Darius lifted a brow. “Apparently she was more given to prayer than hunger this night. For which you ought to thank the god. Had your scheme succeeded, nothing would
have averted Father’s wrath. He would have killed you with his own hands, babe or no babe.”
Amestris stumbled back and sank onto her couch. This was not the world she knew. It did not obey the rules she had mastered, did not track the path through the heavens she
had planned for. “He has taken it all. My crown, my power, my friends.”
Darius sat beside her. “It is not as bad as it seems, Mother. Father has promised to name me his successor in a few days’ time. When I am king you will be the queen
mother, whether you hold the title now or not.”
She straightened, forced her gaze to focus on her son’s face. “You are right. He cannot wrest from my hands the power I forged with them. He can take his authority. But
not my own.”
Why did Darius look saddened? He patted her hand, drew in a long breath. “You will rally. Just promise me, Mother, you will cause no more trouble. I know this concubine
distresses you. I know you are angry. But if you try Father more, I fear nothing will keep him from ordering your execution. Please—for your children’s sakes, control your
temper.”
She watched the face of this eldest son, glanced beyond him in time to see a smaller figure dart away. Hystaspes, undoubtedly spying as usual. He too, then, would have seen
his mother’s disgrace firsthand.
What choice did she have? Darius was right. Her day would come again, but not while Xerxes sat on the throne. She would have to be careful, sly as a serpent, until he could
be removed. “Of course, my son. I promise. I will not try him again.”
Not yet.
*
Zechariah tilted the chair so that the sun caught the engraving he had chiseled. Nearly perfect. Nearly. One more tap. . . . He positioned the chisel, reached for the
hammer. Halted at the sound of heavy footsteps nearing the door.
Abba’s grumble told him Persians entered the shop. Zechariah put down his tools and stood to intercept them before his father could scare them off. His smile wavered when
he saw clothing peculiar to the palace servants. Had something happened to Kasia?
He cleared his throat. “Good morning. How might I help you?”
One of the men extended a tablet with cuneiform script. “An order from the palace of Xerxes. A table and two chairs. The table is to be engraved with lilies. One of the
chairs ought to be of a height for a woman at a loom.”
Zechariah took the tablet and glanced at the writing. Abba had made him learn cuneiform so that he would not have to. His eyes widened at the price promised for the pieces.
“Certainly.”
Abba stepped up behind him. “Tell them to leave.” He spoke in low Hebrew.
Zechariah turned his head and answered in the same. “These are feminine pieces.”
His father obviously understood his meaning. Abba faced the Persians. “May we know for whom they are intended? We would tailor our work to suit the recipient.”
The servant smiled. “The king’s favorite concubine. If possible, she would have them before the king’s house leaves Susa in a fortnight.”
Zechariah’s breath hitched. His sister was a favorite of the king? An odd thought. Odder still to think that in a few weeks she would leave the only city they had ever
known. Headed where? To the magnificent ceremonial capital of Persepolis? Or perhaps one of the other two capital cities? Pasargadae? Ecbatana?
So far from home. From family.
How unfair that Kasia, who never wanted anything but a house full of children, got to see the world while he was stuck here in Susa. He said quietly to his father, “It has
to be her. Would you deny her something to remember us by, something carved by her father’s hand?”
Abba sighed.
The second servant turned from examining some of their completed pieces and held out another tablet. “From the king—orders enough to keep you busy for several years. He
wishes all new furnishings for his personal palace, both here and in Persepolis.”
Abba stared at the tablet without taking it. “Why would the king commission so much when he has never seen my work?”
The servant arched a brow. “He sees it now, through me. I was authorized to offer this only if I approved.”
“Take it,” Zechariah urged in Hebrew. “Surely you know what this would mean.”
Abba’s nostrils flared. “It is a bribe, that is all.”
The first servant lifted a brow. “You are mistaken.” Zechariah’s mouth fell open at the Hebrew words. Was this man a Jew, then, or just well educated? “It is a man
wanting to please the wife he loves and help provide for her family. Is that not a noble thing for a son by marriage to do? Is it not in keeping with the Law?”
Abba blinked rapidly. “How would you know he loves her?”