“There you are!” Artaynte rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her. “It will be torture watching Darius with his string of lovers with only Mother to talk to.
If I thought I had a chance, I would beg the king to leave you here.”
Kasia gave the girl a long hug. “I would be a surly, sour friend indeed if forced away from my husband.” She grinned and tugged on a lock of Artaynte’s hair. “You will
understand that soon enough.”
With a huff of disbelief, Artaynte pulled away. “We shall see.”
Zad let out a string of low barks and growls and took off toward the wagon. Odd behavior for him—he usually stuck close to her side. Kasia looked to her servants. “Go see
what he is about, would you, Theron? And Desma, put the last of the things in the wagon, please.”
Theron frowned. “The dog will be fine. We will wait for you.”
She sent a pointed glance to the seven servants lingering near Artaynte. “I think I will be well enough protected for five minutes, Theron. And I promise I shall not budge
from this spot until you return for me.”
“Why do you allow such impudence?” Artaynte whispered as Theron and Desma sauntered away, both scowling. “Simply command them.”
“Speaking of commanding.” Kasia nodded to where Parsisa beckoned her daughter. “You are needed, it seems.”
“Will you not say farewell to Mother?”
“She stopped in earlier.” She wiggled her fingers in Parsisa’s direction and pulled Artaynte in for one more hug. “I will pray for you daily.”
“I shall need it. Be safe and well. I look forward to meeting your son when you return.” Sighing, Artaynte pulled away. “Stay with her,” she said to one of her eunuchs.
The moment her friend left, unease crowded her mind and heart. Something was wrong, something that seemed to saturate the very air. Yet the sky was a promising, cloudless
blue, and the morning sun gleamed bright and warm in the heavens.
All was as it should be, was it not? The bridge had been rebuilt. The canal was finished. The army swarmed in an orderly mass, ready to march onward to Abydus.
Not for the first time since she joined the royal family, she craved solitude like a drowning man craved air. She kept her gaze cool as she turned it on Artaynte’s eunuch.
“Go to your mistress. My own slaves return even now.”
The slave offered no protest, no response at all other than obedience.
Her hands shook as she slid to the waist-high wall beside her. Before her the taunting pinnacle of Mount Tmolus rose up in one direction. The mountainside tumbled into the
Hermus valley and the city of Sardis in the other.
Inside, warning bells clashed and clamored. “What is it, Jehovah? Why does such dread fill me?”
Her vision trembled and shook, and she swore the metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. Moans echoed in her ears, and she had to grip the wall to keep her balance.
“Jehovah?”
Without me is defeat.
Her throat closed off. She could but move her lips. “Without you? Do you not come with us?”
What part has righteousness with unrighteousness? And what part has holiness with evil?
Evil? She would grant that the Persian court did not seek the righteousness her God espoused, and she had prayed herself through the feeling of an enemy crouching behind her
several times. But the Lord had always been with her. Going before her, as her father had promised he would. Why should now be any different?
“Lord . . .”
Look up.
She knew even before she obeyed that she would rather squeeze her eyes shut tight. Paralysis already seized her limbs, her heart thundered a silent cry. Her gaze settled on
the ground directly across from her, where scrub bushes nestled in every rocky crag. She moved her eyes up, over the increasing rocks and boulders, until her gaze caught on
the spur of the mountain.
Darkness whispered like fog over the tip, its tendrils extending out slowly, seeking. And within it was a roiling, writhing life that sucked the breath from her lungs.
All she could manage was a croak. “Oh, dear Lord . . .”
*
Susa, Persia
Amestris blinked to clear her vision. A small hand tugged on her elbow, and pleading brown eyes looked up at her. “Eat.”
She spared a smile for her youngest, though she was in no mood for his disruption. “You are hungry, Artaxerxes?”
The toddler nodded, sending dark curls dancing over his forehead. He tugged again on her elbow and stuck out a lip.
Fondness warred with impatience. She scooped up her son as his frazzled nurse rushed in. Another day, Amestris would have punished her for letting the boy get away from her.
Today she had no time for such things. “There you are. Take my son for his breakfast.”
Artaxerxes’ arms clamped around her neck. “No. Mother.”
“Mother cannot leave right now.” She kissed his brow and plied him off. “But we will go play in the garden later.”