Jewel of Persia

Kasia pressed her lips together to keep from arguing the point of Masistes and Parsisa. Perhaps they did love one another. “Certainly she does. But Darius is not your

father, nor are you your mother. Your love cannot be exactly like theirs.”


“Why must matters of the heart be so complicated?” Artaynte pulled her gaze from Darius and turned to Kasia. “How do you keep the king’s love, Kasia?”

She chuckled and scanned the garden in the hopes that he would be out. Her heart raced at the mere thought of catching sight of him, then slowed to normal when she did not.

“I have no secret to share—I simply love him, and base all else on that. The opposite of your mother’s advice.”

“Hmm. It certainly works with your husband. How am I to know what would work best with his son?”

She could only shrug. “Shall I ask the king’s opinion? He knows his son better than I do.”

“No!” Horror made her friend’s amber eyes go round and her cheeks flush scarlet. “Swear you will not!”

Kasia laughed and patted Artaynte’s arm in reassurance. “I will do nothing to embarrass you, I promise.” Her mirth died down when a familiar tug pulled taut inside, and

another young man floated to the surface of her mind. “I have a brother the prince’s age—Zechariah. He has been on my mind much these past few weeks.”

As had Esther. She would be a woman now, of age to be married. Had they fallen in love, or had childhood affection vanished in the mists of time? For all she knew, they

could have married other people, people she had never met. And what of the twins, of Joshua?

“When we return to Susa, you should ask the king to let you visit your family. I am certain he would approve.”

Longing welled up, only to be eclipsed by reality. “He would. My father, on the other hand . . .”

“Surely he will want to meet his grandchild.”

Kasia smiled, appreciating that her friend spoke with certainty about the babe in her womb. Xerxes had refused to discuss it more this past week, as if doing so might prove

a curse. But there was nothing wrong with this child. She could feel the difference. “Perhaps. And even if Abba will not allow the younger children to see me, he and Ima

and Zechariah could come to the palace. I would love to feel my mother’s arms around me again.”

Artaynte’s gaze tracked back to the prince. “What if he falls in love with one of these girls he charms so easily?”

She led her friend on a curve in the path, one that would take them out of view of the prince. “You have nothing to fear. He will not wed any of those girls.”

“Not yet, since his first wife must be noble. But one could win his heart. What good will it do me to be his consort and queen if he has wasted himself on one of low birth?



If Artaynte did not look so worried and oblivious, Kasia may have been offended. She smiled instead. “Yes, one must look out for those low-born wenches. Trouble-makers,

every one.”

Her friend flushed again. “Oh, Kasia, I did not mean—that is, you are not—the king is certainly not wasting himself . . .”

Kasia laughed and bumped her shoulder into Artaynte’s. “Rest easy, my friend, I know you meant no insult. But if I might make an observation, I think the fact that Darius

avoids any young women of nobility speaks to his desire to wait for a particular one. And you are the one he watches.”

Artaynte came to an abrupt halt and looked around. The mountains loomed ahead of them in breathtaking splendor, the Meander River winding close on their right. “We had

better go back—Mother will be furious if I am late for the meal, and you know she hates us to go off alone.”

Kasia sighed. They had no fewer than ten slaves trailing them, and they were still within the park adjoining the palace built by Cyrus. Getting back in time for the feast

would be no great problem. But she had long ago discovered that Artaynte was no Esther—one could not lure her into adventure by dangling it before her nose long enough.

Which was a shame. The river gurgled by, all but begging for feet to be dipped in it. Far safer than the adventure bellowing from the jagged edge of the mountain ahead.

Male voices colored the air from nearby, and Artaynte’s face melted into panic. “Someone comes. Let us hurry back before Mother—”

“You go ahead.” Kasia smiled and released her arm. “It is my husband.”

Rather than calming her, that pronouncement sent Artaynte flying away like a terrified bird. Kasia shook her head, exchanged a smile with Desma and Theron, and turned back

to the path. From behind a hedge Xerxes and Pythius emerged, laughing.

Her chest squeezed tight. Of the millions of men surrounding them every hour of the day, none matched her husband. The noble bearing and strong, fine features, the authority

draping his shoulders like a cloak . . . the good humor in his eyes. How did a love as great as this not consume her whole?