Jewel of Persia

“It is Jehovah’s concern because you are Jehovah’s concern. You are the caretaker of his chosen.”


He shook his head and stood. “Your Jehovah has never spoken to me. Ahura Mazda has. And he has promised victory—by your own admission, your God led his chosen people to

defeat.”

She stood too. “Only because we had wandered from the faith.”

“Then he can have no good in mind for me, as Persia is less faithful to him than Israel was.”

Her lips quirked up. “More so than the Greeks, though—you have faithful Jews in your company.”

He sighed. “I have made myself clear, and you will obey. No obvious prayers to your God.”

She folded her arms over her chest, resting them on the mound of her stomach. “No obvious prayers.”

“I would prefer, if you must pray about the battle, you pray to Ahura Mazda.”

At that, she only blinked. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and strode for the throne his servants had set on the hill.

Better to focus on the fight he could win.

*

Persepolis, Persia



Amestris halted at the garden’s entrance, her eyes not seeing the lush vegetation before her. Her ears did not hear the squeals of Artaxerxes or the impatient reply of her

younger daughter, Rhodogune. Her soul—her soul felt the touch of the god.

He had visited her often since the king’s ridiculous attempt to depose her. A whisper to let her know when to act. An image of a pointed finger in her mind to show her

which direction to go. He had helped her gather the strands of power into her hands, to braid them into a sturdy rope.

She did not need the king to be the queen. She could hang her enemies without his help. But still the god bade her pray for her estranged husband, that he would remain

faithful to Ahura Mazda.

News from Haman was encouraging. His attempt on the Jewess’s life may have failed—the witch must have a powerful demon watching over her, perhaps even Angra Mainyu himself

—but at least the child had been stillborn. And according to Haman, relations between Xerxes and the Jewess had been strained ever since. It was only a matter of time

before the scales fell from the king’s eyes.

My god, let it be soon. Let him see that she is your enemy, and so the enemy of Persia. Hold tight to him, Ahura Mazda. Do not let him go.

“Excuse me, my queen.”

She focused on the servant bowing low before her. “What?”

“The jewelry you commissioned has arrived. Shall I set it up in your chamber?”

“Yes, yes. Go.” She shook her head and stepped into the garden, only to stop again when she saw the looks of accusation Hystaspes wore on his faces. “Why do you scowl?”

Her son shifted a bit, and finally Hystaspes shook his head. “Why do you allow them to call you the queen again, Mother?”

She lifted a brow that should have put the twelve-year-old in his place. Yet he only straightened his shoulders. She put a hand on her hip. “I see no one else with the

title.”

Hystaspes moistened his lips. “Father will be very angry.”

“I do not see him here, either. Besides, he always repents of his rash behavior. He may not be able to change the law he made, but he will either find a way around it or

let everyone quietly ignore it. It is his way.”

Her son looked none too sure, and his doubt chafed. While he studied and played with blunted spears, she made the connections that would become his career. She burned

incense and prayed blessings upon him. Any success he found would be thanks to her.

And if he stood against her, he would fail.

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Hear me well. A king might make the law, but everyone knows power is held within the harem. I will not kindle the king’s wrath—but neither

will I step aside while all I have worked for is undone. If you want security when you grow up, obey me now. I may have no crown, but I am still the queen.”

She stormed past him before he could argue and went to find little Artaxerxes. He, at least, would not question her.

*

Malis, Trachis



Kasia stood on the hill, hidden from Xerxes’ view though her eyes were locked on the same scene his were. She should have stayed in her tent, but she could not. Her spirit

would not rest until she could see the battle boiling in the pass.

So this was war. Proud uniforms bloodied and ripped, sharpened weapons slashing and piercing. Cries of horror and rage, of pride and fear. Men trampled by their brethren,

some falling into the sea at the bottom of the cliff. This was what her brother had yearned for?

She forced down bile and curled her fingers to her palm. Her soul stretched outward, upward, and she had to lock her knees to keep them from bending. Lord Jehovah, rally

your servants in Persia. Let them take to their knees where I cannot, that all our voices might be as one and provide a beacon for your angels.