It felt as though the summer sun beat upon her, drying her up and scorching her flesh. She had never been the brave one, the risk-taker. She had never been the one to
charge in and fight off the enemy. That was Kasia’s part, Zechariah’s. Never had she been suited for anything more than dwelling behind them. “If Kasia were awake—”
“She is not,” Hathach snapped, more angrily than he had ever dared speak to her. “But if she does not die now, she will by year’s end—as will your cousin, your
neighbors. As will you, if you do not take a chance. Mistress.” He squeezed her hand, lowered his voice again. “Who is to say you did not come here for such a time as
this? If Haman succeeds in his plans, your people will be wiped out in all of Persia, even those who have returned to Israel.”
A cool breeze blew across her soul, soothed the fire. It moved through her veins, along each nerve, until even her roiling mind felt the breath of peace.
All her life she had feared losing those she loved. Feared violence, disease, disaster. Afraid, always afraid someone else would be snatched from her—and now that
possibility taunted her. They could all be taken, all of them in one fell swoop.
She was no longer a child, to cower in the shadows of her father’s house until a stranger came to rescue her. No longer a girl, to beg someone stronger to take care of her.
If she must die, better to do it fighting for others than while running like a coward in eleven months. Better to draw the king’s anger onto her for her deception than let
it destroy her entire people.
She stood up, rolled her shoulders back. “Give this message to Mordecai: Go, gather all the Jews in Susa and have them fast for me for three days. They should neither drink
nor eat, only pray. My servants and I will do the same here, and on the third day, I will break the law and go to the king. If I perish . . . well then, I perish.”
Hathach stood too, and nodded. Pride gleamed in his eyes.
*
Mordecai surveyed the empty streets, listened to the pulse of countless voices murmuring to Jehovah in the sanctuary of their homes. Below it, an undertone that set his
pulse to dancing. It was not mankind alone that gathered tonight. He sensed the hedge around them, wings stretched wide until tip touched tip. Outside it, the shadows dipped
and dove.
But his people would not be bothered these next three days, while they prayed for deliverance—first for their queen, and so for themselves.
Sending Esther such a harsh message had not been easy, but he had known it would make her stand tall, take her rightful place as leader of their people. His lips tugged up
as he recalled all the surprise from neighbors who never realized his reclusive cousin had left his house and gone to the king’s. But then hope had lit every single set of
despairing eyes.
He strode past his empty home and to Kish’s. His friends had been praying for Kasia before he brought them Esther’s request, but they had redoubled their efforts. Even the
Persians now among them—an irony he hoped was not lost on Kish—joined in the prayers to the one God.
He let himself in, found his place on the floor beside Zechariah. On the young man’s other side lay his betrothed, prostrate before the Almighty. Only the youngest of the
children were absent, out in Zechariah’s house with Sarai. He could hear her voice from here, lifted up in a psalm.
Jehovah would prevail. Their weeping had already turned to prayer—soon enough it would turn to singing.
*
Xerxes sat on his throne and wished he were in Kasia’s room, her hand in his and their children fighting for a place in his lap. Wished she would open her eyes and look at
him with more than that leashed emotion. Wished she would sit up, admonish him for his worry with one of her witty rebukes, and demand he hand her the babe.
A week. A week she had lain there without moving, her body shrinking before his eyes. His lovely Kasia. His heart and soul.
He tried to pray. He did. But Jehovah never spoke to him but through her, and now that her lips were silenced . . .
A headache pounded. He lifted a hand, rubbed at his neck. One more meeting today, then he could leave. At least the court was quiet. All but empty.
Except for that movement at the perimeter of his inner court. He frowned and waited to see who dared disturb him.
Sunlight angled off the polished columns and glimmered against gold at head, neck, wrists, waist. Shimmered in the fabric as she moved.
He sighed and even managed a smile. Esther. Had he really yelled at her the other day? Kasia would have chided him endlessly for his behavior.
Esther’s company would do him good. He should have seen that a week ago. She would share his concerns, share his grief. He lowered the scepter in his hands and let his
smile grow as she walked forward, all the way to the throne.
Grinning, she reached out and touched the top of the scepter. “I have a petition, my husband.”
Peace filled her eyes. He knew not how it was possible, but it was a balm on his soul. For the first time in a week, hope surged. “What do you wish, my queen? A city? Ten?
I will give you up to half the kingdom.”