She wanted to smile, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry. She wanted to reach for this newest wonder and put her to her breast.
A single arrow of pain shot through her like lightning. And she could not move. Could neither lift an arm nor open her mouth. Her bent knees fell flat, and the rest of her
went lax.
No! No, no, no. She must move, she must regain control. The babe—Leah, they were going to name her after Ima’s mother—would need nursed. Zillah and the boys would be in
soon.
“Mistress?” Desma squeezed her hand, shook her leg. She could feel it. She could hear, she could see. But . . . “Mistress, what is wrong? Mistress? Mistress!”
Oh to be able to soothe her, to calm the fear that she saw rock her trusted friend. A stream of tears tickled her cheek, and she could not even sniff, could not wipe them
away.
Chaotic shouting clanged in her ears, but she saw them fall to their knees, all her loyal servants. She saw precious Esther come in, saw the horror in her eyes. Heard her
wail as she knelt beside Kasia’s bed.
Sweet friend. Dear sister. She would take care of the children, Kasia knew. But Xerxes—if she died, he could fly into a rage that would shake the world. Or crumble, which
would rock it. How could the nations stand firm when their foundation gave way?
Jehovah, sustain him. Comfort Esther. Knit them together with something other than me. Put your arms around my children. Oh Jehovah, why? Why is this happening?
Warmth on her left side, as if someone sat beside her. Yet the mattress did not sink, no sound filled her ears. She could blink, she could move her eyes. But she was not
sure what she saw. An edge of light, so white it nearly hurt. An outline of a man, of broad shoulders and . . . wings?
Comfort. Peace. Familiarity. A shimmering, half-visible arm lifted, and warm fingers touched her cheek. Rest, child. This is the only way.
Kasia closed her eyes and sank.
*
Xerxes could only stare at Esther, unaware his knees had buckled until he felt the cushion of a chair beneath him. “She what?”
His queen trembled, and tears rushed down her cheeks in a swollen river. “I do not even know what to call it. She cannot move, cannot speak. We called in the physicians,
but they have never seen the like, not exactly. Apoplexy is their best guess.”
“Stroke?” He pushed to his feet so he could pace, raked a hand through his hair. “No. She is only twenty-five.”
“They have seen it strike women in labor before, though it does not match the symptoms exactly.” Esther raised her hands, let them fall. “Perhaps she will come out of it.
”
“She must. She must.” His arms swung out, swept an urn from a shelf.
Esther jumped when it clamored against the stone of the floor. His queen had never learned how to deal with his temper—of course, she rarely saw it.
He lunged toward the door, a million thoughts battling in his mind. Kasia could not die—he would not allow it. He would do whatever he must, bring in the best physicians
from the world over. Anything, so long as she lived.
Esther ran after him, but he spun and halted her with a raised hand. “No. I will go alone.” He needed to see Kasia, see his love, without any other company.
“But . . .” Hurt filled her eyes, but that only kindled his fear-soaked anger.
“Will you argue with me? Disobey me?”
Gaze on the ground, she took a step back. He ignored the tears on her cheeks and sped away.
The palace grounds passed in a blur, light and shadow merging. Until he stepped into her room. In there he saw the light and, at its slicing edge, hovering darkness. His
knees struck the floor beside her bed.
Perhaps she only slept. How could it be otherwise? She looked perfect, her hair flowing over the pillow, her face peaceful.
Yet she was never so still, even in slumber. Her chest barely rose, scarcely fell. When he wove his fingers through hers, they did not tighten in response.
A sob ripped up through his chest and lodged in his throat.
“Father?” Zillah crept close and leaned into him. His precious girl. “What is wrong with Ima?”
“I do not know, princess.” He pulled her into his lap and held her tight. He motioned the boys over too and wrapped an arm around them. “She is sick. We will get the best
physicians to care for her.”
“And Savta.”
Yes, she would want her mother. “You are a smart girl.” He kissed her head, then glanced toward the servants. “See that a message is sent to her family. Tell them to come
straightaway.”
Squalling filled the room, and Xerxes started. He had forgotten to ask about the babe.
As if reading his thoughts, Desma picked up the squirming bundle and swayed his way. “A daughter, master.”
“Leah, then.” He gave the three older children each a kiss and reached for the newest addition. The sob threatened to tear loose. She looked so much like Kasia. “My love,
you must wake up. You must meet little Leah.”
Surely she could not resist that.