Was that his lips against her hair? “That is not selfish, and you will not be left alone, even if something happened to Mordecai. You know my family loves you like
one of its own.”
Though she nodded, she had her doubts. His sisters would not miss her when they married and moved. His brothers had not teased her or joked with her since Kasia left them.
Only Zechariah treated her as he always had—and he was the one person she wished would not.
She pulled away, eyes on the ground. “I must return to Mordecai. I . . . thank you, Zechariah.”
“There is no need for thanks. We are friends, and that is what friends do.”
“I know.” Friends, always friends. He loved her no more than the rest of his family did. She picked up the pot and stepped past him.
*
Sardis, Lydia
The kiss of the sun had never felt so welcome—especially in contrast to the tears that fell like rain from Kasia’s eyes. She swiped at them, but more took their place.
Perhaps she ought not have asked where they had buried her babe. Seeing that freshly turned soil marked by an irregular stone did not help her say goodbye.
Xerxes’ hand settled on her shoulder, and his thumb rubbed at the nape of her neck. “We must go, my love. Unless you have changed your mind and would like to rest a while
longer—”
“No. I am ready.” She did her best to smile in proof.
Her husband did not look convinced. “You cannot possibly be well enough for travel, Kasia. I saw the wound in your head last night. You ought to be . . .”
“Dead.” The word made her shudder, but she rolled back her shoulders. “I know. But you cannot deny what you saw this morning, can you?”
He pressed his lips together and trailed his fingers over her arm. The night before, a deep gash had marred her flesh and scored her muscle. When she awoke this morning,
only the faintest of lines showed where it had been. Her whole body had felt saturated in light, as if she had slept under Susa’s summer sun.
Xerxes shook his head. “It is unnatural.”
“As was everything else that transpired yesterday.” She looked to the wall where she had stood and watched the first tendrils of darkness slip over the mountaintop. Her
memory ended there. Her eyes followed the path she must have fallen, over the wall and down the steep hill. Theron had pointed out the rough, flat rock they had found her
on, the dual stains of blood dark and taunting. “Praise Jehovah for hearing my cry. First he saved me, then he healed me.”
“Jehovah?” Xerxes snorted a laugh—the derision in it knotted her stomach. “Where was he when your son emerged lifeless and still?”
Eyes burning, she splayed a hand over the abdomen that should have been swollen instead of flat. “I know not why he spared me and not the babe, but he held me throughout
it. Had he not . . .”
“This would not have happened to begin with.” He took his hand from her shoulder and rubbed it over his face. “Kasia, you must stop denying Ahura Mazda. I know in my soul
that is what killed our son, what nearly killed you.”
There may have been some truth to that—the evil would have stolen her life if God had not intervened. “I believe we addressed this the first night I came to you, Xerxes.
Jehovah is my God. Did you not grant that is a crucial part of who I am?”
He huffed out a breath and started toward the wagon, pulling her along by her elbow. “That was before this happened. And that conversation was about whether you would serve
me, not the god. I only ask you to admit what everyone else does this morning.”
She pulled her arm free. “Everyone admits something terrible happened yesterday, and everyone puts their faith in you when you tell them it was a good omen. It is you they
worship, Xerxes, not your god.”
“Ridiculous.”
“It is not. Do you not see everyone’s fearful glances at the sky? Then they see you striding about with confidence, and they relax.” She halted and grabbed at his tunic.
“You are a man above men, my love, and they follow wherever you lead. That is why you must keep your feet on the path of righteousness. If Jehovah does not go with you, you
will meet with defeat.”
A thunderhead gathered in his eyes then melted into concern. “All the world will follow me except you. Why must you tempt the god, Kasia?”
She laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “I follow you in all things but this.”
“You do not. Every time I order something you do not like, you turn those large eyes on me and plead until I relent.” Though the words were teasing, his face was not. “I
cannot relent on this—I have too much to lose.”
“Xerxes . . .”