Haman sighed and patted her shoulder. “Your mother has protected you from this truth too long—it will only hurt you to realize the nature of princes once you are wed
to one. Darius may very well choose to have an affair with the Jewess—and he would surely not be the first.”
No. Not Kasia. She would never . . . not with Darius . . . not with anyone but the king, surely. Surely.
So why did her heart already ache as though she had seen her friend betraying her?
*
Salamis, Greece
Xerxes cursed, then cursed again for good measure. Artemisia had been right. He had been right—they should not have met the Greeks at sea. His quicker vessels had no
advantage in these straits. The smaller, heavier ships of his enemy rammed them continually.
He watched Artemisia’s trireme flee a band of Greeks only to find her way blocked by Persians. A moment later she turned, ramming the vessel by her side.
At least someone was learning from their enemy. “It would seem my women are becoming men, even as my men are becoming women.”
But the others? Groans tripped over curses as he watched the battle play out. The problem was that the idiot sailors had not learned how to swim. Each time a ship sank, the
men went down with it. The Greeks swam to shore, but his men? He did not want to count how many drowned before his eyes.
The longer the day dragged on, the worse it got. He sat, he paced, he watched, he turned away. And he knew. He knew as dusk crouched behind them that the Greeks had the
upper hand. He knew it before he heard that his troops stationed on an island had been slaughtered. He knew it before darkness fell and the commanders gathered again.
Mardonius spoke the loudest. “We know their tactics now—we can regroup, and we will win. We have the manpower.”
But what did it matter?
“We will never defeat them on the sea,” Otanes said. “We should build a pass to the island, then march across and defeat them on land.”
“I say set the rest of our forces toward the Peloponnese and let the Athenians starve on their island.”
He did not even turn to see who came up with that one. He looked toward Artemisia. “What say you? You fought more like a man than the men around you today.”
She inclined her head, a silver braid slipping over her shoulder. “My advice has not changed, my lord. You have the victory that matters. You burned Athens. Why concern
yourself with anything else? If one of your slaves—” She motioned toward Mardonius “—wishes to keep some soldiers here and fight in your stead, that would suffice. If he
wins, the victory is yours. If he loses, the defeat is his.”
Mardonius glared at her. “The woman’s tone aside, the idea has merit. I would be honored to keep a select group of soldiers behind to fight for you.”
His cousin must have been able to read in Xerxes’ eyes that he was finished. Finished with the war, with the nights filled only with cloistering shadows. He needed Kasia.
Standing, Xerxes pulled his shawl around his shoulders—the one Amestris had woven, the one Kasia had complimented. What was it she had said when he mentioned putting it
away? Something about remembering the good days.
He wanted their good days back. Would she forgive him? If he begged, if he fell to his knees before her? If he took back all he had said?
He did not know, and could only hope all these people before him could not see that their king stood in pieces.
“I will think on this overnight.” He strode from the gathering and to the quiet of his tent.
Waving his servants away, he extinguished the lamp and settled onto his bed. No sooner did he close his eyes than the god appeared.
That handsome, leering face. “King of Persia,” he said, voice echoing with disdain. “Will you curl up in defeat and slink away?”
Xerxes turned his face away.
“You are a coward—you would have changed your mind about this war before it started had I not interfered.”
“I wish I would have. Do you know how many men I have lost?”
The god sneered. “What are they to you? The mighty Xerxes has taken Athens and has all the world at his feet. Why concern yourself with the cost? Are you not the wealthiest
man in the world? The ruler of all?”
He motioned outside. “Could you not see from your realm what happened today?”
“One lost battle does not mean a lost war.” The god folded granite arms over his marble chest. “You are a soft, feeble ruler—I should have struck you down rather than
raising you up. You will trade everything for that woman, when you know she is the enemy of your god.”
Xerxes breathed an unamused laugh. “And why not? All you bring me are shadows and night, darkness and constriction. She brings light and freedom.”
The god thundered, his rage filling every crevice of Xerxes’ mind. A glowing iron appeared, its point a deadly red-white. Xerxes planted his feet and faced down his angry
god.