Jewel of Persia (5 page)

He had done what they expected. Had trudged back home with a solemn Mordecai a few hours earlier. Had held his tongue. But his heart—his heart cried out to Jehovah, “Why? Why did your creation help in this terrible ruse?”

He had thought, when he heard Abba’s plan, that it would never be believed. But then the unexpected monsoon had rolled in, and it became all too possible that a girl could have fallen into the river and been carried away. Never to be found, never to be seen again.

That much, at least, was true. She might as well have been swallowed by the palace, never to emerge again. Except, of course, when the king’s household left Susa and headed to its summer home at Persepolis. When would that be? Another month? A fortnight? Soon. They never stayed longer than half a year.

Zechariah folded his arms over his chest and watched the water drip from the roof. It seemed as though in a few minutes, Kasia would come stumbling from the room she shared with the other girls to get breakfast started. She would smile, joke about his secretive nightly training. He would tease her about her suitors.

It was her beauty that cursed her. He had known her face was exceptional—it was hard to miss when his friends stared constantly—but he had never thought she would gain the attention of the king. That did not happen in their neighborhood, to their community. It should not have happened to his sister. Why could the king not have given his attention to the women of his own country, who would be honored and pleased to become another of his concubines?

Light footfalls alerted him that he was no longer alone a moment before Esther’s soft voice broke the stillness. “Any word?”

He turned, saw that her eyes were red and swollen, circled with dark shadows. She had stayed with the younger girls through the night but obviously had not slept much. Zechariah shook his head. “I cannot imagine there will be any, at this point.”

Esther blinked rapidly. “How can you say that? Perhaps she took shelter with someone.”

“They would have heard us searching.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. These lies tasted like wormwood. Did the king realize he was chipping off another shard of this young girl’s heart? As if he would care, even if he knew. “I am sorry, Esther. But Kasia is gone.”

The shake of her head was violent, and the tears she had blinked away from her eyes ripped from her throat. “No. I cannot accept it. She is . . . she was . . . oh, Zechariah, it is all my fault! She never would have gone down to the river yesterday, but for me. She must have been looking for my bracelet.”

“Esther, no.” He raked a hand over his hair. How could Abba insist on this falsehood? Poor little Esther—she did not deserve such guilt. He knew Kasia would have wanted her to know the truth. Even in her last moments with them . . . “I’d forgotten—everyone must have. They found your bracelet yesterday. They mentioned it at dinner last night.”

Though a measure of pain left her face, confusion replaced it instead of relief. “Then why would she have . . . ?”

Realization flushed her cheeks. Zechariah’s tired mind took a long moment to make sense of that, until he realized Esther would have been with Kasia four days ago, when she had first met the Persians. And now she would think she could have prevented this had she told someone what happened.

Zechariah sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder. She was nothing but a wisp. Too delicate, surely, to carry such a burden. She would try. But perhaps she would let him shoulder part of it, if she realized it would not be a betrayal of Kasia’s confidence.

He bent down so that he could meet her watery brown eyes. “She told me,” he whispered. “About the men you two met the other day at the river. You are thinking of that, are you not? That she went back to that spot?”

How could a girl no more than a child look at him with a gaze so very old? “I know she did. She had been unable to put it from her mind, but then I told her . . . you know Kasia. She would have gone back there to settle her thoughts.”

Zechariah reached up to thumb away a stream of tears from her cheek. “What did you tell her?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth, eyes on his shoulder.

He drew in a long breath and straightening. “Tell me, Esther.”

She would not appreciate the tone—it would remind her that he was a man, she a child, in spite of the shy smiles she gave him. He had done his best to ignore her attention in the past to keep from embarrassing her, but right now he would demand obedience along with her childish devotion. It was the only way to help her.

Her shoulders slumped, her gaze fell to the ground. “Mordecai was going to speak for her.”

A curse very nearly slipped out. If only he had, a week ago. Then Kasia would have been too busy with wedding preparations to sneak off to the river, and the ill-fated meeting with the Persians would never have happened.

Zechariah scrubbed his hand over his face. “Let us not mention that to Abba, hmm? It would upset him all the more, to realize what could have been.”

Her nod looked heavy, sad. “I am sorry, Zechariah. I should never have mentioned it to her. Then she would not have—”

“Shh.” Unable to stand the sorrow emanating from her face, he pulled her against his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. “This is not your fault, Esther. It was an accident. Kasia escaped to the river more frequently than you know, to think and relax in the few moments she could.”

“But—”

“No buts. She went for a walk last night, nothing more. Got caught in the rain, slipped into the river. It is a tragedy, but it is not your fault.”

A shudder ran through her.

He knew the feeling. “We have both lost a sister this day. The pain will not soon ebb, but we shall get each other through it. I will be a brother to you, as she had been your sister.”

It may not be what she dreamed of right now, but it would suffice. It was all he could offer, especially if he convinced Abba to let him join the army that would soon set off for Greece. And even after the war, after she had grown . . . there could never be more.

Not with this secret between them.

Four

Kasia blinked her eyes open and stared at the rich, unfamiliar surroundings. Brick walls with a mosaic of mythical animals. Red-polished lime floors covered with thick rugs. By the door two stone dogs stood sentry. Was it her imagination, or did they snarl at her?

She pushed herself up in the bed, softer by far than her pallet on the floor at home. Light from the low windows winked off ornaments of gold and silver. Everything mocked her, screamed that she did not belong.

The heavy wooden doors swung open, and Hegai strode in, a line of servants behind him. He smiled, but it did little to ease the ache inside.

“Awake, I see. Good. We have much to do, and not much time to do it in. If you could rise, Kasia, we need measurements for a new wardrobe. Then you must have your first treatments in oil of myrrh.”

She swung her legs out of the bed and planted her feet on the floor, even as questions swirled through her mind. “I have heard about these preparations. They are a year in total, are they not?”

“Usually, yes.” Hegai sighed and motioned a man forward. She assumed him to be a tailor, given the string he held up to her. “But not in your case. The king granted me a week, and I had to beg for that much.”

She nearly fell back onto the bed. “A
week
? I . . . but . . .
why
?”

Hegai shrugged and motioned more servants to the bath sunken into the floor. “I do not presume to know the mind of the king. Perhaps it is because he anticipates leaving soon for his campaign against Greece and wishes to make you his wife beforehand.”

The room rocked around her. “What did Haman tell him about me?”

“I know not, but he need only speak the truth to capture the king’s attention.” Though his gaze turned critical, she saw satisfaction within it.

Kasia forced herself to swallow. “Who was the other man? The one with Haman when they first saw me?”

He motioned more servants to the other side of the room, where they set out dish after dish of aromatic food. Her stomach knotted in protest. “I am not certain,” he said. “Probably Masistes, the king’s younger brother. He and Haman often ride together.”

Masistes. She wanted to ask if she would ever have cause to meet him in the palace but did not dare. What was the point? She needed to purge her mind of thoughts of any other men. Michael, Mordecai, Masistes. Dwelling on any of them would only make her circumstances worse.

The door swung open again. She looked that way, expecting more servants, with more things that she would not know what to do with. But the first two who entered were empty-handed, and they stepped to each side of the doorway once through. Three more figures entered then. Servants on the ends, but in the middle glided a glimmering woman.

Hegai fell to his knee. “Queen Atossa. I did not expect you in the women’s house today.”

The queen mother? Kasia dropped to the floor along with the tailor, feeling blood warm her cheeks.

The queen’s laugh sounded sweet and amused. “I could not resist a visit when I heard about the unusual circumstances of the newest addition. Rise, please.”

Kasia waited for Hegai to obey before following suit. Careful to keep her chin at a respectful angle, she gave into curiosity and gazed at the matriarch of Persia. A daughter of Cyrus the Great, it was her influence that assured Xerxes would be king, rather than Darius’s older son by another wife. The whisperers called Atossa all-powerful. What were the chances that she would be an ally?

The woman smiled. “Your name is Kasia, I hear. My son is very much intrigued by you.”

She was unsure which son the queen mother referred to, but it seemed ill-advised to ask. “I am but your humble servant, my queen.”

“Today, perhaps. But soon enough you will be a consort to the king of kings. You have been here only a few hours, my child, yet already you have friends and enemies. Learning who is who is more important than oil of myrrh.” With a flick of her wrist, she sent servants scurrying out of her way so that she could float forward. When she paused, one of them pulled forward a chair, which she sat upon without so much as glancing behind to check its position.

The wrist motioned to her, and Kasia sank down onto the bed. She knew no chair had appeared behind her. “I am grateful for any advice the queen can give me.”

Atossa acknowledged her with a minuscule nod. “Wine.” As a servant dashed to the corner of the room, the queen folded her bejeweled hands in her lap. “You are a Jew, which accounts for some of your enemies. Haman in particular detests your people. Not surprising, since he is an Agagite.”

Kasia’s brows pulled down, but she pressed her lips together.

“You are wondering, then, why he encouraged the king to add you to his harem?” Atossa loosed a dry laugh. “He expects you to stumble, to displease my notoriously impulsive son, and so to provide the king with reason to punish your whole people.”

The world fell upon her shoulders in a suffocating burden. Perhaps tonight she could slip out of the palace and disappear forever.

“In addition,” Atossa continued, “your presence has already enraged Queen Amestris. She is a jealous woman, especially of young virgins half her age who have caught the eye of her husband. She is a queen—she understands that her husband’s wealth is measured in sons and wives as well as gold. So long as she is certain
her
son will be the next king, she is docile enough. But his impatience where you are concerned has labeled you a threat. Tread lightly when around her, and avoid her whenever you may.”

Much more easily done if she were nowhere near the palace. Egypt was a temperate place, was it not? Perhaps she could hitch a ride with a caravan.

“However.” Here the queen paused and gave her a smile that seemed . . . motherly. Warm. Sincere. “You have friends as well. I am always pleased to welcome anyone who angers Amestris, as are most of the other wives. Keep your hand soft and your demands few, and the servants will respond well to you. Since you will see us more than anyone else in the palace once you leave the house of women and join the house of wives, those ought to be your priorities.”

Kasia could only nod.

Atossa breathed a laugh. “All women new to the palace have questions. You may ask yours—you have no time to learn the answers on your own.”

The servant who fetched the queen’s wine handed a cup to Kasia as well. She took a sip, grateful for the time to gather her thoughts. So many of them swarmed that she barely knew where to begin. “I understand that I ought to make the queen mother and other wives my friends, where possible. But what of the king? Ought I not try to please him as well?”

The queen’s smile went patronizing. “My child, that is a task no one woman can accomplish. He is eager to have you, and you may hold his attention for a while. A week, a month at the outmost. If you are lucky, you will produce a child, which guarantees another visit from the king. But there are always new virgins finishing their year of preparation. Discontented wives of absent nobles to seduce. The destruction of rival empires to plot.”