Jewel of Persia (50 page)

She offered a humble smile. “My mistress would request a favor.”

He chuckled. Many had asked for favors already, and it was only the beginning of the feast. “Which wife do you serve?”

“Your first, master.”

He nearly groaned. Surely Amestris did not actually expect a favor, did she? But then, she had been better behaved than he had expected since his return six weeks ago. She had remained out of sight and had caused no trouble.

His gaze flicked to the other side of the gathering, where Artaynte pranced around in his shawl. He owed Amestris a favor, whether she realized it or not. “Very well—so long as it does not contradict my former word.”

“It does not.” The girl’s smile lost its humility and gained something far darker. “Her request is simple. She would have Parsisa.”

“What?” He must have drunk more than he thought—that made no sense at all.

“Parsisa, master—she requests you deliver Parsisa into her hands.”

No, he had obviously not drunk enough—the pleasant haze of celebration burned off and left a scorching reality behind.

She must have seen Artaynte, the shawl. She must have thought Parsisa somehow responsible.

And he could not deny her, not after already agreeing. His eyes slid shut.

“I have the palace guard here already, master.” The maid’s whisper sounded at his ear.   “All you must do is nod to them.”

Xerxes opened his eyes again but could only stare straight ahead, unseeing. He did not ask what Amestris intended. He did not need to. “She will pay for this.”

“You were the one to grant the favor, master.”

Impudent slave—yet she had the right of it. He pushed himself to his feet. One glance showed him the guards waiting just beyond the garden hedge. His head felt weighted with the guilt, pulling down, down.

They spun and marched away.

A shudder coursed through him. “Zethar. Where is Masistes?”

“Inside, master.”

He headed that way, though he had no idea what he intended to say to his brother. Language had no words for this. He could try to warn him, but it would be too late—he knew Amestris well enough to realize her plan would be executed quickly.

Perhaps . . . perhaps he could soften it somehow.

“Brother!” Masistes embraced him the moment he stepped inside, grinning like a sot. “A wonderful feast. You are a wonderful brother. A wonderful king.”

He grimaced and steered Masistes away from prying ears. “You are a wonderful brother too. I was thinking . . . I want to reward you for your excellent service. I would give you Amytis as wife.”

Masistes frowned. “A generous offer, my lord, but your daughter must be a first wife.”

“I know. You must . . . divorce Parsisa. Put her away this very night, and tomorrow you can wed the princess.” He held his breath.

His brother shook his head. “I thank you, Xerxes, but you know I love my wife. She has been my companion for years, we have grown children together. I cannot just put her away. Worthy as your daughter is, I would keep Parsisa.”

Xerxes turned away so that Masistes would not see him wince. “Then I am afraid you shall have neither.”

Thirty-Eight

Esther shook her head, but it neither rid her ears of the words her cousin had just spoken nor changed the image of his earnest, sad face. “But Mordecai . . . I do not understand. You know I love him. You know he loves me.”

Mordecai eased himself to a seat, his eyes willing her to hear him out—as if he were not speaking utter nonsense. “I know.”

“And his intentions have been clear for months.” She threw her arms out. “You never discouraged his suit, you never so much as hinted that you would not approve.”

He sighed. “Because I did approve. I wish I still did. But my daughter, there is disquiet in my spirit whenever I ponder this. I cannot shake the feeling that he is bound by something we cannot see.”

Esther tossed her head back, though no answers were scratched into the ceiling. This was unbelievable. Years she had waited for this day, the day Zechariah confessed his heart and took her into his arms. She had passed through the afternoon on a cloud of bliss, had come home this evening so happy. When Mordecai returned, she had spilled her good news, only to be hit with
this
. “Cousin. I respect you above anyone. I know Jehovah speaks to you. But this makes no sense.”

“I realize that.” He rested his head on his hand. “I will spend the night in prayer, Esther. Perhaps the Lord will show me what can be done to resolve the issue.”

She held her place as Mordecai stood again and shuffled toward his chamber. Was it so easy for him? He would go, he would pray? He would hear, he would obey?

Well, what of her? Would Jehovah really expect her to give up the man she had always loved? Without even a reason?

No. She would not. She had already lost her parents, her only real friend. Asking her to relinquish Zechariah was just too much. She had never disobeyed Mordecai before, but she would fight him on this.

Oh, she could not simply go to sleep and await his decision. She grabbed her shawl and headed out the door, toward the river.

She had not made the trek in moonlight since she first discovered Zechariah’s clandestine training, but her feet did not stumble. Each step into the cooling night air cleared her mind and soothed a ragged edge inside her.

At least this was not like the last time she walked this gilded path. Mordecai’s words were not as final as Kasia’s death. Fear of his decision would not induce nightmares like fearing Zechariah would die by the sword.

Still, the memories flooded her mind, bringing thoughts of losing Kasia to the fore, then of Zechariah’s training. He still rose before the dawn, she knew—some mornings she would watch him leave, a large, fluid shadow in the pearly grey light.

A shadow much like the one moving ahead. Exactly like. She nearly called out to him—but he had probably come out here to think and pray before speaking with Mordecai tomorrow, and she did not want to interrupt. Happy to observe him undetected, she found a dark spot to nestle in for a few minutes. She would catch him when he was on his way back, and they could walk home together. Perhaps share another of those heart-racing kisses.

Her eyes slid shut as she relived those minutes in his arms that morning. Soon she would awake each day in that beautiful bed he had carved for her, snuggled against him. He would get up to exercise, and she would rise to tend the baby that would surely join them within a year. Finally, life would be perfect.

“Zechariah.” A female voice. Esther’s eyes flew open and scanned the moonlit shadows. There, a cloaked woman ran toward Zechariah.

The figure threw herself into Zechariah’s arms. He caught her, quickly set her away.

But why would a strange woman think she could greet him that way?

Zechariah glanced over her shoulder. Esther looked too, and saw a few servants a stone’s throw away. Whoever she was, she must be wealthy.

His whisper streaked through the night and slithered over Esther as well as their intended recipient. “Ruana, what is so important that you would threaten to come to my home to discuss it? You know this is over.”

Esther’s heart sputtered.
This
?

“Nice to see you again too, Zech.”

“Ruana—”

“I know, I know.” The woman’s voice . . . it sounded strained, as though she strove for levity to hold back tears. “It was wrong, you are in love with another. You have made yourself clear.”

“Have I?” Zechariah spoke lowly, bordering on harsh. “Then why are we here?”

A very good question.

The woman—Ruana, was it?—sighed. “I had to speak with you one last time. To explain . . . and to let you know.”

Moonlight caught his jaw as it lifted. “Let me know what?”

Dread slowed Esther’s blood.

Ruana’s head dipped forward. “I am with child.”

Dear Jehovah, no—there was only one reason she would feel she had to tell Zechariah such news . . .

He sucked in a sharp breath. “It is mine?”

The woman breathed a dry laugh. “There has been no one else since my wedding night, Zech.”

Wedding night? She was married, and Zechariah still . . . had . . .

His hands landed on Ruana’s shoulders. Would they be gentle or firm? Even from here, she could hear the quickness of his breath. “Ruana—have you told Asho? Is he angry? If you are in any danger—”

“No, nothing like that.”

Perhaps her words brought relief to Zech. But his slicked another layer of desperate incredulity over Esther. If, then what? What would he do to help this woman, his . . . his lover? Steal her away from her husband? Run off with her?

Leave Esther to face a broken future?

Or would he care for her in secret and keep lying to everyone else? Let Esther think she was the only one he wanted, the only one he cared for, then sneak off to see to his bastard child?

Oh, Lord above. How had Mordecai known?

“He is not angry?”

Ruana shook her head. “On the contrary. Zech . . . that was his whole purpose in recommending I take a lover. He said you realized his . . . tastes, when he came to your shop last time. He has no interest in me, not in that way. But he needs an heir.”

“So you used me.” Would his nostrils flare? Would his grip harden against the woman’s shoulders?

“I am explaining
his
motivations, not mine. You know how I feel for you, Zech.”

“Do I?” Finally, he stepped back, dropped his hands. Yet it did not help Esther breathe any easier. “It hardly matters. You have your life, Ruana. I am making mine. I do not want to see you again.”

“I know. You have said so before.”

Zechariah looked at her for a long moment. What did he see? Was she beautiful? Did he want her even now, was he thinking about his babe in her womb?

Oh, why did the earth not open and swallow Esther whole?

He drew in a ragged breath. “You only come now . . . please tell me this did not happen that day, when the victory news reached us.”

The day of victory—after he had begun the addition meant for Esther? After he had made his intentions clear?

“I would have let you know earlier otherwise—why does that make a difference?”

Zechariah only shook his head.

Esther wanted to scream. Was this the woman she had seen launch herself at him? The one she had actually chuckled about? Had she . . . had they . . .? And now this? A child, from that day?

That day when he was supposedly in love with
her
?

The woman took a step back. “Asho did not want me to tell you, but it is your child, and you deserve to know.”

Zechariah only nodded.

“I . . . do you want me to send a message when the child is born? I expect nothing from you, I will keep my distance. But if you wanted to know whether you have a son or a daughter, I will have a servant bring the news.”

Esther squeezed her eyes shut.

He drew in a long breath. “Yes. Let me know.”

The pain cut through her middle, leaving a trail of fire in her chest. How could he? How could he do this? She had thought him a good man, strong and courageous. Did he not know the Law of Moses? Were the words of Jehovah not etched on his spirit? So how could he throw away his covenant for a Persian seductress? How could he take a married woman to bed, when he knew the price for such sin was death?

“Farewell, Zech. I will not bother you again, though I will let you know.”

“I will pray for you, Ruana.”

Pray? To Jehovah? For
her
?

“Pray the babe is a boy. If he does not get his heir, I know not what I will do.”

Esther’s nails bit into her palms. She would probably come to Zechariah again, that was what. And she obviously had the power to tempt him, so who knew whether he would stand firm or go merrily to her bed.

“I will.” His voice was heavy with resignation. “Ruana . . . I do not like this situation with Asho. If he threatens you or the babe, you can come to me. I will find some way to protect you. I owe that much to your brother.”

“Bijan would thank you, I am sure.” Cynicism and amusement mixed in her tone.

Bijan’s sister. As if knowing who she was made any difference.

He breathed a laugh and lifted a hand in farewell. Ruana rejoined her servants, and they melted into the night.

Esther could not move. Could not breathe. Could not think. If only she could not be, as well. Disappear.

She heard his footsteps, but she could not force her eyes up. She did not want to look at him, lest his face show his heart.

She did not want to know his heart. Not anymore.

The current in the air changed, the footsteps halted. “Esther?” Panic in his voice, tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing out here?”