Jewel of Persia (30 page)

Adam and the rest probably hated him by now.

News of her marriage reached him a fortnight ago, at which point he tried to clamp down on his errant thoughts.

His sleeping mind had not received the message.

He held up his string to the place she indicated and marked down the measurements on the wax tablet he had brought with him. “Have you heard from Bijan recently?”

“Mmm. We just received their congratulations and well wishes. They were at Troy and would soon be moving on to Abydus to cross the Hellespont. Bijan asked that I give you his greetings.”

“Send him mine when next you write him.” He pressed another note into the tablet and glanced her way. She leaned against a post of the bed, studying him.

His throat went dry. Perhaps it was her husband’s preference that she wear linen so fine it settled over each curve like a lover’s hand. He had undoubtedly been the one to provide the bejeweled belt that revealed her figure and the glistening gems in her hair. A vision for her husband to enjoy—not for Zechariah.

He forced a smile. “You look at home here, Ruana. I am glad your dreams have come true.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Something dark and dissatisfied, something that spoke of illusions shattered. Something that should not have made his pulse quicken.

Her smile looked as forced as his. “Most of them, anyway.” She sank onto the mattress and patted the place beside her. “Come see how well your creation turned out.”

“I ought not.” Far too dangerous. “I would probably get wood shavings all over it.”

Was it his imagination, or did her lips quiver? “I do not care.”

He did. Should. Tried to. “Ruana . . .”

She stood again, glided his way. The flicker in her eyes returned and kindled into a flame. “I need you, Zech.”

The whisper lit a million fantasies that threatened to burn him alive. He tried to force them away, yet his rebellious hand reached for her even as he lips obediently said, “You have a husband to meet your needs now.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she wove her fingers through his. “Do I? It seems to me I have one far more concerned with his own pleasures. He told me to pursue mine wherever I may.”

Sympathetic anger laced through the desire. How could her husband dismiss her so quickly? How could he not appreciate the beauty and wit, the passion and tease? “If that is true, then he is the greatest of fools. Yet he seemed so excited to be marrying you.”

Never in the years he had known her had Zechariah ever seen such cynicism in her eyes. “Oh, yes. I am everything he wanted in a wife. Unfortunately, he wanted less than I assumed.” She reached up to trail her knuckles over his cheek.

Lord help him. How was he to fight this? Abba would tell him to turn and walk away before the Persian witch could destroy him. Mordecai would advise him to pray.

What did Abba know? He had fallen for a proper Jewish girl, had made her a proper Jewish wife. And Mordecai—Mordecai could pray for the impossible, could pray even for a woman he had been told was dead. Their realities were not his.

He drew in a shuddering breath. “We cannot . . . you are married.”

“He does not care.”

He buried a hand in her hair, making jewels rain to the floor. He would leave. He would. After one kiss. Just one, to show her she was desirable, no matter what her husband said.

~*~

Abydus, Mysia

Xerxes stepped upon the white dais that had been built into the hill for him and drew in a deep breath. At his feet swarmed the mass of his army. Ahead of him stretched the wide mouth of the Hellespont where it emptied into the Aegean, completely covered by his triremes. And across the river, the hard-won bridge.

Nearly seven hundred ships, penteconters and triremes, were lashed together, aligned with the currents to take the strain off the cables. They had laid down wooden sleepers between the ships, covered them in brush, and finally smoothed it all out with soil. Earthen walls had been built up on each side, so that the animals would feel as though they walked across land.

A victory. He sat upon the throne his slaves had carried up and rested his chin in his hand. He had ordered a race among his ships, games for the soldiers. They deserved the sport after marching so far and would need it before crossing into Europe over the next week.

Victory was certain with so many men . . . so why did Pythius’s words haunt him?
Even the side that wins will suffer losses.

He tried to pick out familiar faces in the swarm. Brothers. Cousins. Uncles. Sons. Friends. Trusted advisors. If all went well, they may never see battle. All of Greece could do as so many city-states already promised—welcome them, pay their tribute, and not raise a weapon.

Hopefully it would be so simple. He could march all the way to Athens and burn it to the ground, without a fight. But if someone dared oppose them, there would be battles. And where battles, then death.

The war had barely begun, and already the losses weighed on him. Some had fallen to disease, to animal attacks, even to lightning strikes. His unborn son had been taken by the god’s wrath. Pythius’s son by Xerxes’.

How much more blood would be on his hands by the time the war concluded? Yet if they did not die in battle, it only meant they would succumb to the ravages of time.

“When I left you half an hour ago, you had declared yourself the happiest man in history,” said his uncle as he labored over to him. “And now here you are with moisture in your eyes. What disturbs the king?”

He smiled at Artabanas and motioned at his people. “Look at them, uncle. So many men, all with dreams and desires, with family and lovers. Yet not one will be alive in a hundred years.”

“That is not the worst of it.” Artabanas settled himself onto the edge of the dais. “Sadder still is that at some point each one would rather be dead than alive. We are so overwhelmed by tragedy that life seems long, no matter how few years we have. The god barely grants us a taste of how sweet life
could
be.”

“Mmm.” He had his taste, and she sat in his wagon even now, watching the ships race by. But her eyes had been so empty lately. Did she wish she were in the grave with their son? By the god, he hoped not. “There is much good too. Just look at what we have achieved, uncle.”

Artabanas surveyed the Hellespont and sighed. “It is a great force, my lord.”

Xerxes leaned into the side of his throne so that he could better watch his uncle’s lined face. Each wrinkle had been etched by concern—some well-earned, others needless. “Yet you were against this campaign at the start.”

“Sometimes I wonder even now.” The old man met his gaze only briefly, then looked at the fleet again. “I know what the god promised. We felt him in the darkness. Yet still the fear that came upon us at Troy lingers in my heart.”

“It is groundless. Look around you. Is there anything lacking in my fleet? In the land army?”

Artabanas twisted the frazzled end of his silver beard. “No sane man could find anything lacking in the numbers. But that is precisely where my fears rest, nephew. What harbor will we find large enough for all your ships? If a storm comes upon us, what will keep them safe?”

Xerxes shifted again but could find no comfort on his throne.

Artabanas motioned to the great flock of foot soldiers. “And the land itself will be the enemy of the army. I know you have put up as many provisions as you could, but the deeper we go into the Europe, the harder it will be to access them. The earth cannot support us, and we have already drunk one river dry.”

Xerxes stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “No prizes are won by those who sit and contemplate all that could go wrong. Yes, there are risks. With risk comes the greatest reward. Besides, it is not as though we are invading a collection of nomads. There will be farms as we go.”

“Which the men will descend upon like insects.”

Xerxes growled and tossed a hand in the air. “Your advice is never anything but caution and fear. What would you have me do, sit at home in Persia and let the empire stagnate? If a king took such council, there would
be
no empire.”

Artabanas sighed again. “I know you would have me worry about nothing, but I cannot help it. You have put so much trust in so many people—and not all of them are deserving.”

“Oh, is that so? And who, O wise uncle, have I mistrusted? Do enlighten me.”

His words must have been tinged with red—Artabanas paled and cleared his throat. “I have never thought Mardonius the wisest choice for a commander—”

“He is skilled in strategy.”

His uncle inclined his head. “And I wish you had not given so much control to Haman—”

“My brother’s dearest friend.” He paced to the edge of the dais and spun back. “Any other wisdom?”

Artabanas pressed his lips together. “The Ionians . . .”

“A whole people now?” He kicked at a loose pebble and sent it skittering down the hill. “Where there is no trouble to be found, you create it. Do you think, with Greece on the horizon, this could possibly help?”

His uncle shrank back. “You asked, my lord.”

“I did not expect a whole new list of nay-saying. Though I should have, it is all you ever offer.”

“That is not—”

“Enough!” He sliced a hand through the air and stomped back to his throne. “Go back to Susa, Artabanas.”

“My lord—”

“
Now
. I do not need your doubt befouling the entire campaign.”

The old fool stood, straightened his spine, and rolled back his shoulders. And looked not so old, nor such a fool. “I will go. I will go and leave you to your rash advisors who flatter your vanity and push you into folly. And you will regret it when they lead you straight to disaster.”

Xerxes’ fingers clamped down on the armrest. He gritted his teeth together. “Get you gone, old man, before I dishonor the memory of my father by saying what is on my mind.”

Artabanas spun and strode down the hill.

Too late. The day lay in ruins at Xerxes’ feet.

~*~

Kasia glanced up at Zethar as they walked. “Is he terribly angry?”

“Brooding.” The eunuch sighed. “Angry brooding.”

Her heart thudded. Not since the news of the first bridge’s collapse had she been called upon to soothe an enraged Xerxes. With all that happened since then, she was not so sure she would still be able to. “Has no one else spoken with him?”

“He will not let any in, not after Mardonius came and praised his wisdom in sending Artabanas home.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up. “Being told he was right angered him more?”

Zethar smiled too. “You know the king.”

Yes, she did. Even now. Still, she breathed a silent prayer as they neared her husband’s tent. When they stopped, Zethar reached for the flap and motioned her inside.

An empty bowl hit the wall a foot to her right even as Xerxes shouted, “How many times must I say
no one is to come in
, Zethar?”

She must be mad—she had missed this. “Only once more—I am his last resort.”

“Kasia.” He spun to her with surprise on his face. “Which side will you take, then? That I should not have dishonored my uncle by sending him home, or that I never should have let him come at all?”

She entered his tent for the first time in months. In here was no fog. No shadow. She moved to him and rested her arms on his chest, her eyes closing in bliss. “You miss him already?”

A beat of silence, then a breath of a laugh as his arms closed around her. “It will not be the same without his anxious frowns. Which seemed like a good thing at the time—but now who will check me?”

She opened her eyes again and grinned. “Shall I take a seat on your council? The one beside Artemisia, perhaps, so that the females can bolster one another.”

He chuckled and ran a hand slowly, gloriously up her back. “She bought her seat with five ships and a tyranny. What do you bring to give your advice credence?”

“Your heart.” It nearly came out as a question, but she forced her tone to hold steady.

He rewarded her with a smile that knit together a few pieces of her being. “An unfair advantage against the rest of my advisors—I am afraid I cannot let you use that in matters of war. You ought to have let me give you a few cities. You could have rallied men from them and earned a command.”

“Ah, missed opportunities.” She snuggled against him. At least she was not missing this one, had not let her fear keep her from coming with Zethar.

He hummed into her hair and danced his fingertips down her back again. Were she a feline, she would have purred. “I have barely seen you since we left Troy,” he murmured.

“You have been avoiding me—not once did you come ride with me.”

She looked into his face and saw a struggle, quickly resolved. He sighed. “I was still confounded by that fear that swept through my army—and why in the world every child within a mile came to you before it struck.”