said, “Mistress, the king.”

She was well. Not dead, not injured. She leapt to her feet with that enthusiasm he loved and raced toward him.

He met her in the middle of the room and closed his arms around her. “My love. She sent me the torc. I thought—I feared—”

Shaking her head against his chest, Kasia hugged him tight. “I am unharmed.”

“Not for lack of trying on the queen’s part.” One of the maidservants stepped forward, and her eyes burned with fury. “Her food was poisoned, master. Hemlock. Had she taken a sip, a bite . . .”

Kasia pulled away enough to send her maid a mild glare. “We know not that it was on her order.”

“Yes, we do.” Xerxes’ hand still shook as he lifted it to her cheek, but not with grief or fear now. With rage, pure and hot. “She has tried me enough. Her arrogance I can tolerate, but to disobey me in front of all the world because she is angry with me—to try to
kill
you! I will not suffer it. She will pay for this with her life.”

“Father, no!” Darius rushed forward, his distress coating his face.

It put not so much as a dent in Xerxes’ determination. The boy would be better off without his mother’s poisonous influence.

Kasia shook her head and splayed a hand on his chest. “Xerxes, please. She is the mother of four of your children, will soon deliver another.”