Esther turned from Kasia’s bed to where her maid stood in the doorway, face perplexed. “What is it, Calisto?”
The girl’s frown deepened as she stepped inside. “It is Mordecai the Jew, mistress. When I went out to the markets for you, I saw him before the gate, in sackcloth and
ashes.”
Esther stood. “Surely not over Kasia—he would not mourn while she yet lives, would he?” Unless he knew something the rest of them did not. Had Jehovah told him . . . ?
“No, I cannot think so. The square was filled with Jews, all weeping and wailing.”
Not Kasia then—their whole people would not know to mourn for her. So what in the world . . . ? “Ask him to come and tell me what is happening.”
“He cannot enter the gates dressed like that, mistress.”
“Then take fresh garments to him first.”
Calisto bent her knee then dashed off.
Esther rested a hand on her forehead and turned back to Kasia. Dread curled in her stomach.
Something was wrong. She had felt the scratch of its claws when she stepped from her room this morning but assumed it the same worry that had dogged her for days.
Her knees ached to join Kasia’s servants in their supplication to Jehovah. She prayed silently as she sat beside her friend, but it did not feel enough. The weight of need
pushed down on her shoulders, doubling as her mind turned over possible explanations for Mordecai’s lamenting.
Something was very, very wrong.
Calisto returned a few minutes later. “He refused the garments, mistress.”
The dread cinched tight. “Hathach!”
Her head eunuch stepped in from his post in the hall. “Mistress?”
Fear mounted upon dread and shook her from the inside out. “Hathach, go find Mordecai. Ask him why he mourns.”
Though she tried to sit patiently beside Kasia while he was gone, she ended up pacing the chamber, her soul crying silently to Jehovah. Yearning forward, upward, anywhere
answers may lie. Answers for her friend, for her cousin. Answers, any answers to be had.
She jumped when the door opened and Hathach stepped in again.
His face was grim. “Your husband gave his signet to Haman, mistress, who immediately made it law that the Jews are to be destroyed, and their murderers rewarded for it. It
is set for the last month of the year—the proclamation is being read in every town, every province. Here. A copy of it.”
Esther reached with trembling hand for the tablet, the news not even allowing relief that Mordecai’s mourning was not over Kasia. Her eyes blurred too much for her to read
it. “I cannot believe it.”
“Mordecai asks . . .” He paused, swallowed, and gave her a strange look. “He commands you go before the king in supplication and plead for your people.”
Esther sank onto the chaise behind her. So, then. Her cousin thought this her purpose.
Hathach knelt before her, dipping his head so he could look her in the face. “Mistress, why did you never tell me? You know how we love you, you know you could trust us.
Why did you not tell us he is your cousin?”
“I have no answer for that, Hathach. I could trust no one in the beginning, and then . . .” She shook her head and placed the tablet beside her. “I cannot go before him
without being called—it would mean death.”
“Unless he holds out the scepter. Which he will surely do for you, mistress.”
“Will he?” Tears scalded her eyes, burned behind her nose. “I am not so sure. He has not called me for a month—”
“But you are his queen, Kasia’s dearest friend. You have gone to him before without being called.”
She turned her face away, which put Kasia in her line of sight again. Motionless, like nothing more than a doll. “But the last time was to tell him that his greatest love
was struck down. When I tried to speak to him days ago, he lashed out. I have never been able to predict him like she can, Hathach. Perhaps he hates me for bearing the news.
Perhaps he hates Jehovah for not sparing her this. And if I admit I lied about my heritage . . .”
He reached out and gripped her hand. “Mordecai said you ought not think in your heart you will escape any more than the rest of the Jews. If you do not stand for the Lord’
s people, then another will be raised up and you and your father’s house shall perish.”
Her shoulders slumped. Mordecai had always understood her, had always encouraged her—yet now, when she most needed his support, he sent her a message of doom and refused to
speak with her himself?