When darkness had fallen and the moon risen high, Bijan passed off his rhyton. “I have to be going. A wonderful evening, as usual. Give your father my compliments.”
Cyrus smirked. “Have you a tryst to rush off to, Bijan? The night is young, and you did not even finish your first cup.”
Bijan offered a tight smile. “I need a clear mind. I am off to train.”
“You have already achieved a place in the Immortals.” Darius lifted his brows. “Why train extra now?”
“Because I would live past our first battle.” Obviously not interested in being swayed, Bijan bowed and backed away.
Cyrus rolled his eyes. “He is too serious about fighting.”
“It is where his hope of advancement lies.” Darius surveyed the crowd. Most were well on their way to drunk, or already there, and the laughter and talk proved it.
His gaze fell on a group of high-ranking officials and visitors around his father. When Xerxes signaled his seven eunuchs forward, Darius wandered that way as well.
The wine had done its job on the king. Darius heard his belt of laughter as he drew within earshot.
“I have still the most beautiful queen in the world, even when she is large with child,” Xerxes said with a wide grin. “You shall see. Zethar, go to the queen’s feast and tell her to come in her royal crown so that all the world might appreciate her unsurpassed beauty.”
The eunuchs bowed and departed, but Darius’s heart thudded. If her mood had not improved . . . He heard the word fly over the room, watched as the men all came to attention. Darius groaned. “Why do I get the feeling Mother will not like this?”
Cyrus, beside him again, sighed. “Because much as your mother likes to create a spectacle, she does not enjoy being made one. Let us hope she is feeling the need to be admired.”
By a collection of men set on judging her, when she already felt large and cumbersome with the babe inside her?
Unlikely.
Eleven
Amestris glared at the eunuchs that dared intrude on her feast. “The king wills what?”
The head slave cleared his throat and bowed. As if a meaningless show of respect could soothe the vibration of rage inside her. “He has been boasting of your unsurpassed beauty, my queen, and wishes you to grace his presence so that his esteemed guests might bask in the awe inspired by your countenance.”
Her husband wanted her to parade her swollen body before his guests for the sake of his pride? If so much rested on the beauty of her face, then perhaps he should have spared it a thought when he gave that harlot the torc commissioned by Amestris’s hand.
Her fingers curled into talons and dug into her couch. “No.”
The eunuch blinked. “My queen?”
“Are you deaf, slave? I said no. The king has taken enough from me. He will not strip me of the last of my pride by forcing me before an assembly of men in my condition.”
He straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps the queen would like to rethink publicly disobeying her husband the king?”
“Perhaps the king would like to rethink the way he treats his wife the queen.” She grabbed the maidservant that she had charged with holding the symbol of his betrayal and ripped the torc from her. With a sneer, she slung it toward the eunuchs. “Give that to your king. Tell him I hope it keeps him warm at night, because neither I nor the Jewess will be.”
“Mistress.” Her maid sounded panicked. “The king will be furious.”
She leaned back against her chaise again, though she could not convince her fingers to relax. “His fury is no match to mine.”
~*~
Xerxes spied his seven eunuchs returning and frowned. There was no female in their midst. Was Amestris unwell? He ought to have made it clear she was only to come if she felt up to it . . . though it was rare she felt unequal to flaunting her beauty.
The wine’s stupor dissipated when he saw the expression upon Zethar’s face. Xerxes stood. “What is wrong? Is the queen in labor? Unwell?”
Zethar’s jaw ticked. He extended his hand. “The queen sends you this, master.”
Xerxes felt his forehead crease. He reached out and took the broken circle of silver. She sent him a gift by way of apology? It was a bit extravagant for that, what with the intricately fashioned lions’ heads . . .
The last of the wine cleared from his head, and Xerxes cursed. He stepped closer to Zethar, kept his voice low. “Did she send a message along with this?”
Zethar leaned forward. “One she delivered for all to hear. Forgive me, master, for bearing such a message . . . that she hoped it kept you warm at night, because neither she nor the Jewess would.”
He cursed again and closed his hand around the torc. He had forgotten Amestris had given it to him. But how did she get it back? She would have had to take it from Kasia . . .
Xerxes charged for the garden’s exit, not even slowing to order his brother and son not to follow. There was no time. Amestris’s threat that she would not keep him warm at night did not concern him, but Kasia?
“Father!” Darius broke into a run, but Xerxes refused to slow. “What are you about? Please, do nothing rash against Mother. You know how she is, especially when so near her time. She must not feel well enough to—”
“You do not want to take her part right now, Darius.” He held out an arm to keep him out of the way as he neared the corner.
Perhaps she only meant that she and Kasia had discovered together that he had given to one a gift purchased by the other, and that they were both angry with him. Perfectly reasonable, and that would be no cause for alarm.
Yet it did not sound like Kasia. Had she been distressed, instead of festering she would hunt him down and demand an explanation. Her anger may have been quick that afternoon, but so was her forgiveness.
No. Amestris had not been speaking of shared anger.
“Brother.” Masistes panted in his effort to keep up. “I called for your legal advisors as we left the feast. They can counsel you on how to deal with the queen’s disobedience. There is no need to race to confront her—”
“I will not confront her.” He turned toward the house of wives. His servants sprinted ahead of him to open the massive doors. They barely managed a wide enough opening before Xerxes reached them and hurried through, sideways.
“Then where are we going? What was her message?”
He ignored Masistes and barreled down the hall. All of his wives must still be at the queen’s feast, otherwise the commotion would have brought them to their doors. But he knew Kasia would not be with them.
Zethar must have realized where he was headed—he led the way to her rooms and opened the door. When Xerxes stepped inside, his heart lurched into his throat and choked him.
Kasia. His sweet Kasia lay stretched on the floor, undoubtedly felled by Amestris’s wrath. Why had he not been alerted? No, her servants lay about the room too. Had she ordered them all slain?
His hands shook. His stomach clenched. His vision blurred. Then his spine went stiff and his chin came up. She would pay. She would pay for Kasia’s life with her own and—
The figures on the floor shifted as the noise of his entrance hit them. All but Kasia. One of her wide-eyed servants leaned close to her, though, and said, “Mistress, the king.”
She was well. Not dead, not injured. She leapt to her feet with that enthusiasm he loved and raced toward him.
He