Were Kasia here, she would have had some clever observation to put it all in perspective. Her smile would have lit up the dark places.
But she would have pressed her lips together and turned away from the sight of the burning temple. Not that she would ever defend the Greek gods, but she would see in it an
echo of his ancestors burning the temple of hers. Why, she would ask, did a nation reportedly tolerant always try to destroy the seat of a conquered nation’s beliefs? Why
could they never respect the sacred?
Why, he wondered, did her disapproval haunt him even when she was not there to offer it?
He sighed and turned from the smoke. “We have a few Athenian exiles in our numbers, do we not? Have them brought to me.”
Zethar nodded and strode away. Xerxes surveyed his troops, swarming over the city and destroying everything they touched. He had already dispatched a message of their
victory to Artabanas. It would reach Sardis well before Susa. His son would rejoice, he knew.
What of his wife? Would she still be proud of what he accomplished, or would she turn her face and wish him ill, since he succeeded without the help of her God?
Pressure clamped around his chest. He covered the torc on his, his nostrils flaring at the feel of the familiar lion’s head under his thumb. The metal was warm, solid.
He felt cold, vaporous.
Ahura Mazda had kept his promise. By the time they arrived in Athens, the Greeks had fled, all but a few priests in the temple gone in search of sanctuary. They’d had
nothing to do but march in and set it to flame. Perhaps that was why the victory felt meaningless.
No. It was because when night descended and darkness wrapped around him, he felt only the presence of the god—and Ahura Mazda was not a pleasant bedfellow. Taunting,
haunting dreams came nearly every night. Some only echoes of the ones that convinced him to embark on this campaign, others new and terrible. That same handsome face,
laughing. I have given you all I promised, the god would say. Where is your greatness, O King?
Greatness? He could not say. When he surveyed his army, he saw only the hands splayed over emaciated stomachs, the demoralized faces of those who had watched brothers fall.
Disease ran through the ranks. The fleet had suffered at the hands of the Greeks, while the land army battled at Thermopylae.
He had lost his heart for this war. Or perhaps he had lost his heart entirely. Surely he toyed with madness to have such thoughts as he had entertained lately. Thoughts that
he could go home now, while he still had some pride left. With Athens fallen, he had kept his promise to his father. He could return to Sardis, beg Kasia’s forgiveness.
Promise whatever he must to win her love again. She could worship her Jehovah all she pleased, before all of Persia if that was what she wanted. So long as she forgave him.
Zethar rode up, a band of Greeks behind him. “The Athenians, master.”
Xerxes urged his horse around to face them. Though each had come to him of his own will, exiles for one reason or another, pain still creased their faces as they saw Athens
smolder. He could understand that. “The god has given your city into my hands—but I am a gracious king, a respecter of those I conquer. Go, climb the Acropolis and make
what sacrifices your faith requires.”
One of the men dipped his head, but Xerxes still saw the tremor around his mouth. “Thank you, master. Words cannot express what that means to us.”
He only nodded and pressed his heels into his horse’s flank. Zethar took his place half a length behind. “Master . . . if you miss her so, call for her to return.”
“No. As quickly as they traveled, she will be tired and worn. I will not force her on another journey—besides, the war cannot last much longer. Summer is giving way to
winter, and I do not like the chill in the air.”
Zethar sighed. “One of the maidservants caught up with me while I fetched the Athenians. Lalasa has given birth to another girl, and both are well.”
Something should stir inside him. Something always had before, when he learned that another of his children entered the world. But the only image to flood his mind was of
Kasia, her stomach round. He wanted to cover the bulge with his palm again and feel the child nudge him. He wanted to bend down and whisper to his unborn daughter that he
loved her, that he was sorry for denying her very existence. He wanted to hold them both against him and close his eyes until the world shrank to just them.
Xerxes shook himself back to the present. “Send her my regards, and tell her I will visit this evening.”
“Certainly. There is Mardonius.”
His cousin must have succeeded in gathering all the officers and rulers of the people. Xerxes rolled his shoulders back and headed for him. “All is ready?”
Mardoinius inclined his head. “At your leisure, master.”