Jewel of Persia

“It would mean not mentioning it. And yes, that would be difficult. But we would find a way to stay in touch.” He stood and rested his hands on her arms. “I will

not decide this for you, but this is the marriage to which I give my blessing today. Not to Zechariah, but to Xerxes.”


The door banged open, and Zechariah stepped into the room with horror in his eyes. “You will what?”

*

For a moment they only looked at him, as if he were some stranger barging in uninvited. Zechariah fisted his hands and tried to slow his breathing back to normal. He must

have misheard. Must have caught only the tail end of the conversation, out of context.

Because there was no way on Jehovah’s bronze earth that he would lose Esther to Xerxes as he had lost his sister. His God would not be so cruel. And Mordecai—his friend,

his neighbor—would surely never give his ward to the gentile king instead of the Jewish man who loved her.

Esther blinked, raised her chin, and glared at him. “Why did you come?”

He must still be dreaming, caught in the nightmares that had plagued him all night. “I wanted to talk to you. To both of you.”

“I have nothing left to say to you.”

“Esther—”

“Zech.” Mordecai turned to him, his countenance determined yet gentle. “It is good you have come. I know you intended to ask for Esther’s hand.”

“I still do.” He cast a pleading glance her way. “I know she is hurt and angry, and I imagine she has told you why. I deserve her disregard. But I love her. I will be a

good husband.”

Mordecai shook his head. “No, my son. I have felt for a while that there was something holding you back from giving your whole heart to her. I suspect it is this other

woman.”

“There is nothing holding me back, she has my whole heart.” Every crevice. The part of him that Ruana appealed to . . . that was not his heart, not love.

Esther folded her arms over her chest. Gold winked at her neck, her finest dress draped her frame so perfectly that a lump formed in his throat. One long day ago, this

vision of perfection had been his, in his arms. How could she now stand there as if the whole world were between them?

“You may have a better chance convincing me of that,” she said, “had I not seen you with her last night. Had I not heard in your voice that you would do whatever you must

to protect her.”

“Never at cost to you.”

She snorted and averted her face. “It does not matter anyway. My cousin told me before I saw you with her that he would not approve. Which is just as well. I am going to

marry the king, perhaps be the next queen.”

For a moment he could only stare as those incredible words sank in. Countless thoughts boiled. He knew not which would find the way to his tongue until he heard himself say,

“You are angry with me for involvement with another woman so will marry a king and join his harem? That makes sense to you?”

Mordecai put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “He does not claim to be a faithful Jew. He does not lie to her heart of hearts.”

“But what does he do? Have you considered that? He takes whomever he pleases.” Like his sister, with no warning and no choice. “This morning I heard he even took his son

’s wife. Is that better than me?”

Esther spun on him, looking angry enough to spit. “Yes! It is better to marry an adulterous king who has no power over my heart than to have it broken by you!”

Mordecai pulled her back, stepped in front of her. Sighed. “She has a good chance of becoming queen, Zech. Can you not see what that would mean for all our people? Can you

not wish such honor for her?”

Queen? Honor? He cared nothing about such things when it meant losing her. Losing yet another of his favorite people to the palace . . .

He sucked in a breath and straightened his spine. Kasia was there. Kasia would find her, they would be able to embrace again, to whisper and laugh and finish each other’s

sentences.

Looking from Mordecai to Esther, he was not sure he was strong enough, selfless enough to let her go for the sake of giving her back another she had lost. But really, what

choice did he have? He could yell, he could beg, he could toss himself into the river—nothing would change her mind. That was clear.

He could be furious and hurt—and he was both—but when those cooled, he could find some comfort in the knowledge that a reunion would await her.

At the moment, that promise was meager indeed.

*

Darius paused to take a breath that did nothing to fortify him. His limbs still felt like lead, his soul like an empty vessel. But his hands were steady, at least. His steps

were sure.

They took him through the house of wives, into his mother’s chambers. His brother was there, quietly at his schoolwork, only darting a glance at him when he entered. A

glance that said more than he cared to interpret.

His sisters were there too. Amytis, nearest him in age, her eyes on the ground even as her fingers flew over the loom. Perhaps she had heard their father offered her to

Masistes last night to try to lessen the blow of Parsisa’s death. Rhodogune sat beside her.