“You were such a sorrowful little thing. Any mention of your parents sent you into silence and solitude, even years later. Kasia once told me she lured you into
adventure so you would not think of sad things so much. And it worked. Before she left us, you had become bright and vibrant, just like her. Do you remember that? The way
you would laugh together, finish each other’s sentences?”
“She understood me.” She halted and looked up at him. Her eyes had always struck him as old beyond her years. Lately they had become ageless. Why had Jehovah forced her
through so much? “But that was her vibrancy you saw, Zechariah, not mine. Kasia was the flame—I was but a mirror that reflected it.”
“You are wrong.” Had she truly been his sister, he would have pulled her close and squeezed the grief out of her. But she was right—she was not his sister. If he did
that, she would take from it something he did not intend. “When you came to Mordecai, he changed your name to Esther because you brought the light back into his life.”
Again her lips curled into that perfect, reserved smile. “A star, yes. One point of light, so dim in the heavens. What is a star next to the silver light of the moon?”
“A perfect complement. And when the moon hides her face, the star shines all the brighter.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears. “You are a poet as well as an artist, Zechariah. Yet you would rather paint a battlefield with the blood of your enemies. Surely you can
understand how I struggle with what is expected of me as well.”
His heart beat a sympathetic cadence against his ribs. “All that is expected is that you be who we know you are inside.”
“No. You expect me to be Kasia. But I cannot, much as I wish it otherwise. I cannot be that bright. I cannot be your sister.”
How had he ended up in this quagmire? No matter what he argued, she would either feel the burden of unreasonable expectations or take from it a hopeless hope. He sighed.
“No one thinks you must be Kasia—we only want you to be the Esther you were with her.”
She looked at him for a long moment and then turned and walked away. Even then, he swore he felt the penetration of her gaze. Those eyes of hers said much. She might as well
have demanded, “If you want me to be a mirror again, why do you refuse to provide the flame?”
He could not. So he turned back to the river and thrust his head under. The water gushed cool over him, providing a welcome crush of meaningless noise. When he emerged and
slicked his hair away from his face, he could almost pretend the conversation with Esther had never happened.
His parents had long ago discovered his morning sport but had agreed to let him continue, so long as he was home in time to start the day. He entered the house to the smells
of newly baked bread. Abba already sat with a wooden bowl of food before him, and he looked up with a smile. “There you are. Did you want to make the deliveries today, or
should I send Joshua? We must clear some of the finished pieces out so we have room to begin that bed your friend’s sister commissioned. Though why she insists it be
fashioned from a single piece of wood . . .”
“Apparently she is a fan of Homer’s Odyssey and always wanted a bed like Penelope and Odysseus had.” Zechariah grabbed a hunk of bread. “I will do the deliveries. Joshua
is still working on that set of griffins, and you know how he gets if we distract him.”
Abba chuckled. “True. I shall help you load everything up as soon as you eat.”
The promise of a trip through Susa was enough to make him hurry through his meal. Zechariah and Abba filled their cart with finished pieces and hitched it to the donkey.
He smiled as he headed for the home of the absent Bijan. The reason came to the door with her usual coy grin. “Good morning, Zechariah. Have you heard about my betrothal?”
Zechariah jumped from the cart with a snort of a laugh. “Certainly—when your bridegroom came to our shop with your order for a monstrosity of a bed. What are you trying to
do, Ruana, kill me?”
Mischief carved dimples into her cheeks as she stepped into the street. “Only with jealousy.”
He chuckled. “I cannot believe you found a man willing to indulge your spending habit. Does he realize you will empty his treasury within the year?”
“I have little fear of that. He has been well compensated for his service in Egypt.” She peered over the side of the cart, one hand twirling a lock of hair. “Lovely,
Zech. Shall I show you where I want them?”
“Mmm.” He hefted the first of the decorative screens and followed her inside. As usual, her mother was nowhere in sight.
She led him inside their massive house and toward the back, where her personal chamber took up the corner. As she walked, her hips swayed—exaggerated, he suspected, for his
benefit. “We have heard from Bijan,” she said over her shoulder. “They have reached Celaenae and will soon be heading to Sardis to await spring and the completion of the
bridge and canal. He is anxious for action.”