Jewel of Persia

His uncle smiled and lifted his own cup in toast. “And I you, my nephew. It is with the greatest joy that I welcome another year of your esteemed life. Long live

Xerxes, the king of kings!”


A cheer went up around him, echoing throughout the gathering as people surged to their feet. How could a man not smile at that? Not feel the warmth all the way to his core?

Xerxes motioned his guests back to their seats. “May this year bring wisdom as well as age, eh?”

Laughter filled the garden, and Xerxes sat back with a sigh. It was a good evening, even if Kasia was not beside him.

“Master.”

He looked over his shoulder to where a maid genuflected. “Yes?”

She offered a humble smile. “My mistress would request a favor.”

He chuckled. Many had asked for favors already, and it was only the beginning of the feast. “Which wife do you serve?”

“Your first, master.”

He nearly groaned. Surely Amestris did not actually expect a favor, did she? But then, she had been better behaved than he had expected since his return six weeks ago. She

had remained out of sight and had caused no trouble.

His gaze flicked to the other side of the gathering, where Artaynte pranced around in his shawl. He owed Amestris a favor, whether she realized it or not. “Very well—so

long as it does not contradict my former word.”

“It does not.” The girl’s smile lost its humility and gained something far darker. “Her request is simple. She would have Parsisa.”

“What?” He must have drunk more than he thought—that made no sense at all.

“Parsisa, master—she requests you deliver Parsisa into her hands.”

No, he had obviously not drunk enough—the pleasant haze of celebration burned off and left a scorching reality behind.

She must have seen Artaynte, the shawl. She must have thought Parsisa somehow responsible.

And he could not deny her, not after already agreeing. His eyes slid shut.

“I have the palace guard here already, master.” The maid’s whisper sounded at his ear. “All you must do is nod to them.”

Xerxes opened his eyes again but could only stare straight ahead, unseeing. He did not ask what Amestris intended. He did not need to. “She will pay for this.”

“You were the one to grant the favor, master.”

Impudent slave—yet she had the right of it. He pushed himself to his feet. One glance showed him the guards waiting just beyond the garden hedge. His head felt weighted

with the guilt, pulling down, down.

They spun and marched away.

A shudder coursed through him. “Zethar. Where is Masistes?”

“Inside, master.”

He headed that way, though he had no idea what he intended to say to his brother. Language had no words for this. He could try to warn him, but it would be too late—he knew

Amestris well enough to realize her plan would be executed quickly.

Perhaps . . . perhaps he could soften it somehow.

“Brother!” Masistes embraced him the moment he stepped inside, grinning like a sot. “A wonderful feast. You are a wonderful brother. A wonderful king.”

He grimaced and steered Masistes away from prying ears. “You are a wonderful brother too. I was thinking . . . I want to reward you for your excellent service. I would give

you Amytis as wife.”

Masistes frowned. “A generous offer, my lord, but your daughter must be a first wife.”

“I know. You must . . . divorce Parsisa. Put her away this very night, and tomorrow you can wed the princess.” He held his breath.

His brother shook his head. “I thank you, Xerxes, but you know I love my wife. She has been my companion for years, we have grown children together. I cannot just put her

away. Worthy as your daughter is, I would keep Parsisa.”

Xerxes turned away so that Masistes would not see him wince. “Then I am afraid you shall have neither.”





Thirty-Eight



Esther shook her head, but it neither rid her ears of the words her cousin had just spoken nor changed the image of his earnest, sad face. “But Mordecai . . . I do not

understand. You know I love him. You know he loves me.”

Mordecai eased himself to a seat, his eyes willing her to hear him out—as if he were not speaking utter nonsense. “I know.”

“And his intentions have been clear for months.” She threw her arms out. “You never discouraged his suit, you never so much as hinted that you would not approve.”

He sighed. “Because I did approve. I wish I still did. But my daughter, there is disquiet in my spirit whenever I ponder this. I cannot shake the feeling that he is bound

by something we cannot see.”