Jewel of Persia (39 page)

What of his wife? Would she still be proud of what he accomplished, or would she turn her face and wish him ill, since he succeeded without the help of her God?

Pressure clamped around his chest. He covered the torc on his, his nostrils flaring at the feel of the familiar lion’s head under his thumb. The metal was warm, solid.

He felt cold, vaporous.

Ahura Mazda had kept his promise. By the time they arrived in Athens, the Greeks had fled, all but a few priests in the temple gone in search of sanctuary. They’d had nothing to do but march in and set it to flame. Perhaps that was why the victory felt meaningless.

No. It was because when night descended and darkness wrapped around him, he felt only the presence of the god—and Ahura Mazda was not a pleasant bedfellow. Taunting, haunting dreams came nearly every night. Some only echoes of the ones that convinced him to embark on this campaign, others new and terrible. That same handsome face, laughing.
I have given you all I promised
, the god would say.
Where is your greatness, O King?

Greatness? He could not say. When he surveyed his army, he saw only the hands splayed over emaciated stomachs, the demoralized faces of those who had watched brothers fall. Disease ran through the ranks. The fleet had suffered at the hands of the Greeks, while the land army battled at Thermopylae.

He had lost his heart for this war. Or perhaps he had lost his heart entirely. Surely he toyed with madness to have such thoughts as he had entertained lately. Thoughts that he could go home now, while he still had some pride left. With Athens fallen, he had kept his promise to his father. He could return to Sardis, beg Kasia’s forgiveness. Promise whatever he must to win her love again. She could worship her Jehovah all she pleased, before all of Persia if that was what she wanted. So long as she forgave him.

Zethar rode up, a band of Greeks behind him. “The Athenians, master.”

Xerxes urged his horse around to face them. Though each had come to him of his own will, exiles for one reason or another, pain still creased their faces as they saw Athens smolder. He could understand that. “The god has given your city into my hands—but I am a gracious king, a respecter of those I conquer. Go, climb the Acropolis and make what sacrifices your faith requires.”

One of the men dipped his head, but Xerxes still saw the tremor around his mouth. “Thank you, master. Words cannot express what that means to us.”

He only nodded and pressed his heels into his horse’s flank. Zethar took his place half a length behind. “Master . . . if you miss her so, call for her to return.”

“No. As quickly as they traveled, she will be tired and worn. I will not force her on another journey—besides, the war cannot last much longer. Summer is giving way to winter, and I do not like the chill in the air.”

Zethar sighed. “One of the maidservants caught up with me while I fetched the Athenians. Lalasa has given birth to another girl, and both are well.”

Something should stir inside him. Something always had before, when he learned that another of his children entered the world. But the only image to flood his mind was of Kasia, her stomach round. He wanted to cover the bulge with his palm again and feel the child nudge him. He wanted to bend down and whisper to his unborn daughter that he loved her, that he was sorry for denying her very existence. He wanted to hold them both against him and close his eyes until the world shrank to just them.

Xerxes shook himself back to the present. “Send her my regards, and tell her I will visit this evening.”

“Certainly. There is Mardonius.”

His cousin must have succeeded in gathering all the officers and rulers of the people. Xerxes rolled his shoulders back and headed for him. “All is ready?”

Mardoinius inclined his head. “At your leisure, master.”

They headed together to where the leaders, both military and political, sat in order of Xerxes’ preference. He took his place on the dais between the kings of Tyre and Sidon. He sat higher than the rest—the king of kings, the king of Persia and Media, the king of the world.

The torc pressed into his wrist. He just wanted to be Xerxes again, just for a day, for a night. Xerxes, as he could only be with Kasia. Would she ever let him be so open with her again? If he laid his soul bare before her, would she still love him—or had he pushed her too far? She would forgive so much, so often, but not an offense against her God. He knew that, had always known that. Why had he pushed?

He motioned Mardonius to his side. “Go around the assembly, ask them each individually if they think we ought to meet the Greeks at sea to finish them off.”

His cousin moved off. Xerxes sat back on his throne and pretended to listen to the chatter around him. Pretended to care. Pretended the war still mattered.

Mardonius returned an hour later, a smile upon his face. “We are all in agreement, master, that it is the best course of action to set our fleet against the Greeks.”

Xerxes trailed a finger around the lip of his chalice. “Everyone?”

His cousin’s smile faltered. “Well, there was one voice of dissent. Artemisia.”

Hands still, Xerxes arched a brow. Artemisia had proven herself time and again—and he could not help but remember Kasia’s teasing about joining his council and taking a seat beside the sole woman on it. “What does she advise?”

“She, ah . . . says you already have your victory, master, and that your fleet will be as inferior to the Greeks at sea as women are to men. Why risk another battle, when you have won Athens, and that was the whole point to the war? She advises that you hold your position on land here, or else march into the Peloppennese, because she has information saying the Greeks have no provisions on the island they have fled to, and you will starve them out soon enough. She further says that the best of men always have the worst of slaves, and since there is none better than you, it stands to reason that many of the nations supposedly your allies may turn on you in your moment of need.”

“What did everyone else say to that?”

Mardonius’s smile looked forced. “Her friends cautioned her to hold her tongue, fearful you would grow angry and have her executed. Her enemies encouraged her to speak, hoping you would grow angry and have her executed. All agree her advice is folly.”

Xerxes snorted a laugh. “Truth be told, cousin, her advice echoes my own instincts. But I have such a large council for a reason, and I am willing to grant that when so many agree, they most likely have the right of it.” He sighed and rested his palm against the arm of his throne. “Tell Artemisia that while I approve of her plan, the majority will dictate our course. We will meet them at sea.”

Once they had complete victory, no one would blame him for going home.

~*~

Sardis, Lydia

A goldfinch sat on the bosom of a sunflower, alternately pecking at the seeds and letting out a warble of pleasure. Kasia pulled her knees as close to her chest as they would go and watched the bird stretch out its vivid yellow wings, only to find a more comfortable position and select another seed.

According to Darius, Artaynte had transplanted the flowers to the head of the little grave, had tended them all through the hot summer and made sure the plot was not overgrown. Kasia would love to thank her for the gesture, for the care it denoted.

Parsisa still would not allow it, even at the prince’s prodding.

Alone again. Always alone in her husband’s palace, among her husband’s people. Without even her husband, now. Without the friends she had cultivated at the start of the campaign. The only one to ever speak to her was Darius, and he only did it out of pity for his father’s once-favorite wife, she was sure.

No, she was not alone. She had Desma and Leda settled on either side of her even now, Theron guarding them from behind. Her other four servants carried out the tasks she assigned them inside, she knew. Zad stretched out beside her as always. Not alone. Not quite.

The dog lifted his head and let out a woof of greeting.

“Kasia! The prince said I would find you here.”

She would have leapt to her feet, had leaping been possible with her stomach. Instead, she held out an arm for Desma to help her up and drew out a wide smile. “Pythius! I hoped you would visit soon, but the prince knew not where you were, to let you know I had returned.”

The silver-maned man strode to her and gathered her in a tight hug as Zad danced a happy salutation. Tears pricked her eyes at the feel of strong, loving arms around her. Like Abba’s arms, warm and solid. Oh, she missed her parents. Her siblings. Esther.

She cut her longings off there and pulled away to grin through her tears. “It is good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Pythius’s smile had changed. Not so light and proud as it had been when they met. Now it was colored by the sorrow that had saturated them when last they were together. He looped her hand through the crook of his arm. “I am sorry it took so long for me to realize you were here. I did not even realize my sons were back.”

She let him lead her away from the grave, in the direction of the gardens. “I sent messages to everyone I could think of, but none knew where to find you.”

He chuckled—a low, ironic sound. “No, they would not have thought to look where I was. You might have though. Did you know, my daughter, that there is a Jewish temple here in Sardis?”

Her eyes went wide. “You were there?”

“I have spent most of the summer with a man named Timon, a Levitical priest whose family ended up here during the exile.” He drew in a long breath and looked . . . peaceful. “I have been learning the Law of Moses, the Prophets. Studying so that I might convert to Judaism, and my wife with me.”

Surely it thrilled her—it must, even though her numb heart registered no accelerated beating. “Pythius, that is wonderful.”

He laughed again. “No one else thinks so. I cannot explain it to them, but I knew that day I found you on the mountainside that I needed your God in my life. I needed him to be
my
God. Whenever I am confused or doubt what I have learned at Timon’s hand, I remember feeling him with you. And I know again he is a living God, and that his ways are best.”

A Psalm crowded her mind at his words.

As the deer pants for the water brooks,

So my soul pants for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

His ways were best, yes, but so mysterious sometimes. So many days she sat by the sunflowers on her son’s grave and wondered why the Lord had brought her here. Perhaps this was her answer. Perhaps all her suffering was worthwhile in the eyes of Jehovah because it brought this great man to faith.

Perhaps, when feeling returned to her heart one of these days, that would fight off the anger that had been glossed over with numbness.

“Kasia.” Oh, how like Abba he sounded, able to make her name into a command to tell him what he wanted to know. “What has happened?”

My tears have been
my food day and night,

While they continually say to me,

“Where is your God?”

She drifted to a halt and looked up at the spur of the mountain. Never could she do so without shivering at the memory of the shadows springing from it.

When I remember these things,

I pour out my soul within me.

“I am lost, Pythius, and I can find no star to guide me.”

“You?” He patted her hand. “You are not lost, Kasia, though perhaps caught in an eclipse. You know where your direction lies.”

Why are you cast down, O my soul?

And why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God, for I shall yet praise him

For the help of his countenance.

She tried. She tried to pray as she had since she left home. How many hours did she spend in silence, banging at the gates of heaven? She prayed for her family, for Esther and Mordecai. She prayed for her heart to heal, she prayed for the strength to stand without Xerxes, to need him no longer.

I will say to God my Rock,

“Why have you forgotten me?

Why do I mourn because of the oppression of my enemies?”

It was hard to pray without praying for Xerxes, but so help her, she would
not
beseech Jehovah on his behalf. No more. He had named himself her enemy.

Pythius dipped his head down to look into her eyes. “Is it as bad as all that? So that you cannot even speak of it?”

She swung her head back and forth. “There is nothing left to speak of. He sent me here in dishonor, Pythius. He will not acknowledge our child, he forbade me mention Jehovah. My marriage is undone.”

“It can be mended.” He wiped a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “For months I writhed in agony, remembering my son and the king’s terrible command. I hated him, Kasia. I would awake in the night consumed by it. And I would go to Timon the next day, demand of him why his all-powerful God did not avert these tragedies. Do you know what he told me?”