Suddenly aware of the yeasty scent of the fresh loaf, she dashed to the corner to wretch into the waste pot.
Xerxes’ silence pounded at her when she rose again. He stood like a statue, his face set in an expression of hard denial. Then he spun back to his tablets.
Well, if he was so bent on calculations, he could do this one and realize the symptoms were right on cue for her to have conceived at Abydus. He probably had already,
otherwise he would be concerned rather than silent. How long would he ignore it? Did he not realize the fear could be better dealt with together?
It seemed she had only managed to secure half her marriage. He still would not talk to her about anything that mattered. Troops and surrenders, landscapes and acquaintances.
Nothing more.
She wiped her mouth on a rag. In some ways, half a marriage was better than the echo she had had since Sardis. The fog stayed at a distance. But the shadows—the shadows
seemed to creep a little closer each time she had to close her mouth on her faith.
Dear Jehovah, let not my heart cost me my soul.
Xerxes tossed a tablet down with a thwack. “Zethar! Rouse everyone, and let us get an early start. I tire of dawdling.”
Kasia shook her head. It would take as long to wake everyone up as it would to let them rise on their own. But when the king issued a command . . .
Her servants stumbled in, Desma still rubbing at her eyes. She narrowed them upon spotting Kasia. “You are pale. How do you feel this morning?”
“Nauseous.” Kasis pressed her lips together when Xerxes flew from the chamber. “Which apparently displeases my husband.”
“He fears for you.” Desma guided her to a seat and pulled back her hair. “Your belongings are packed and ready to go.”
Kasia shut her eyes while Desma worked her hair into a braid. The farther they traveled into Europe, the more she longed to go home. She missed the sun-baked land of her
birth. The parents she had not seen in two years. The cacophony of siblings scrambling around her. She longed for the friend three doors down who would dream with her about
impossibilities. She wanted to be surrounded one more time by others who knew Jehovah.
She loved her husband, even this fierce version that had ruled since his terrible god had gripped him. But she did not want to need him so much, did not want the fog to
hover, ready to pounce if he turned his back on her again.
“Would you like to eat before we go, mistress?” Leda asked.
Kasia pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. “Perhaps you could bring something with us for later.”
They left the king’s chamber and made their way to the walls of the fortress, where dawn was only a blush on the eastern horizon. Kasia let her head fall back so she could
look up at the canopy of dimming stars. She missed watching for the first evening star with Xerxes, but now every evening was a feast, gathered for months in advance by
those with farms along their path. The best they could find for the king who declared them his subjects and took with him everything they set up.
In so many ways, her husband was the most sensitive of men. Yet he never seemed to notice the strain of the farmers whose livelihood his people consumed in an hour. He never
looked over his shoulder to note the destruction they left in their wake.
At least he only demanded one meal a day from the landowners. Any more might prove the end of them.
She oversaw the transfer of her things and settled onto the seat of her wagon as morning spilled soft and golden onto the land. Zad stretched out on the bench beside her
with a spoiled whoof and rested his head in her lap.
Kasia smiled and scratched behind his ears. A few minutes later the wagon rolled into its place in the procession, and she turned to her maids. “I recalled another Psalm
yesterday, if you would like me to teach it to you.”
They grinned and reached for their instruments. She was blessed indeed to have servants willing to learn of her faith, to pray with her and support her.
Even if no one else did.
Midmorning brought Zethar to the wagon with a weary smile of greeting. “The king wishes to know if you feel well enough for company.”
She grinned at the eunuch. “Which is to say, he does not wish to come if my nausea will force the truth upon him? Well, tell the king he may join me without risk to his
blinders.”
Zethar chuckled. “And you would actually have me say . . . ?”
“I feel much better and would love some company.”
“That I will gladly deliver.”
She exchanged a grin with her servants and urged Zad onto the floor. Leaning out the opening, she spotted Xerxes riding her way.
A cry from the side of the road grabbed her attention. It looked to be a peasant, a man gnarled and old. He called out, “Zeus! Zeus!”