She pulled her arm free. “No.”
“Esther.” When he reached for her again, she leapt away and spun toward home. He fell in beside her. “I understand you are angry. Hurt. But please, do not give up on me.
Surely, if you really love me, we can work this out.”
A fire swept through her. “If I love you? What about if you really love me? Like, perhaps, ‘if you really loved me, you would not have slept with another woman’? What
about that?”
“I know.” His voice shook. “It was a mistake, one I regret.”
“Well, I hope your regret keeps you company. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Esther—”
“Just stop!” A sob ripped out, her eyes burned. She clenched her fists against it. Better the anger than the pain. Better to keep her head high than let him see her break.
She had broken enough in life. Had let tragedy bend her each time it struck. She was done. “You knew what you were doing, Zechariah.”
He reached for her again. She stepped out of his way and shook her head. “I saw you that day. I saw her leap into your arms, and I laughed. I thought it just another crazed
Persian. Unimportant. And then that evening, I sat there beside you while you built our house, and you said nothing about it. Nothing about what must have filled your
thoughts.”
“I did not want to hurt you.”
“Too late.” Half hoping he would leap into the river and let it carry him off, she ran the rest of the way home.
Thirty-Nine
Evil flew through the palace. Kasia could feel the beat of its wings upon her soul. It kicked her heart to a higher speed, made her thoughts race in prayer. Still, fear
soaked her.
“Jehovah, help me.”
You are safe, my daughter.
The promise did little to ease the anxiety. What of those she loved?
Screams pierced the air. The kind that came from fear, then they shifted, grew into the kind born of the most excruciating pain.
Her mind flashed back to Sardis and the cries of Pythius’s son—only these were higher, feminine.
Somehow Zillah slept through it, and Kasia whispered a prayer of thanks for that, added another that the angels would insulate her from whatever chaos set upon them. She
looked to Desma. “Stay with her.”
“Mistress—”
“I must see what is going on.” She sped out the door, knowing her eunuchs followed. She found Jasmine at the end of the corridor, pale-faced. “Jasmine. What is happening?
”
Jasmine reached for her hand and gripped it. “Amestris handed Parsisa over to the guards. Her instructions do not bear repeating.”
Her stomach cinched tight. “Why?”
Jasmine’s eyes filled with tears. “You were not to know. You will not like it.”
“What I like is of no consequence right now.” She did not mean to snap it, but the cries . . .
Jasmine’s eyes slid shut. “Artaynte arrived at the feast this afternoon wearing the shawl Amestris gave Xerxes at his coronation. Darius flew into a rage, and Amestris
requested a favor of the king—Parsisa. She obviously thought the mother behind it.”
Behind . . . it. She did not want to consider it. Did not want to think of why Artaynte would have Xerxes’ most prized possession.
Yet even without considering, she knew. Her blood ran cold through her veins, and a chill swept up her spine.
She heard his footsteps, even over the agonizing screams and the shattering of her own insides. In that second before action, she considered running away, back to her
chamber. But she had to know. She spun to face her husband.
He must have seen something on her face—his expression shifted from distress to despair. He stretched out a hand, but she took a step backward and whispered, “What have
you done?”
“It was not supposed to hurt you. You were never to know.”
“Of all the inane—”
“I am sorry. Kasia, I am so sorry.”
“Sorry?” She shook her head, stepped away from his reach again. “How many wives do you have, Xerxes? And added to them, you have the right to any slave you desire. Is
that not enough? Must you steal your son’s wife as well? Your own niece?” The thought of that sent a shudder up her spine, even though she knew he would not recognize the
connection as incestuous. “I hope you loved her. Hope you enjoyed yourself, that it was worth her mother’s life.”
Xerxes winced. “It was not . . . I only wanted to punish Darius. For what he did to you in Sardis.”
For a long moment she could only stare at him. This was because of her? Because he was jealous? “You slept with Artaynte because Darius kissed me?”
He turned his face away, presenting his ticking jaw. “Because of what came after.”
“After? You slept with Artaynte because I threatened to kill him if he touched me again?”