Jewel of Persia

Her eyes slid closed. Have I failed you, Jehovah? I have sought you so often, with dedication. Yet when my husband forbids me to pray, what am I to do? I want to obey

him, honor him. Yet I am to love you above all. Help me strike the balance, Lord.

And thank you for rallying your people to pray when I could not. I could feel them, could see the affect they had. Thank you for the faithful remnant you have preserved.

Thank you for—

“Mistress?” Zethar’s voice broke through her thoughts. “The king has lost two of his brothers. He has retired to his tent and could use your comfort.”

Thank you for my husband, for a man I can love so much. Help me to help him and still honor you.

She let Desma assist her onto her feet and looked to Zethar. “Of course.”

He lifted his brows, studied her. Then grinned and shook his head. “You were watching again, or you would have asked me for details. I suggest you not let the king know

that, mistress.”

“You are very wise, Zethar.” She returned his smile and followed him out into the afternoon sunlight. “Is the king not rejoicing over his victory?”

“Before the people, yes, but the losses weigh heavily on him. He needed a few moments to indulge the grief, but he will not stay inside long. He will recover the faster

with you beside him.”

Her eyes tracked again to Thermopylae. The dead littered the ground like the leaves had in Sardis. Persians and Greeks draped over one another, enemies embracing in death.

So many of her husband’s men dead, not by Spartan spears, but by their own people’s impatience. By the whip of their commanders, by the feet of the soldiers behind them,

by brothers shoving them off the cliff. Most of them had not fought for a cause, but by compulsion. The Persians had nothing at stake.

The same could not be said for their king. He had invested more than money and time in this war. He had poured his heart into it.

When she entered his tent, she found him leaning against a table, shoulders rolled forward. She rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Zethar told me of your

brothers.”

A shudder stole through him. “They were good men, Kasia. Brave men.”

“I know.”

“Why does victory always come at such a steep price? Pythius was right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have dispatched his two eldest sons back to Sardis to care

for him.”

She pressed her lips to his arm. “He will appreciate the gesture.”

“Will he? Sending these two home will not give him back his firstborn.”

Tears stung her eyes. “No. Nothing can ever replace the ones we lose. But that only makes us value more the ones who remain.”

With a long sigh, he turned and wrapped his arms around her. “So many men died these last three days. There were moments I thought my ranks would be cut in half.”

And though he would have mourned it, still he would have sent them in. She sighed too. “Praise God it did not come to that.”

“Mm.” He pulled back enough to smile at her. “I wanted to thank you, Kasia. I heard you prayed along with the others. I did not think I would ever see the day when you

would bend your knee to Ahura Mazda.”

A chill swept through her. “Xerxes . . . I did not pray to Ahura Mazda.”

The pleasure leaked out of his expression. “I told you not to pray to Jehovah.”

“You told me not to obviously pray to Jehovah. I did not kneel until everyone else did. But my love, you know very well I cannot pray to your god.”

He spun away and tossed his hands in the air. “Will nothing convince you? Is it not enough that we claimed victory so soon after everyone beseeched the god?”

“I . . .” She should keep quiet. But something welled up inside, a fountain of determination. She would cling to her beliefs as fiercely as the Spartans had. “Yours was

not the only god beseeched. I prayed the faithful Jews would pound the throne of heaven, and I felt the presence of the heavenly warriors this morning. Did you see Ahura

Mazda?”

When he turned to her again, his eyes sparked. “What I see is a woman who refuses to obey her husband. A woman who puts her stubborn faith above everything.”

“What else would you have me do, Xerxes?” She spread her hands, palms up. “I have no house, I have no child. I have no loom in my wagon, I cannot read. The other women

prefer each other—when with them, I always feel removed. Shall I just sleep the day away, waiting for you to carve out a few moments for me? Shall I remain in the fog I

lived in after Sardis?”

He sloshed some wine into a chalice. “It is your clinging to Jehovah that keeps you removed, Kasia. Look at you. Two years with me, yet still you wear the simplest of

garments, rarely any jewelry.”

She settled a hand over the lions’ head torc, the one piece she never took off. “You have never complained of my appearance before.”

“I do not care about your clothes, they just point to the larger issue. You deliberately remain apart. Always the Jewess. Never the Persian.”