Jewel of Persia (34 page)

Then she smiled, and he sighed. Perhaps the trouble lay not with her God—perhaps it lay in the fact that not one among his people were as faithful to Ahura Mazda as she to Jehovah. He opened his arms to her and gave her a kiss of greeting.

When the babe in her stomach nudged him, he pulled away and frowned into Kasia’s grin. How far along was she now? She was larger than she had gotten with their son, and never had he felt the boy’s movement like this.

Everyone knew she carried his babe, but none spoke of it since he refused to. He could see the strain of that in her eyes. Still, he could not regret it. Not if it saved her.

“There is to be a battle, then?” She turned to where her servants had set out a meal for them and sat on her favorite cushion.

“It is inevitable. We must have access to the pass.”

Her hum sounded sad. “They will all be killed. That too is inevitable, but it is a shame. They are a noble people.”

He sat beside her, gaze locked on her profile. Something in her face, in her tone . . . “Tell me you do not empathize with these arrogant rebels.”

She turned peaceful eyes on him. “Can I not admire them for their dedication to their law, for their pursuit of honor? Seeing the line of them in front of that wall . . . it helps me understand the spirit of my eldest brother.”

He tore off a piece of bread with more force than necessary. “Your brother would stand against my army?”

“My brother would have been part of your army had our father allowed it. I never understood what drove Zechariah to learn to fight. I never imagined what our forefathers must have felt when surrounded by the Babylonian army. I do now.”

“Oh, that is right.” He tossed the bread back down without tasting it. “Your father raised you to think I am a cruel oppressor, so obviously you take the side of the rebels.”

She paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “I may understand why they resist you, but I do not take their side.”

Xerxes studied the angle of her chin, the gleam of her eyes, the straightness of her spine. “You actually believed all that nonsense Demaratus spouted about free men? You think it logical for them to fight to the death rather than preserving their lives by bowing to me?”

“Logical? No.” She put her chalice down again. “But I think it faithful to what they believe.”

He raised his wine to her in a mock salute. “Well, you are the expert on faith.”

Her jaw clenched, she swallowed. Then she gave her usual grin. “Thank you for admitting it.”

Xerxes sighed. She did not want to tease him out of his mood today, but still she tried. He ought to let himself be teased. “Forgive me, my love. I apparently have a bit of Darius in me—it pains me to see a battle on the horizon and know I must observe from a distance.”

She slid closer to him and nestled into his side. “I did not mean to make you think I would wish the Spartans success. I may admire their bravery, but that falls far short of how proud I am of all you have accomplished.”

“I know.” Or at least, he ought not waste time debating it. “Let us eat.”

They did so in relative silence, and afterward his gaze fell on her stomach again. A small bump twitched the fabric of her chiton. He reached out to cover the movement with his hand before he could think better of it. The babe kicked again.

Kasia let out a contented sigh but otherwise said nothing. Xerxes’ eyes slid shut. Perhaps silence was enough. There had been no problems, no threats from an angry god. Either Ahura Mazda did not care about a girl-child, or he was appeased by how little attention Xerxes had given it—or perhaps how little she had spoken of Jehovah lately. One or all approaches was working.

Still. He could afford no risks today. “Sweet one, I need you to promise me something.”

“What is it?”

He opened his eyes and studied her. In some moments the beauty of her face still struck him, sucked the breath from his lungs. But most of the time he saw
her
, rather than her features. The passion that ignited his own. The love that lit her eyes whenever she looked his way. She was the only one of his wives who truly loved him, the man. But today he needed her to obey her king.

“I appreciate the effort you have put into obeying me recently, Kasia. I expect you to do the same today. My men will face danger, and I know your instinct is to pray to your God. You must not.”

He had no word to define the look in her eyes. Fear mixed with sorrow. Anger colored with dread. “Xerxes. That is like asking me not to think, not to breathe.”

“At least keep off your rug. If you must pray, let no one know you do it.”

Her lips pressed together. Rebellion brewed in her eyes. “I do not pray in public anyway, only the privacy of my tent.”

“The god can still see you.”

The babe nudged his hand again, no doubt in response to Kasia’s agitation. She drew in a long breath. “You would forbid me from seeking Jehovah entirely, if you could.”

“Kasia.” He drew his hand away. “What care of Jehovah’s is this war? It belongs to the god.”

“It is Jehovah’s concern because
you
are Jehovah’s concern. You are the caretaker of his chosen.”

He shook his head and stood. “Your Jehovah has never spoken to me. Ahura Mazda has. And he has promised victory—by your own admission, your God led his chosen people to defeat.”

She stood too. “Only because we had wandered from the faith.”

“Then he can have no good in mind for me, as Persia is less faithful to him than Israel was.”

Her lips quirked up. “More so than the Greeks, though—you have faithful Jews in your company.”

He sighed. “I have made myself clear, and you will obey. No obvious prayers to your God.”

She folded her arms over her chest, resting them on the mound of her stomach. “No
obvious
prayers.”

“I would prefer, if you must pray about the battle, you pray to Ahura Mazda.”

At that, she only blinked. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and strode for the throne his servants had set on the hill.

Better to focus on the fight he could win.

~*~

Persepolis, Persia

Amestris halted at the garden’s entrance, her eyes not seeing the lush vegetation before her. Her ears did not hear the squeals of Artaxerxes or the impatient reply of her younger daughter, Rhodogune. Her soul—her soul felt the touch of the god.

He had visited her often since the king’s ridiculous attempt to depose her. A whisper to let her know when to act. An image of a pointed finger in her mind to show her which direction to go. He had helped her gather the strands of power into her hands, to braid them into a sturdy rope.

She did not need the king to be the queen. She could hang her enemies without his help. But still the god bade her pray for her estranged husband, that he would remain faithful to Ahura Mazda.

News from Haman was encouraging. His attempt on the Jewess’s life may have failed—the witch must have a powerful demon watching over her, perhaps even Angra Mainyu himself—but at least the child had been stillborn. And according to Haman, relations between Xerxes and the Jewess had been strained ever since. It was only a matter of time before the scales fell from the king’s eyes.

My god, let it be soon. Let him see that she is your enemy, and so the enemy of Persia. Hold tight to him, Ahura Mazda. Do not let him go.

“Excuse me, my queen.”

She focused on the servant bowing low before her. “What?”

“The jewelry you commissioned has arrived. Shall I set it up in your chamber?”

“Yes, yes. Go.” She shook her head and stepped into the garden, only to stop again when she saw the looks of accusation Hystaspes wore on his faces. “Why do you scowl?”

Her son shifted a bit, and finally Hystaspes shook his head. “Why do you allow them to call you the queen again, Mother?”

She lifted a brow that should have put the twelve-year-old in his place. Yet he only straightened his shoulders. She put a hand on her hip. “I see no one else with the title.”

Hystaspes moistened his lips. “Father will be very angry.”

“I do not see him here, either. Besides, he always repents of his rash behavior. He may not be able to change the law he made, but he will either find a way around it or let everyone quietly ignore it. It is his way.”

Her son looked none too sure, and his doubt chafed. While he studied and played with blunted spears, she made the connections that would become his career. She burned incense and prayed blessings upon him. Any success he found would be thanks to her.

And if he stood against her, he would fail.

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Hear me well. A king might make the law, but everyone knows power is held within the harem. I will not kindle the king’s wrath—but neither will I step aside while all I have worked for is undone. If you want security when you grow up, obey me now. I may have no crown, but I am still the queen.”

She stormed past him before he could argue and went to find little Artaxerxes. He, at least, would not question her.

~*~

Malis, Trachis

Kasia stood on the hill, hidden from Xerxes’ view though her eyes were locked on the same scene his were. She should have stayed in her tent, but she could not. Her spirit would not rest until she could see the battle boiling in the pass.

So this was war. Proud uniforms bloodied and ripped, sharpened weapons slashing and piercing. Cries of horror and rage, of pride and fear. Men trampled by their brethren, some falling into the sea at the bottom of the cliff. This was what her brother had yearned for?

She forced down bile and curled her fingers to her palm. Her soul stretched outward, upward, and she had to lock her knees to keep them from bending.
Lord Jehovah, rally your servants in Persia. Let them take to their knees where I cannot, that all our voices might be as one and provide a beacon for your angels.

The Spartans had chosen their stand too well. In the narrow valley pass, number mattered little. Only a few of the vast sea of Medes and Cissians could surge forward, and they were met with unimaginable ferocity.

She winced when yet more of her husband’s men staggered and fell. Was there no way to get around the Spartans’ longer spears?

Even as she wondered, the Lacedaemonians spun as a unit and fled back toward the walls erected in the narrowest part of the pass. Her heart lurched, her hand lifted to her throat. It could not be so easy, they had no reason to flee. She had not spotted a single Spartan falling. Perhaps the numbers of their enemies had intimidated them?

No, it made no sense. No sense at all.

The Medes pursued, their victorious cry echoing down to her ears. They gained on their prey, drew closer and closer—

The Spartans pivoted and crouched, spears parallel to the ground. Xerxes sprang from his seat with a heart-wrenching curse as his front line ran straight into the unforgiving points.

Kasia winced but could not look away. A few spears flew from the hands of the Medes and found their targets. She counted three fallen Spartans. Three of the three hundred who once again loosed a terrifying scream and came at the Medes.

Her husband cursed again and shoved agitated fingers through his hair. “All these troops—where are the
men
?” He pointed a finger at one of his commanders. “Take in the Immortals.”

Her jaw quivered. Could even the most elite fighting men gain any ground against this particular foe? Or would they fall as quickly as the Medes and Cissians?

The commander dashed away, and moments later the Immortals, already in formation, marched on the pass.

Her eyes slid shut. If Zechariah had managed to join the army, he likely would have been an Immortal. He was that skilled—she had snuck away a few times to watch him train with Bijan.

Bijan
. He was marching toward death even now. Her brother’s one Persian friend. She had never known him much, but now fear for him burrowed into her heart. She had to pray. The desperate need weighed her down, shook her knees.

“Kasia? What in Hades are you doing out here?”

She blinked Xerxes into focus. “My brother has a friend who is an Immortal. Bijan.”

Her husband frowned. “The son of Navid? He is a friend of Darius and Cyrus as well. One of the most capable warriors I have seen. You need not fret for him, sweet one.”

Not fret? Had he not been watching the same battle she had?

He came to her, cupped her face, kissed her brow. “Go back to your tent. This is no place for you.”

Her servants tugged her away before she could protest, but it mattered not. Images of spears and shields, of daggers and swords still flashed before her eyes. Fear for her brother’s friend, the only Immortal she knew, pounded with her pulse.

Jehovah-Jirah, take care of him. Jehovah-Raffa, keep him whole. Jehovah-Nissi, be a banner before him. If ever my brother showed him the Truth of you, let it burrow deep today. Let him feel your strength.