When Ruana shifted again under the weight of Navid, Zechariah gave in to the urging and went to her. Led her to a couch, where she could sit and settle his son against
her. Navid’s eyes were closed, but Zechariah could not tell if he slept or merely tried to hold out the world.
Esther had been right. He was a beautiful boy. Pride swelled before he could remind himself that so far as anyone else knew, this was Asho’s son.
Ruana smoothed a hand over Navid’s hair and rested her cheek against his head. “He should not have had to see what he did today. It is no wonder he is exhausted.”
Zechariah folded his hands together to keep from reaching out to him. “You will be able to put him to bed soon.”
“Will you sit?” Her eyes begged. And how could he refuse, given all she had been through this afternoon? Her own husband trying to kill her . . . Zechariah sat beside her.
She loosed a shaky sigh. “I am sorry for bringing this trouble to your door, Zech. I tried to think of somewhere else we would be safe—”
“You are welcome here.” Their gazes met, knitted together. “You know that. I will not let anything happen to you.”
Ruana blinked back the moisture in her eyes and turned her gaze on her brother. “He is close, as well. To putting his full faith in Jehovah.” A wisp of a smile flew over
her mouth. “Perhaps if he takes the final step, he will have the courage to ask for Eglah’s hand.”
Zechariah jerked his head around to watch his little sister tend his friend. Bijan had never mentioned anything . . . but was that pleasure underscoring the pain? And Eglah
—she had certainly never tended any of Zechariah’s wounds with that much care. Did she love him? Was that why she begged her way out of all the matches Abba tried to
arrange?
He breathed a laugh. “I am blind.”
That line of conversation halted when Abba folded his arms over his chest and measured Bijan. “This proclamation—as soon as the king realizes what has been done, he will
stop it.”
Zech shook his head. “Not if it was sealed with his signet. He cannot undo a law.”
Abba muttered a curse. “Do they really expect us to accept it? To let them obliterate us?”
“They expect you to be overwhelmed by your neighbors, who they have promised to pay for killing you.” Bijan looked over to Zechariah. “We will not make it so easy for
them.”
“No. We will not.”
Abba relaxed again and turned to him. “Of course. You will finally have your war, Zech. And you will fight for the children of God.”
A warm weight settled into place over his shoulders. Purpose. He nodded, then glanced at Ruana. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, and her arms held Navid close against her.
More violence was probably the last thing she wanted to hear about, but they must plan.
Best to get her out of the room first. “Come, Ruana, let me show you and your son where you will stay. Shall I . . . carry him for you?”
Perhaps she was too tired to do so herself—or perhaps she realized how desperate he was to hold his son. She smiled and held the sleeping child out to him. “Thank you.”
He would have to thank her, but not with an audience. He eased Navid to a rest against his shoulder and stood. The boy draped himself over him, even looped an arm around his
neck.
Love shafted through him, so fierce it left him breathless. He spun toward the back entrance before anyone could see it on his face and led the way to his never-used home.
Ruana stayed close to his side. “This is the house you built for your bride. Bijan said she married another instead.”
“She overheard us. That night.”
“Oh, Zech.” Ruana paused just outside the door. “I never intended to ruin anything.”
He debated, decided. She was one of them now, would be in their house for the foreseeable future. She would soon learn the truth anyway. “You have met her.”
“I have?” She frowned.
Half his mouth quirked up. “Many times, apparently. Her name is Esther.”
“Esther.” Her eyes went wide, the last of the color leeched from her cheeks. “Surely you do not mean—”
“The queen.”
“But . . . you were going to marry a Persian? Surely your father—”
“She is Jewish.” He gave her a moment to let that sink in. “No one at the palace knows.”
Instead of surprise or frustration, relief settled over her face. “Then between her and your sister, surely they can convince the king—”
“Kasia is near death. If something happens to her, I am unsure what the king may do.”
Her shoulders edged back. “We will pray for her. And for the king and queen. Jehovah will prevail.”
“He will. Come.” He stepped through the open door. Ima and the maids had lit several lamps, and he could hear them working in the bedchambers.
“Where should I put Navid?” Ruana asked. When he nodded to his left, she headed that way. “I will see how they are coming along.”