Jewel of Persia

Xerxes growled and tossed a hand in the air. “Your advice is never anything but caution and fear. What would you have me do, sit at home in Persia and let the empire

stagnate? If a king took such council, there would be no empire.”


Artabanas sighed again. “I know you would have me worry about nothing, but I cannot help it. You have put so much trust in so many people—and not all of them are

deserving.”

“Oh, is that so? And who, O wise uncle, have I mistrusted? Do enlighten me.”

His words must have been tinged with red—Artabanas paled and cleared his throat. “I have never thought Mardonius the wisest choice for a commander—”

“He is skilled in strategy.”

His uncle inclined his head. “And I wish you had not given so much control to Haman—”

“My brother’s dearest friend.” He paced to the edge of the dais and spun back. “Any other wisdom?”

Artabanas pressed his lips together. “The Ionians . . .”

“A whole people now?” He kicked at a loose pebble and sent it skittering down the hill. “Where there is no trouble to be found, you create it. Do you think, with Greece

on the horizon, this could possibly help?”

His uncle shrank back. “You asked, my lord.”

“I did not expect a whole new list of nay-saying. Though I should have, it is all you ever offer.”

“That is not—”

“Enough!” He sliced a hand through the air and stomped back to his throne. “Go back to Susa, Artabanas.”

“My lord—”

“Now. I do not need your doubt befouling the entire campaign.”

The old fool stood, straightened his spine, and rolled back his shoulders. And looked not so old, nor such a fool. “I will go. I will go and leave you to your rash advisors

who flatter your vanity and push you into folly. And you will regret it when they lead you straight to disaster.”

Xerxes’ fingers clamped down on the armrest. He gritted his teeth together. “Get you gone, old man, before I dishonor the memory of my father by saying what is on my mind.



Artabanas spun and strode down the hill.

Too late. The day lay in ruins at Xerxes’ feet.

*

Kasia glanced up at Zethar as they walked. “Is he terribly angry?”

“Brooding.” The eunuch sighed. “Angry brooding.”

Her heart thudded. Not since the news of the first bridge’s collapse had she been called upon to soothe an enraged Xerxes. With all that happened since then, she was not so

sure she would still be able to. “Has no one else spoken with him?”

“He will not let any in, not after Mardonius came and praised his wisdom in sending Artabanas home.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up. “Being told he was right angered him more?”

Zethar smiled too. “You know the king.”

Yes, she did. Even now. Still, she breathed a silent prayer as they neared her husband’s tent. When they stopped, Zethar reached for the flap and motioned her inside.

An empty bowl hit the wall a foot to her right even as Xerxes shouted, “How many times must I say no one is to come in, Zethar?”

She must be mad—she had missed this. “Only once more—I am his last resort.”

“Kasia.” He spun to her with surprise on his face. “Which side will you take, then? That I should not have dishonored my uncle by sending him home, or that I never should

have let him come at all?”

She entered his tent for the first time in months. In here was no fog. No shadow. She moved to him and rested her arms on his chest, her eyes closing in bliss. “You miss

him already?”

A beat of silence, then a breath of a laugh as his arms closed around her. “It will not be the same without his anxious frowns. Which seemed like a good thing at the time—

but now who will check me?”

She opened her eyes again and grinned. “Shall I take a seat on your council? The one beside Artemisia, perhaps, so that the females can bolster one another.”

He chuckled and ran a hand slowly, gloriously up her back. “She bought her seat with five ships and a tyranny. What do you bring to give your advice credence?”

“Your heart.” It nearly came out as a question, but she forced her tone to hold steady.

He rewarded her with a smile that knit together a few pieces of her being. “An unfair advantage against the rest of my advisors—I am afraid I cannot let you use that in

matters of war. You ought to have let me give you a few cities. You could have rallied men from them and earned a command.”

“Ah, missed opportunities.” She snuggled against him. At least she was not missing this one, had not let her fear keep her from coming with Zethar.

He hummed into her hair and danced his fingertips down her back again. Were she a feline, she would have purred. “I have barely seen you since we left Troy,” he murmured.

“You have been avoiding me—not once did you come ride with me.”

She looked into his face and saw a struggle, quickly resolved. He sighed. “I was still confounded by that fear that swept through my army—and why in the world every child

within a mile came to you before it struck.”