Remembering the queen brought a fresh chill to her spine. Had Amestris insulted her alone, Kasia would have accepted her opinions without complaint. But to attack her
God?
She shook her head. The Persian Empire was renowned for its tolerance of other religions, had even encouraged her people more than once—Xerxes’ grandfather releasing the
Jews from captivity was a perfect example—but clashes were inevitable when monotheistic religions collided.
Amestris believed her Ahura Mazda was the one and true god. Kasia knew Jehovah owned that title. She had occasionally wondered if perhaps they were two different names for
the same being, but the queen had succeeded in convincing her otherwise.
Her soul had recognized its enemy.
For an hour she sat at her loom and took up her weaving. For an hour she prayed for God’s protection, for his presence to blanket the palace, for his strength to fill her.
For an hour her fingers moved with confidence. But when her meal was brought in and she ceased her prayers, her hands shook.
The tray was silver, as were the bowls with her food. The rhyton of wine was rimmed in gold. The meat was covered in a sauce she could not name, the grain baked into a
beautiful loaf, the fruit exotic, the wine sweet and strong.
All looked like sand.
“Is it not to your liking, mistress?” Desma asked with wrinkled brow. “I can send it back and get you something else.”
And appear ungrateful. “No, it is fine.” She sat, even reached for the wine.
Her stomach clenched, and she tasted bile. In front of her eyes dropped a hazy veil and on her spirit weighed a desperate need to commune with her Lord. She pushed away from
the table and stumbled over to the multi-colored rug under one of the windows. Sinking to her knees was not enough, so she stretched prostrate on the ground.
“Mistress?” Voice alarmed, Desma dropped down beside her. “What is wrong? Do you need a physician? A magi?”
“No.” Never in her life had her insides vibrated with this urgent need to pray. In her father’s house, her faith had been relaxed and easy—here in the palace it seemed
to demand every ounce of her being. Was this how it had been for the great prophet Daniel a century ago? For his friends Azariah and Mishael and Mordecai’s ancestor
Hananiah?
She was no prophet. But if spending her days in prayer was what Jehovah required in return for his presence, then she would lie on this rug indefinitely.
“Mistress?”
“I must fast and pray, Desma. There is no need for alarm, but I . . . I must. Please go see to your own meals now. I will need nothing further tonight.”
After a moment of silence, feet shuffled out the door. But Desma sat on the corner of the rug, and Theron took up his protective stance against the wall.
The closest she would get to solitude. So be it.
Time washed away, all her senses focused on supplication. She saw only the ever-shifting lights behind her closed eyes, smelled only the sweet fragrance of prayers, heard
only the whisper of the Spirit’s wind.
She prayed for her husband. She prayed for herself. She prayed for the queen. She prayed for Esther and Mordecai, for her parents and siblings. She prayed for the children
she may someday have. She prayed for Jasmine, for her servants, for the coming war.
Then her door opened and hurried feet pounded into her room. Leda fell to her knees before Desma. “The food—it was poisoned. The dog I fed a bite too has become paralyzed,
his breathing slow and hard. Hemlock.”
A chill danced over Kasia’s back. She sat up and looked from one maid to the other.
Desma’s mouth was agape. “How did you know, mistress?”
She shook her head.
Desma swallowed hard, her eyes wide. “Your God watches over you. If you would share him with your servant, I would learn to pray to him as well. For your sake.”
Kasia nodded, even smiled. It would seem she had another true friend in the palace.
She dared not count her enemies.
Ten
Darius cuffed his brother on the side of the head with a laugh. “Hystaspes, you make me late. Go bother Mother.”
The ten-year-old lunged at him with a mighty roar. “I am a lion! You must fight me off, Darius. What if you get attacked by a lion on your way to Greece? They have them in
one of the mountain passes, you know. My tutor told me of them today.”
Hence why he had been fending off these lion attacks all afternoon. Yesterday it had been bears. What would come tomorrow? Crocodiles? He flipped the boy off his back,
careful to help him land gently. “There, lion, you are defeated. Now stay that way. Father wants me at the feast.”
Hystaspes scowled and rested his elbows on his knees. “It is unfair. Why do you get to meet all the dignitaries while I am expected to eat in the nursery? I am a man too.”
Darius arched a brow. “Amytis and Rhodogune would miss you.”
The boy made a face. “Girls are so dull.”