Jewel of Persia (27 page)

“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 feet 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.

“Pythius is waiting for us,” Xerxes said.

He stood at the edge of the road, his stance stooped yet rigid. When they approached, his gaze swept over her and his eyes went wide. “I did not believe it when they told me you were up and about already, lady. But had I not seen you with my own eyes yesterday . . .”

“I know.” She gripped the hand he held out. “Thank you, my friend, for all you did to help. I would have died had Jehovah not sent you.”

Xerxes growled under his breath and released her other hand.

Pythius squeezed her fingers. “I wish he would have sent me sooner, so that I could have caught you before you fell.” He gave her a tired smile and let go of her hand, then turned to Xerxes. “My lord. You have become a true friend these last few months, and I am grateful for this chance to know you.”

Her husband smiled, but it fell short of his eyes. “Likewise, Pythius. Your generosity to me and my troops will live on long after you. I only sorrow that now we must part.”

“The army is no place for an old man like me.” Pythius’s mouth wobbled up into an anxious smile. “I would ask a favor, my lord.”

“After all you have done for us? Anything.”

Pythius squared his shoulders. “Thank you. As you know, all five of my sons are set to march with you. I would ask that you release the eldest from military service, so that he might care for me and his mother in our old age.”

Kasia’s breath caught. The request sounded reasonable to her, but obviously Xerxes disagreed. His fingers curled into his palm. “Why would you ask this? Victory is guaranteed.”

“It is war. Even the side that wins will suffer losses—I fear my sons will be among them.” His laugh sounded rusty and afraid. “Can you blame an old man for wanting one son left at home to carry on his name? You yourself leave your heir behind—”

“Which was well established before this.” Xerxes’ eyes flashed with fury. “I did not change my mind out of cowardice when the darkness fell from the sky.”

A decade fell off Pythius’s face when he lifted his chin. “Sometimes fear is a sign of wisdom. How you can stand before your men and claim the darkness was a good omen—”

“Do you dare speak against the god? It was a promise of victory!”

“The only promise I felt yesterday was when I escaped your god in the presence of Kasia’s.”

For a moment, Kasia feared Xerxes would strike him. “Curse you, Pythius! I expect doubt from the low-born rabble, but not from you. If I release your son, everyone will know you asked out of fear and will succumb to their own. Yet here you are, proclaiming your doubt of the god and asking the impossible.”

“I only ask for one son.”

She had seen her husband angry countless times. Furious, disappointed. But all his frustrations over incompetence, all the ranting and fuming he was famous for dimmed in comparison to what burned now in his eyes.

Betrayal, underscored by pain. It turned his eyes dark and feral and made his muscles quiver. “Zethar. Bring Pythius’s eldest son.”

Pythius said nothing as the eunuch headed for a group of nearby men. Did he taste fear, as she did? She tried to swallow it down and stepped closer to Xerxes when she would rather have stepped away. “What will you do?”

His arm felt tense as stone when she put her hand on it. His gaze stayed trained on Pythius. “I held you up before all the world. Announced that your generosity was a sign of the god’s blessing.”

Pythius sucked in a long breath. “I know.”

“I take all my family with me, with no guarantees that any will come home again. Yet a slave asks for his son?”

Pythius shut his eyes.

Kasia did too, and rested her forehead against the unforgiving muscle of her husband’s arm. Still, she heard the approaching footsteps and the curious greeting of Pythius’s son.

A tremor coursed through Xerxes’ arm and shook Kasia all the way to her soul. “Your king has already given one son in this effort.” His voice emerged steady. “Now you will do the same. Zethar, have this man cut in two and staked to either side of the road. Let all the army see as they march past what happens to those who betray Persia.”