Her casual nod said she saw no reason to question him. But the caution in her eyes said she had noted the shift in his behavior.
Jehovah have mercy, if he were not careful he could destroy her along with himself. Why had no one ever warned him that giving in to one sin would tempt him to others? He
did not want to think of Esther like that. He would not. No matter how soft her skin, no matter how forcefully it struck him right now that her face was absolutely flawless.
He would not.
She looked away. “I can get myself home without incident from here.”
A responsible friend would disagree and insist on seeing her home. But then, a responsible friend would not be every bit the threat to her that the stranger had been. Given
his thoughts at the moment, she would be safer without his company. “Very well. I will see you at the festivities tonight.” Hopefully his grin looked as unconcerned and
teasing as ever. “I have been working on your gift for months.”
Her usual sweet smile curled her lips up, and she glanced at his face before turning away. “Have a good day. And Zechariah—thank you. For stepping in with the Persian.”
He only trusted himself to nod, then he turned and hurried past the street he had found her on, to the next. Onward to the house that had become far too familiar and the
back entrance that soured his stomach every time he used it.
But the moment he stepped into the chamber, shame lost its footing. Ruana sat on her bed waiting for him. “There you are—I expected you a bit sooner.”
He pulled his tunic over his head. “I ran into a friend who needed help.”
“Always the hero. Now it is my turn to be saved—from my longings. I have missed you.”
“It has only been a week.” But he pulled off his shoes and hurried to the bed.
Best to lose himself quickly, before he could think too much on how unheroic he felt.
Twenty-Five
Malis, Trachis
Xerxes paced to the end of the tent, then back again. His every muscle felt hard and tense, his blood running hot. He glanced at the scout he had sent out five days ago then
at Demaratus, who still sat with infuriating surety.
Arrogance, nothing but arrogance. Three hundred men. Three hundred men stood before the walls in the pass they called Thermopylae, refusing to budge. He spun on the scout.
“Tell me again what you saw.”
The man moistened his lips. “The Lacedaemonians stood along the wall, their weapons and armor at their feet. They exercised nude, then brushed their hair.”
“Brushed their hair.” Xerxes glared at Demaratus.
The Spartan smiled. “If they are going to die, they want to look their best.”
“And die they shall, if they do not move from the pass. I have given them four days.”
Damaratus sighed and his smile faded. “I warned you that the Spartans would fight. But once you get through them, you will encounter no other resistance.”
Why, then, did they even bother? There was no question that they would be killed. “So be it. Send out the Medes and Cissians—and bring any prisoners back to me alive.”
“There will be no prisoners.”
Xerxes ignored him and left the shade of the tent. The summer sun beat down, but with less intensity than his men were accustomed to. To them it would be like the finest of
spring days. And this battle would be little more than an exercise.
Three hundred men. Absurd. “Zethar, have my throne set up on the hill so I can watch the battle.”
“Yes, master.” His eunuch turned halfway, then paused. “Will the king still be dining with Kasia this morning?”
He looked at the hill that would give him the best viewpoint, at the troops that would have to be put in formation and marched to the pass. There was time. “I suppose.”
Her presence might soothe the building anticipation. Then again, it could just as easily do the opposite. The round of her stomach was hard to ignore these days. And the
more frustrated she got with him for refusing to acknowledge it, the more frustrated he got with her for not seeing why he needed to.
They had already lost four hundred ships in the Hellespontine winds, crucial supply vessels among them. The Egyptians’ camels had been hunted by lions in the pass near the
canal at Mount Athos. Fifteen more ships had been captured by the Greeks. He must ensure as few other losses as possible.
Yet when he ducked into her tent she was, as always, on the floor in prayer. “Kasia, get up. I have no time for this today—the Medes and Cissians even now prepare to march
on the pass.”
She rose immediately—but the shadow in her eyes said his tone grated. Well, that was only fair. Her continual insistence on praying to a God that cared nothing for his
campaign grated on him.