Jewel of Persia

She would not strike against the girl herself—what would be the point? Xerxes would just put the crown on some other harlot’s head. No, he was the problem. Better to

be ruled by her weak-willed son than her despotic husband. Darius would not hold out long against her. And if he did . . . well, she could bide her time until she could

either woo another son back or Artaxerxes could grow up.

“You.” She motioned her head eunuch closer. “Find a trusted servant and send him to Bigthan in Susa. Have him find those who grumble against the king and feed the flames

of their discontent. I want Xerxes dead—and when he is, tell Bigthan he will move out of the gates and into high esteem. He has my word on it.”

The eunuch bowed. “It will be done.”

Yes, it would. But it could not be done soon enough.

*

Susa, Persia



Mordecai rose from his usual seat in the gate, stretched, and indulged in a smile. Tonight he would dine with the queen. Everyone may think his excitement came from her

title, even the beauty that was already legendary. He and Jehovah knew that had nothing to do with it. He started through the gate.

He could still barely believe his little girl wore the crown. She got to spend her days with Kasia again, and he had seen them together enough these last months to know both

of them glowed with it. They had been given back their sisterhood.

So much he owed Kasia now. Not only had she used her influence for Esther, she had paved the way for an easy life in the harem. From all he could see, Esther was settling in

well, winning the other wives over with her calm way, her gentle touch.

His only sorrow was in knowing she would not be in Susa much longer this year. Another few weeks and she would travel with the rest of the royal house to Persepolis. He

sighed, paused, and leaned into an alcove to say a quick prayer for her.

“I can tolerate no more.”

Mordecai perked up at the harsh tone, even as he slid deeper into the shadows. A familiar presence settled over him, held him immobile. Yes, Jehovah. I am listening.

“Teresh, quiet. Your anger will get you killed.”

Teresh . . . the doorkeeper?

“Then so be it—I have had enough. Do you know how many of my brothers died in his pointless war, Bigthan? Four. All four dead, and me castrated to serve at his blasted

door. My father’s name will die now.”

“Lower your voice. You must be reasonable.”

“I just watched the youngest die, after suffering from those festering wounds for six months. And yet the king does not care that so many of his men died, are still dying

for his pride. He is too concerned with his wives, with his affairs. If I were the prince I would have killed him months ago.”

The second—Bigthan? Another doorkeeper, then—loosed a low chuckle that sent a shiver of warning up Mordecai’s spine. “We do not need the prince to step in. We can manage

it ourselves.”

A beat of silence, then Teresh whispered, “What are you saying? Surely you do not think we could get away with anything.”

“I have a plan.”

Mordecai listened, nausea churning in his stomach as the two eunuchs unfolded and perfected their plan to assassinate the king, step by quiet step. At some point he closed

his eyes, focused entirely on their words, and on the steadying presence still holding him.

Only after the voices moved off, after their footsteps had faded, did he feel the comforting weight lift from his spirit. And into his mind came a simple command: Go!

*

Esther ran down the hall, through the garden, into the king’s palace. Fear snagged in her throat and made her breath go ragged. What if they had already put the plan into

action? What if there were more conspirators that Mordecai had not heard about, or if they got through the guard Xerxes would post?

Her servants sprinted ahead of her to open doors, clear hallways. She could barely catch enough breath to speak when she finally burst into the king’s chambers.

He looked up at the noise and frowned. Not with anger, though—with concern. Letting a scroll fall to his table, he stood. “Esther, what is wrong?”

A measure of relief, scanty but precious, poured over her. Thus far he was still well. Still alive. “There is a plot. Assassination.”

He motioned a scribe forward even as he came her way, took her arm. She let him guide her to a seat and dragged in a long breath. He sat beside her. “Tell me.”

“I was dining this evening with Kasia and Mordecai, the Jew.”

Xerxes nodded and cradled her hand. “I know. I visited her this afternoon.”

Yes, of course. He always found a sliver of time for Kasia and Zillah. “Mordecai overheard something at the gate today. Two of the doorkeepers, Teresh and Bigthan—they are

planning to kill you.”

She gasped and heaved her way through what Mordecai had told her. At some points in the tale, he squeezed her hand, then at the end he patted it and looked to Zethar. “I

want this matter investigated.”

“Yes, master.” Zethar charged from the room.

Xerxes eyed the scribe. “Did you write all that down?”

“Yes, master.”