He folded his arms over his chest and stared at her in the soft light of the moon. “Have you ever wanted something without reason, little Esther? As if it were part of your blood, part of your flesh, even though all logic tells you it cannot be?”
She took a moment to consider, then shook her head.
“I thought not. But can you imagine what it would feel like?” He let his arms drop to his sides and turned his face toward the moon. “I cannot shake the feeling that I was born for more than carving chairs and tables. The first time I took up a spear and shield, it was as though I could finally see through the veil always over my eyes, as if I glimpsed what my future could be.” He looked her way again. “Have I shocked you?”
How could she be shocked when his tone conveyed such assurance? “The blood of warriors must still flow through you.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps if there were a chance to fight against Persia rather than for it, Abba would not argue with my desire to take up arms.” He sighed and studied her for a long moment. “Will you keep my secret, little Esther? If he found out I come here each night . . .”
“Of course.” Her eyes tracked past him though, to where his training took place. One false move, one slip, and he could be wounded or killed. “Who is this Bijan? I did not recognize him.”
“He does not live in this part of Susa—he is the son of a wealthy Persian, one who sought out the best to carve a chest for him, in spite of the fact that the best is Jewish. That is how we met. We began talking one day when Abba was out. He is one of the Immortals.”
Esther blinked. One of the king’s most elite fighters was training Zechariah? And found him so competent? “Oh.”
“Mmm.” He nodded toward the street behind her. “Come, let me deliver you home.”
She turned when he touched her elbow and fell in beside him. Though her feet strolled sedately, her thoughts sprinted too fast. What if this hidden drive of Zechariah’s ripped him away from her?
He stopped outside Mordecai’s door and looked down at her. “I can trust you with this?”
Her chin edged up. “Need you ask?”
A quirk of his lips was her answer. “Good night, little one.”
She slipped back inside, climbed back into her bed. Now she would have even more images to plague her dreams. Kasia, swallowed by the river. And Zechariah, bitten by a spear.
If only she could survive without sleep.
~*~
All conversation ceased the moment Kasia stepped into the courtyard. She drew in a long breath, fastened a small smile onto her lips and made her way to an empty corner. The other wives began talking again, but their whispers were all pointed now.
“Presumptuous slave.”
“I cannot believe the king is giving her such attention.”
“He will tire of her soon.”
“Did you see her room? And yet he calls her every night.”
“Mistress.” Desma kneeled at her knee, face pained. “Why do you suffer this? Put them in their place. However long it may last, you are the favorite of the king, and that gives you privileges.”
Kasia shook her head and smiled when Leda arrived with a plate of food and a chalice of sweet watered wine. “But if I should fall from that favor, Desma, the impact will be all the harder if I exalt myself now.”
Desma sighed. “Mistress, I served a favorite of the king before, but his esteem for you far outshines anything I have seen. Your heart is kind, your spirit bright. You deserve to take the honor your husband gives you.”
Kasia cast her gaze over the courtyard and the assortment of women breakfasting. Some were old enough to be her mother and had been with Xerxes since he was an ambitious prince. Some were no older than she. All of the full wives had come from upstanding families, some were royalty in their own right. The concubines were of outstanding beauty.
Her maidservants had shared enough gossip with her over the past week of feasting that she knew who the king had once loved, who he never had any fondness for. Who to avoid at all costs, and who they thought would welcome her.
None had. Oh, some were nice when Atossa introduced her a week ago, especially when they saw her lowly chamber. But when she was called night after night, their warmth baked into a parched, dry chasm. Halfway through the week, she had given up attending the queen’s nightly feasts. Why present herself only to be ignored or insulted?
How she missed Esther. Her sisters. Her chest banded at the thought of them. A friendly face, Jehovah. Please, send me one friendly face.
To Desma she sent a tight smile. “I feel unequal to the honor, my friend. If the king loves me, it is for no reason these women would recognize. I will be content if I can live quietly among them.” So long as she could then spark to life in Xerxes’ arms every evening. But what if he tired of her? What then would she have?
Her maid gave up. Kasia broke off a piece of bread and settled it on her tongue, but before she could swallow a shadow fell over her. Hegai crouched at her side. “Greetings, mistress.”
Her heart knew relief. Every time Hegai spoke to her, it was to tell her that she would join the king again. “Good morning, Hegai.”
“I come with tidings from the king. He must welcome another woman into the house of wives this night, but he wishes you to rest assured that he will see you again tomorrow.”
Her joy froze in her chest, but she managed a smile. She had known this day would come. There were too many wives, too many brides that needed his attention. Still it hurt—how could it not? But she would not give the others the pleasure of seeing it. “Of course. If you speak to the king again, tell him I understand but will miss him keenly.”
“Certainly. He also wishes you to have this.”
From his upheld hand dangled a gleaming strand of white spheres that reflected the morning’s light in an iridescent rainbow. She reached out a finger and touched one of them. “Beautiful. Are they pearls?”
Hegai chuckled and took the liberty of securing them around her neck. “They are. Have you never seen any before?”
She shook her head. “Not until I came here, and since then there have been so many jewels everywhere I cannot begin to guess which are which.”
“I imagine my master will see that you learn them. He says these reminded him of the gleam of your flawless skin.” Hegai grinned and straightened. “Wear them when he calls you tomorrow.”
“I will. Thank you for delivering them. And I look forward to thanking my husband in person.” She lifted a hand to touch the strand and felt heat stain her cheeks. Even before she looked away from the custodian, she felt the weight of many gazes upon her. Surely it was not strange for the king to send gifts to his wives—all these women wore jewels on throats, wrists, fingers, even fastened upon their clothing. Where would they get them, if not from Xerxes?
“Enjoy your day, mistress. I must prepare the new bride for her evening.”
“Thank you again, Hegai.” She sent him off with a smile—and wished he would stay a moment more between her and the rest of the wives.
Ah, well. After she ate, she would go to the back garden and entertain the young children for a while. They, at least, welcomed her.
As if summoned by her thoughts, two little hands appeared on her table. She knew those pudgy fingers well already, and was not surprised when they reached for a cluster of her grapes. “I believe you are to ask before taking another’s food, little Chinara.”
The girl grinned and popped a grape into