Jewel of Persia

What was it about Kasia? Were her hands the perfect shape for a king’s heart? Did she possess some magic that drew those who ruled?

The king entered the chamber again, power undulating from him. Was he not enough for her once-friend? He stood taller than any other in his company, had a chiseled

countenance of strong beauty—even his moods drew the people to him. But perhaps Kasia was ambitious and greedy like everyone else. Perhaps she wanted a place in the court

of Darius as well.

The king charged toward her, and Artaynte focused her gaze out the window. He may be her uncle, father of the man she loved, but he had always terrified her. She breathed

easier when he headed for Mother.

“Good evening, my lord,” her mother said. “Are you happy to be back in Sardis?”

“I was happier a moment ago.” Yet his voice sounded light, as if he were smiling. Joking.

Artaynte sneaked a glance. He sat close to her mother—too close—and his lips pulled upward. Yet his eyes glinted cold and hard.

Mother frowned. “What is the matter?”

The king lifted a hand, trailed it through Mother’s hair. Artaynte’s stomach twisted.

“You are a beautiful woman, Parsisa.”

Artaynte folded her arms over her stomach. Mother pulled away from his hand, but only slightly. “Hence why your brother values me so highly. You know well I love him.”

“And he knows well my wife loves me, but that did not stop him from approaching her moments ago. As he has done before.”

Artaynte feared she may lose her dinner, but for some reason the news seemed to calm her mother. “That is what this is about?”

Again, the king’s smile belied the look in his eye. “It is high time he learn how it feels to have one’s brother attempt to seduce one’s wife.”

Mother smiled. Actually smiled. “Yet you respect him too much to force matters, and you know well I will not submit to you willingly.”

“I do not want you to.” He kissed her fingers. “He does not need to know that.”

Mother chuckled. “I will play your game to teach him a lesson, my king. So long as you swear to stop at appearances.”

“You have my word.”

Artaynte crept away, desperate for the sanctuary of her room. This was her world, this place of lust and indulgence, of indiscretion and intrigue. This was the life Mother

had groomed her for. This was why she had needed to learn how to show a face that covered her heart. How to speak poison even when she longed for honey.

Apparently one did whatever one must to get one’s way.

So be it. She had learned her lessons.





Thirty-Four



Susa, Persia



Mordecai rubbed a hand over his chest, his eyes locked on the two figures strolling the banks of the Choaspes ahead of him. The discomfort in his heart was not a physical

one. Nor was it based on logic. So far as he could discern he ought to be rejoicing with Esther over the progressing relationship with Zechariah.

But the unease would not let up. It had been weighing on him since the day they heard of the victory at Athens, and no matter how much prayer he gave the subject, it would

not go away.

He wanted Esther to be happy. And as he watched her walk alongside her beloved, arm looped through his, he knew she was.

Why, then, this mounting fear that Zechariah was not the husband Jehovah intended her for? Why this suspicion that something was not right between them?

His gaze settled on the young man he considered a son. Zech loved Esther. When he looked at her, it was as if his whole soul strained toward her. And at the start of the

courtship, Mordecai had been without reservation. Now . . .

He could not shake the image of chains around Zechariah. They held him captive, though to what Mordecai did not know.

Unless the Lord gave him peace, he could not allow a marriage. Yet how in the world would he ever say no when Zechariah asked for her hand?

He sighed and kept pace far enough behind to let them speak privately, close enough to keep an eye on them. Dear Jehovah, show me your will.

If they were outside it, the happiness would not last.

*

Sardis, Lydia



“Master, your brother approaches. Angrily.”

Xerxes turned from his exercise area and wiped the sweat from his brow. He grinned when he spotted Masistes storming his way. It was about time—it had taken nearly a week

for the dolt to realize Xerxes spent half the evenings flirting with Parsisa after Kasia retired. “So he is, Zethar. Towel, please.”

He cleaned up as best he could in the half-minute it took Masistes to thunder over and stop just short of shoving him.

“You wretch! You think just because you are king you can have my wife?”

Xerxes schooled his features and pulled a fresh tunic over his head. “I think I can have whatever woman I want—do you not agree? You are only a prince, yet you take

whomever you please.”

Masisted pounded a finger into his shoulder. “You know I love my wife. Yet now half the court is whispering about how you have fallen in love with her.”