It was Kasia’s fault. Had she not sunk her claws into the king, then into his son, none of this would have happened. Amestris would not have gotten herself deposed
and sent away. Masistes would still be alive.
Before she left for Persepolis, Amestris had told him to get rid of the witch and her people, no matter how long it took.
And so he would. He would be patient, he would be sly. He would send that harlot into the bosom of her precious Abraham and all her family and neighbors with her.
“Haman.”
He turned to face his king. Xerxes approached with a babe asleep in his arms. No need to wonder which wife it belonged to. He forced a smile, forced a warm tone. “Your
newest daughter grows lovelier by the day.”
Let her grow lovely. Let her be the loveliest thing in the land—perhaps it would protect her when she was motherless.
“That she does.” Xerxes grinned, though it faded fast. “Haman, I have wanted to speak with you. My brother was your closest friend—you must be angry with me.”
Only an idiot would be angry with the king. Better to accept reality as it was . . . and change it when one could. “You did only what you must, master. He was always rash,
always walked the line between pleasing you and provoking you—it was only a matter of time before he stumbled into a situation he could not grapple out of again.”
“True things—but fact never changes how we feel. If you wish for a position somewhere else, where you do not have to face me, you may have your pick. A satrapy, a
governorship—”
“If it pleases the king, I would rather stay close to your side. You, too, have always been my friend. And I know you grieve as well.” The fault did not belong to Xerxes—
Xerxes had done only what he must.
It was Kasia. It was all the Jews. And he would never find a way to rid Persia of them without Xerxes’ power behind him.
The king nodded, his face relieved. “I am glad. You were always a loyal friend. I hope, since you wish to stay, you will stay at my right hand.”
Haman did not have to force the smile this time. “There is no place I would rather be, my king.”
Forty-Two
Thanks to his fussing daughter, Xerxes had the rare opportunity to observe Kasia unnoticed. He watched her dash over to the cradle and pick up the baby, only to hurry back
to the vanity when Desma scolded her with a smile. He saw the naked affection on her face when she soothed Zillah, the friendly, sheepish laugh she gave her maid.
Would she ever look at him with such love again? This past fortnight, she had been a ghost. Present but not—untouchable. It was not like those months after the stillbirth,
when grief and loneliness overcame her. Not like that at all—she was her same vibrant self now with everyone else. The same bright woman, full of passion and life.
Just not for him. Oh, she would put on a show when it was called for—she would smile, laugh, place her hand on his arm. But it was empty.
His gaze fell on the tell-tale torc. On her table, not her arm. She would put it on again before she left the room, he knew. But the second she regained this sanctuary, off
it would come.
He was down to his last few ideas on how to stir her heart again. If he failed . . . he could not contemplate it. Could not imagine a life without her love.
He cleared his throat and took another step into her room. “You look stunning, my love.”
Her smile went tense, her shoulders square. “Thank you. I appreciate the new garments, though they were unnecessary.”
“And a small enough gesture.” He drew in a long breath and regarded her reflection, since she would not look at him. “Hegai tells me you will introduce yourself to the
new brides this morning.”
“That was the council’s will, was it not? Though if you would prefer—”
“I am glad you are going. Though if you did not want to . . .” He winced. Had they resorted to this?
A month ago, that tight smile would have been a grin. “If one of these girls is going to rule me, I would just as soon know her beforehand, and offer my opinion of which of
them it should be.”
“You could choose entirely, for all I care.”
“Xerxes.”
Well, reproach was better than indifference. “You are the only one I want, Kasia.”
She turned even her reflected gaze away.
He looked to her servants, then his own behind him. “Give us a moment.” Once they filed out, he crouched down before her. “Tell me why that upsets you. Is it that you do
not believe me, or that you fear it is too true?”
At least she looked at him, showed him the churning of her mind, the uncertainty in her heart. “Both, if that is possible.”
He sighed and took her hand, though her fingers did not curl around his. “I am not a temperate man. You know that, and I dared to hope you loved me for it, not just in
spite of it.”