Jewel of Persia

“Shh.” Adam put a hand over Zechariah’s face, though he covered his nose more than his mouth. Perhaps because his gaze was locked on something in the opposite

direction. “Speaking of my future bride . . . if I believed in pagan gods, I would swear Cupid just struck me. Look. Have you ever seen such a beautiful woman?”


His friend fell in love at least once a week, but Zechariah would be the first to admit he had a good eye for female forms. He peered around him. And snorted. “Her? She is

a child.”

“Are you blind? She must be at least fourteen. Are not both the twins betrothed? They cannot be any older.”

Zechariah looked down the river again, to where Esther stooped with a large clay jug. “You are right about that much. She is the same age as the twins.”

“You know her?” Adam turned to her with large, round eyes. “Would you—”

“No, I am not going to introduce you.”

“You need not scowl at me like that, Zech, my intentions are honorable.”

“Your intentions are also as shifting as the wind.” That, however, was not what made him scowl. How was it that Adam did not know who Esther was? He would know Mordecai,

certainly—every Jew in Susa knew Mordecai. But Esther . . . had she closed herself off again, while he was busy with this latest project for the king?

Zechariah bit back a curse and splashed more water over himself. “Go home, Adam—and you had better be here an hour before dawn tomorrow, or I shall come drag you from your

grave.”

Adam stood up and sucked in what remained of his stomach. “Absolutely.” His voice came out in a wheeze. “Tomorrow. See you then.”

Zechariah watched him swagger off—veering to the right far more than necessary, though Esther did not look up from her task. He rolled his eyes and stood, then strode her

way.

She glanced up with a start, though the caution in her expression gave way to welcome when she saw him.“I ought to have known it was you and your would-be soldiers out so

early. Have you trained a new class of Immortals yet?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “What have you been doing, Esther?”

Her blink told him his tone had been too harsh, too accusing. “I am only getting water. Martha’s back has been bothering her, so I offered to take on this task.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not now. In general.”

She still looked baffled. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Weaving, mending. Helping your sisters prepare for their weddings.”

As any young woman should be doing . . . yet most young women had friends beyond the four girls that lived three doors down and emerged from their houses other than to fetch

water for their servants.“Have you gone to the markets lately? Or across the city with my sisters and mother when they visit our cousins? Have you perhaps taken Mordecai

his meals while he hears complaints at the palace gates?”

Enlightenment made her eyes dim. She turned back to her jug and dipped it in the river. “I am not overfond of crowds, you know that.”

He took the heavy vessel from her while she stood. “You used to run off to the river at all hours. You went with Martha into the markets every chance you got.”

Esther pushed to her feet and grabbed at the jug. “That was not me.”

He held tight to the pottery. “If you insist upon reverting to this reclusiveness every time I get involved in a large project, I shall be forced to tell the king to find

another to do his woodworking.”

Disbelief sparkled in her eyes and emerged as a hint of a smile on her lips. “I think not.”

“Esther.” He released the vessel to her. If he tried to carry it, he would probably slosh out half its contents during the trip. She could balance it perfectly on her head

without losing a single precious drop. “You worry me.”

“Why? Because I prefer the quiet of my cousin’s house to the bustle of the streets? Because I am content with the friends I have among your family?” She shook her head

and set her water down. “That is ridiculous.”

“Is it? My friend who just left had no idea who you were, though he lives on our street.”

“And should I know all the unmarried young men in our neighborhood?”

He threw his hands into the air and faced away from the river. “Fine. But do not whine to me when your cousin eventually betroths you to a complete stranger. He will have

no choice.”

“He will not betroth me to a stranger.” She lifted the jug to her head and started on the path toward home.

Zechariah sighed and fell in beside her. “I want the best for you, Esther. You are a sister to me.”

“I am not your sister.”

The quiet confidence in her tone made his jaw clench. They did not speak of her feelings for him. Never had they, and never did he wish to. Best to stick to the subject at

hand. “Do you remember when you first came to Mordecai’s house?”

When she drew in a breath, it sounded resigned. “Of course I do.”