Jewel of Persia (45 page)

But it did not. Perhaps he had paid her attention lately, but Artaynte knew no love lay behind it.

What was it about Kasia? Were her hands the perfect shape for a king’s heart? Did she possess some magic that drew those who ruled?

The king entered the chamber again, power undulating from him. Was he not enough for her once-friend? He stood taller than any other in his company, had a chiseled countenance of strong beauty—even his moods drew the people to him. But perhaps Kasia was ambitious and greedy like everyone else. Perhaps she wanted a place in the court of Darius as well.

The king charged toward her, and Artaynte focused her gaze out the window. He may be her uncle, father of the man she loved, but he had always terrified her. She breathed easier when he headed for Mother.

“Good evening, my lord,” her mother said. “Are you happy to be back in Sardis?”

“I was happier a moment ago.” Yet his voice sounded light, as if he were smiling. Joking.

Artaynte sneaked a glance. He sat close to her mother—too close—and his lips pulled upward. Yet his eyes glinted cold and hard.

Mother frowned. “What is the matter?”

The king lifted a hand, trailed it through Mother’s hair. Artaynte’s stomach twisted.

“You are a beautiful woman, Parsisa.”

Artaynte folded her arms over her stomach. Mother pulled away from his hand, but only slightly. “Hence why your brother values me so highly. You know well I love him.”

“And he knows well my wife loves me, but that did not stop him from approaching her moments ago. As he has done before.”

Artaynte feared she may lose her dinner, but for some reason the news seemed to calm her mother. “That is what this is about?”

Again, the king’s smile belied the look in his eye. “It is high time he learn how it feels to have one’s brother attempt to seduce one’s wife.”

Mother smiled. Actually smiled. “Yet you respect him too much to force matters, and you know well I will not submit to you willingly.”

“I do not want you to.” He kissed her fingers. “He does not need to know that.”

Mother chuckled. “I will play your game to teach him a lesson, my king. So long as you swear to stop at appearances.”

“You have my word.”

Artaynte crept away, desperate for the sanctuary of her room. This was her world, this place of lust and indulgence, of indiscretion and intrigue. This was the life Mother had groomed her for. This was why she had needed to learn how to show a face that covered her heart. How to speak poison even when she longed for honey.

Apparently one did whatever one must to get one’s way.

So be it. She had learned her lessons.

Thirty-Four

Susa, Persia

Mordecai rubbed a hand over his chest, his eyes locked on the two figures strolling the banks of the Choaspes ahead of him. The discomfort in his heart was not a physical one. Nor was it based on logic. So far as he could discern he ought to be rejoicing with Esther over the progressing relationship with Zechariah.

But the unease would not let up. It had been weighing on him since the day they heard of the victory at Athens, and no matter how much prayer he gave the subject, it would not go away.

He wanted Esther to be happy. And as he watched her walk alongside her beloved, arm looped through his, he knew she was.

Why, then, this mounting fear that Zechariah was not the husband Jehovah intended her for? Why this suspicion that something was not right between them?

His gaze settled on the young man he considered a son. Zech loved Esther. When he looked at her, it was as if his whole soul strained toward her. And at the start of the courtship, Mordecai had been without reservation. Now . . .

He could not shake the image of chains around Zechariah. They held him captive, though to what Mordecai did not know.

Unless the Lord gave him peace, he could not allow a marriage. Yet how in the world would he ever say no when Zechariah asked for her hand?

He sighed and kept pace far enough behind to let them speak privately, close enough to keep an eye on them.
Dear Jehovah, show me your will.

If they were outside it, the happiness would not last.

~*~

Sardis, Lydia

“Master, your brother approaches. Angrily.”

Xerxes turned from his exercise area and wiped the sweat from his brow. He grinned when he spotted Masistes storming his way. It was about time—it had taken nearly a week for the dolt to realize Xerxes spent half the evenings flirting with Parsisa after Kasia retired. “So he is, Zethar. Towel, please.”

He cleaned up as best he could in the half-minute it took Masistes to thunder over and stop just short of shoving him.

“You wretch! You think just because you are king you can have my wife?”

Xerxes schooled his features and pulled a fresh tunic over his head. “I think I can have whatever woman I want—do you not agree? You are only a prince, yet you take whomever you please.”

Masisted pounded a finger into his shoulder. “You know I love my wife. Yet now half the court is whispering about how
you
have fallen in love with her.”

He certainly hoped that gossip had not reached Kasia. “A compliment to the extraordinary beauty of your woman. You ought to be flattered.”

His brother sputtered, and for a moment Xerxes thought he might try to strike him. “Flattered? You expect me to feel flattered after watching you try to seduce her?”

Xerxes folded his arms over his chest. “Let me consider it. How did
I
feel two years ago when Mother told me you had threatened to have Kasia’s family killed if she did not sleep with you? Not flattered, I suppose.”

Masisted paled. “That was ages ago, and the threat was vain. Surely you know that.”

“A more recent example then? Very well, how did I feel a week ago, when you approached her again, insulting her virtue and the legitimacy of my child? I was not particularly flattered to overhear that either, I grant you. So I suppose I expect you to feel much like I did. Furious.”

Matching his stance, Masistes sucked in a long breath. Some of the rage disappeared from his face. “If you are so sure of her fidelity, you have no reason to grow angry.”

“So you think I have a chance of success with Parsisa?”

Masistes pressed his lips together and then tossed his hands up. “You win! Your point is thoroughly proven. I will never again whisper an untoward word to Kasia, if you promise to stop foisting your attention upon Parsisa.”

“You have my word.” He chuckled—he ought to have done this years ago.

Masistes turned, but Xerxes caught his arm. “While I have you here, there is another matter to discuss. Your daughter.”

“Artaynte?” Masistes lifted a brow. “You may have her for a queen, but she will not be another nobody in your harem.”

Xerxes winced at the reminder of the task awaiting him in Susa. “She will be queen, but not mine. Darius would have her as his first wife—I spoke to him yesterday.”

His brother’s eyes lit up. “Ah! A perfect arrangement.”

“We can announce the betrothal tomorrow, and they can wed as soon as we get to Susa.”

Masistes grinned and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “This was a much better meeting than I thought we would have this morning, brother. I will go share the excellent news with Parsisa and Artaynte, and our men can draw up the legal contracts.”

“I will come inside with you.” And there part ways. He would inform Kasia, too, that neither his brother nor his son would bother her again . . . and find a way to do so without admitting his tactics. He had a feeling she would be none too pleased to realize his methods of procuring the promise from Masistes.

But it was hard to argue with what worked.

~*~

Mesopotamia, en route to Susa

Darius drew in a breath of the warm night air. The longer they traveled, the more temperate the weather became. They were halfway home, a fortnight into the trip, and he longed to be home.

He had not considered, when he set out on campaign, how much he would miss his younger siblings. His mother and grandmother. Now that he knew he would see them so soon, each day dragged against anticipation and seemed twice is normal length.

He glanced around as he entered his tent. A lamp burned within, welcoming and golden. “Themis?”

A woman stepped from behind the screen, but it was not his slave. “I sent her away. She objected, but given that I shall be her mistress in a few weeks, she decided it was wise to obey.”

A simmer of excitement heated his blood. Not like if it had been Kasia greeting him in that translucent garment, but he could not help but respond. His future bride may not have the heart he wanted, but no one could find fault with her beauty. “Artaynte, what are you doing here?”

She smiled. She probably meant it to be seductive, but it wobbled around the edges. “I would have thought it obvious.”

Pasting incredulity onto his face, he headed for wine. “A new plot of your mother’s? I assumed her satisfied, now that you are my betrothed-wife.”

“Mother would be furious if she knew I was here.”

Her voice shook, but it was the defiance in it that grabbed his attention. He sloshed some wine into a chalice and faced her.

She lifted her chin. “I will follow my own advice now. And yours, when you are my husband.” One step toward him, then she stopped. “I have always loved you, Darius. I cannot bear the thought that I have ruined any chance of winning your heart because I listened to my mother.”

He took a gulp of the wine then set it down. “And this is how you think to prove your love?”

Whatever determination had brought her here, he watched it lose the battle to her modesty. She grabbed at a shawl and wrapped it around herself as she flew toward the exit. “You are right. It was stupid of me to think—”

“Wait.” He jumped into her path and caught her. His grin refused to be tamped down. “I did not say I was disinterested.”

She trembled under his hands. “I will give you all that I am, all that I have . . . but I must know that it will not be for nothing.”

He knew what she wanted—promises of love, his word that he would give up dreams of the one he could not have and focus his heart on her. He could say the words, but they would be empty.

Too long had he used dreams of Kasia to distract him from frustrations with Artaynte. Now he could not banish her from his mind. He ought to have listened to Artabanas when Kasia first arrived and kept from so much as thinking of her. Perhaps then it would not have been so easy to fall in love.

Climbing back out—was that even possible?

“Darius.”

He closed his eyes against the heartbreak in her tone. “It will not be for nothing. We will find a way to make our union strong.”

They might as well start now. If fantasies of one woman could have such great effect, perhaps the reality of another could do even more.

~*~

Susa, Persia

Kasia let the emotions crash over her, let the tears well, let her breathing go ragged. Two and a half years since she last set eyes on the golden bronze of home, and now it stretched out before her. Sun-baked and beautiful, long-missed and familiar.

Susa. She stood on the wall of the palace and looked out at the city. Sought and found the market, the temple, Abba and Ima’s house. And there, three doors down, Mordecai and Esther. She splayed her hands over the kicking babe within her. Would Abba relent and agree to meet his granddaughter? Let her put the child in Ima’s arms, the first of the next generation?

Or was it? Zechariah could be married. The twins probably were. She had missed so much, knew so little of them.

Zechariah, at least, she could see. The liaison between the palace and Abba’s shop said he would be by with deliveries in a few weeks. She would speak to him, wrap her arms around him. Ask him to beg Abba to bring Ima to the palace.

Arms closed around her from behind, hands covered hers on her large stomach. Kasia smiled. “It is good to be home.”

Xerxes pulled her back against him and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Indeed. You are thinking of your family. If you would like to go visit them—”

“Not without Abba’s leave. But my brother will come to the palace soon, and I will speak with him then. Perhaps he can convince my father to let me come, or to bring Ima here.”

“Anything you want. Perhaps your mother could attend you when you labor. That would make you happy, I think.”

She knit her fingers through his. “Very.”

“Look there.” He turned them a bit, toward the river. Figures walked along it; some too far away to seem anything but specks, a few close enough to make out their costly Persian attire. Apparently the whole city had been in mourning, but rejoicing had taken its place when they saw their king home safe and well. “There is the spot where I first saw you.”