He, too, would tell her to forgive him? He, who had been stripped of his firstborn because of Xerxes’ anger? “Perhaps that is the problem, Pythius. Perhaps I loved
Xerxes too much, gave him what should have been Jehovah’s.”
“Oh, sweet daughter.” He blinked, and in his eyes glistened the shards of a broken heart. “You belong to Jehovah completely. You know that. He led you to your husband,
put you beside the king to be his heart where the burden of rule would forbid him to have one. Do you think Jehovah is finished with you, just because you fought with that
stubborn man you love so much? Do you think he wills you not love your husband? You must not give up.”
She curled her fingers into her palm. “What more can I do?”
“You can pray for him.”
Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
“He forbade it.”
“And you will obey that? When you would challenge him on anything else?” Pythius shook his head and covered her fist with his strong fingers. “That is not the Kasia I
know.”
Hope in God;
For I shall yet praise him,
The help of my countenance and my God.
The wind whipped around her, blowing her hair into her face and drying her tears to a salty residue. The scent of the bronze fennel growing at the border of the palace
garden teased her nose, the trill of a bird filled her ears.
Her soul—it rose as if pulled by a gentle, powerful hand, and as it tugged upward, her knees buckled.
Pythius fell to his knees beside her, his eyes closed and his lips parted. “He is back. Your God is back.”
“It is the Spirit.” Shivers chased each other down her spine, her arms.
Xerxes’ face filled her vision. Pray.
Every muscle went tight. She would pray. Dear Lord, be with Abba and Ima.
The wind whipped the other direction, and something shook inside her. She could see her husband, smile fading into a frown—she squeezed her eyes shut against the image. Be
with Esther, Lord.
In her mind’s eye, Xerxes held out a hand, the lion torc gleaming on his wrist.
She staggered to her feet and spun away—but how to escape one’s own heart? Jehovah, please, not for him. Do you not remember what he said? Why should you hold him with
your strong arm, when he will only deny its power?
Her own words to him over the last six months echoed back at her. Without him is defeat . . . you are Jehovah’s concern. You are the caretaker of his chosen.
But he had made his choice, had refused her God. She knew he would not bend his will to the Almighty, so why bother praying for him? He was too proud, too arrogant. Too
determined to do everything by the strength of his own hand. Let him.
The wind swirled away, sucking her breath along with it. Then all was still, and she stood there like an empty vessel, useless and fragile.
Desma slipped an arm around her waist in support. “Mistress, what just happened? That is not how the Spirit usually visits you.”
She could only shake her head.
Pythius appeared at her side, opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, Darius appeared from around a hedge, face stretched in a smile. “We have victory! My father has burned Athens to the ground.”
Had there been anything left within her, it would have evaporated then. Without prayer, without anything from her, he had won. Now he would never be convinced that her God
reigned over his.
Darius did not seem to notice her lack of response. With a joyous laugh, he twirled her around.
One rotation was enough to make her head swim. But at least lightheadedness was something. She chuckled and pushed away so he would put her back on her feet. “Enough
enthusiasm, Darius. I get dizzy easily these days.”
He laughed and put her down, eyes alight. “Forgive me. It is such good fortune though—the Athenians had fled their city like cowards, and Father marched in and took it
without any resistance. We are feasting tonight! Bring your whole house, Pythius.”
Pythius looked pained. “I thank you, my prince, but these old bones are weary. My sons will come, I am certain.”
A feast, without her one friend. All the nobles in Sardis in one room, eyeing her with disdain even though they knew nothing of her argument with their king—thrilling.
“Darius, I am exhausted too. I think I shall just—”
“Nonsense.” Authority draped him, making him look so very like his father. Then it vanished behind a grin, and he reminded her instead of Zechariah. “Rest now, then dine
with me, Kasia. There will be pomegranates.”
He said that last in a singsong, earning a snort of laughter. She had not been able to get enough of the juicy red seeds since they ripened a week earlier. No one else
outside her servants cared enough to notice—she supposed she owed him gratitude enough to show up at his meal. “Very well.”
“Excellent.” The prince turned away and all but danced back toward the palace. So confident he would get his way in everything.
She clamped down on her thoughts before reflecting on Darius could make her miss Xerxes—she would not need him anymore—and headed for her room with a bare farewell for
Pythius.
She had a feast to prepare for.
*
Salamis, Greece