The market stretched out before her, a cacophony of sounds and scents and sights even at this early hour. She breathed in the smell of spices and fruit ripening in the
sun and let herself forget the rest for a moment. She headed for the grain-seller, and a minute later had a bag of it to be milled. Her next stop would be the Egyptian, for
some chamomile.
When she turned, she smacked into the steady gaze of a stranger. It felt solid, somehow, as corporeal as if he had tossed a rope around her. For a second it held her
immobile. Then she focused her eyes on the ground and hurried across the market to the Egyptian’s stall.
“Excuse me.”
It was the man, she knew it even before she turned around. Yes, the stranger. He looked at her intently, with eyes narrowed in contemplation. His clothing . . . the clothing
of the palace officials.
He gave her a small bow—why would he bow to her?—and smiled. “Forgive me for staring. You are very beautiful.”
She straightened her shoulders. Somehow, he made it sound more like fact than compliment, as if he were only commenting on the weather. Did such an observation warrant a
thanks?
He did not wait for her to respond before inclining his head. “I am a scout for the king, in search of the most beautiful virgins in Persia. He will choose a queen from
among them. Are you married?”
She could only stare. Would the king’s men really scour the markets for the next queen? It must be some joke.
But those garments. The sobriety of his gaze. Esther gathered her shawl about her shoulders. “No, I am not married.”
Satisfaction, not pleasure, lit his eyes. “Who is your father?”
“I am afraid my father has been dead these eight years, and my mother with him. My guardian—”
“An orphan.” The man’s face fell. “Then you likely have no dowry. To be a full wife and have a chance for the crown, you must have a dowry.”
He assumed too much, assumed she wanted a chance at the crown . . . yet pride forced her chin up. “I have a dowry. My father was not poor, and my guardian has preserved
what he left for me.”
“Ah.” Face bright again, the man reached into a bag slung around him and pulled out a tablet. “These are the terms of the marriage. If you and your guardian agree to the
contract, you may present yourself and this tablet at the palace in a week. At that point, final candidates will be selected and taken into the house of women for
purification and treatments.”
She took the tablet—it was easier than arguing. Could even provide an amusing story, proof that the king’s officials thought her worthy to be queen, though a certain
foolish Jewish man did not value her enough to remain faithful.
Quickly, she purchased the rest of the things Martha needed and hurried home. When she entered and saw Mordecai sitting down to his first meal of the day, she even managed a
smile. “You will never guess who I came across in the markets.”
Her cousin arched his brows. “Who?”
“A scout for the king.” She slid the tablet onto the table. “They have apparently begun the search for a new queen.”
“High time.” Mordecai picked up the tablet. His face shifted as he read, though she had no name for the emotions she saw. He looked up at her again. “Esther. This is a
marriage contract.”
“The man gave it to me to consider—quite a compliment, is it not? I needed that this morning.”
“Esther,” he said again, placing the tablet carefully on the table. “It is more than a compliment. These scouts are discerning men. They will send no more than twenty to
the palace from all of Susa and the surrounding areas. They will select no more than a dozen to go into preparation for the king. Esther, you could be the next queen.”
A tickle danced up her spine. “Nonsense, cousin. I am a Jewess.”
“Do they know that?”
She frowned. “I suppose not. I did not mention it, nor your name.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. She knew he was praying. What she did not know was why her pulse kicked up, why her palms went damp. “Cousin?”
“When I prayed last night, I felt clearly what I have suspected for years—trials lie ahead for the Jews in Persia. Too many of the powerful voices in the court are against
us. But if the new queen could offer moderate and well-informed opinions to the king on the subjects that concern us . . .”
Her stomach quivered. “Let us be reasonable. Even if I took this contract to the palace, even if they added me to the harem, that would not guarantee I be queen. It would
not even guarantee the king like me, much less listen to my opinions.”
“No, there are never guarantees. But there are promises.” His eyes shone bright, but not with excitement. With . . . knowledge. Faith. “You are destined for great things,
my daughter. This is the path for you.”
Gooseflesh prickled her arms. But what greatness could she have inside? It felt like the only thing hiding within her was fear. Fear and sorrow. “Would it not mean lying
about my heritage, about my connection to you?”