Jewel of Persia (4 page)

“I shall make do. It is for Esther’s sake, after all.”

Kasia smiled at her mother and turned to find four-year-old Sarai standing behind her, thumb in mouth. The wee one removed the finger long enough to ask, “What you looking for, Kas?”

She scooped up her little sister and gave her belly a tickle. “A silver bracelet that Esther dropped the other day.”

Sarai’s eyes went wide. “Silver? And round? Like this?” She traced a circle in the air.

Ima fisted her hands on her hips. “Have you seen it, Sarai?”

The child tucked her head into Kasia’s neck. “I found it in the kitchen. It is safe and pretty. On my doll. It is a belt.”

Ima lifted one dubious brow and reached for Sarai. “Come, little one, let us go get it. Kasia, would you stir the stew while I take care of this?”

“Of course.” She turned and headed outside to the kitchen. Perhaps after the meal she would run the bracelet over to Esther to ease the girl’s mind.

Although the trip would probably not ease
her
mind.

Kasia drew in a shaky breath as she passed the threshold into the moderate winter sun. Her friend’s news from that morning still rocked her. How long had she known Mordecai? He had always lived in the house three doors away, in a modest part of town despite his wealth. She remembered when he wed Keturah, how happy he had seemed. She remembered the bliss on his face when he shared with Abba that a babe would join them soon.

She remembered the stark pain that etched age onto his countenance when Keturah and the babe died.

Though only eleven at the time, Kasia had wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on until the pain went away. It had seemed as though nothing would ever ease his agony.

Until Esther. Esther had brought joy back to his eyes, a smile back to his lips.

They were lovely eyes, well-shaped lips. Mordecai was a handsome man, though she rarely stopped to consider it. It had seemed pointless. He had already found his perfect mate, had lost her. He would not marry again lightly. If he spoke for her, then . . .

He loved her. Unbelievable and amazing.

Shaking her head, Kasia grabbed the wooden spoon from its rest and stirred the stew in the large pot over the fire. She saw him more often than any man outside her family, but never had she detected a shift in his feelings. Esther would not have lied to her, though. If she said he intended to speak with her, then he would. Probably soon.

The thought brought her pulse up—until a different set of eyes came to mind. Silly. She shook her head again to dislodge the wayward picture. Mordecai was a far better man to pin her dreams on. He was everything she could possibly want in a husband. Handsome and strong, kind and caring, intelligent and wealthy. Jewish.

The Persian . . . he could not be more wrong for her. He was arrogant, aggressive, surely did not share her religious views. And gone. He had ridden off on his horse and would never enter her life again.

Not her waking life, anyway. Though he had certainly plagued her dreams the past few nights.

“Kasia.”

She looked up at her father’s voice. His firm, displeased voice. She rarely earned that tone, and hearing it now made her shoulders tense up. “Yes, Abba?”

He stood in the shop’s rear door and glowered at her. “Get your mother and come here. Now.”

When he gave her that particular look, dawdling was not an option. She flew towards the door even as she said, “Of course, Abba.”

Thankfully, Ima was emerging from the girls’ room as she entered. “Ima, Abba wants you and me to go to his shop. Now.”

Ima’s brows drew together. “What is it?”

“I know not, but he was very cross.”

“Probably a problem with the Persians again.” Ima loosed a sigh and set Esther’s bracelet down.“I cannot think why he would need both of us, but I suppose we shall find out.”

They moved together out the back door and into Abba’s shop. The scent of cypress shavings greeted them first, and then the steady regard of three men.

Kasia froze just inside, halted by the weight of those gazes. Abba’s, hard and demanding. A curious one from the man nearest him, a Persian in elegant clothes whom she had never seen before. And then the third . . . was he not the companion of the man she had met the other day?

Her knees nearly buckled. No wonder Abba looked so unhappy.

Ima slipped an arm around her and looked to Abba. “My husband, what is happening?”

He kept his harsh gaze on Kasia. “I think our daughter can best answer that question. Tell us, Kasia. How is it that the king has decided he will take you as a wife?”

Three

Kasia stared at her father for a long moment, certain her confusion clouded her face. “The
king
? I do not understand.”

Abba snorted. “Of course not. Had you any wit, you would have obeyed me when I told you
never
to speak to an unfamiliar Persian. And what do I find? You met two of them the other day and did not even see fit to mention it.”

The torc on her arm scorched her flesh, and her mouth went dry. “Abba, it was unintentional. We simply . . . came across them. This man,” she said with a gesture toward the somewhat-familiar Persian, “and his friend. The other offered to see us home, but I refused. That is all.”

“That is all,” Abba echoed. He folded his large arms across his chest. “And yet somehow that was enough to make it to the ear of Xerxes and intrigue him.”

Oh, curse her over-active tongue! But why would the king care? He did not have a reputation for valuing eloquence in his wives. Obedience perhaps, but she obviously had work to do there. “Abba . . .”

The familiar Persian stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Haman, trusted only below the princes themselves. And this should not come as a surprise—surely you are not blind to your daughter’s extraordinary handsomeness.”

The muscle in Abba’s jaw ticked. “Her beauty is no business of the king’s. She is a Jew.”

“A Jew in his land.” Haman’s voice lost all hint of warmth. “Try to refuse him and you will learn how quickly the heel of Xerxes can crush. It seems to me you have too many mouths to feed to lose your livelihood over this.”

A shadow moved around the corner. Zechariah. She gripped Ima’s hand and prayed as she had never prayed before.

This could not be happening. It was not possible. Yes, she disobeyed her father by venturing to the river. Yes, she spoke to the Persian when he forbade it. But how had that turned into
this
? This was not what she had dreamed of the last few nights. She wanted nothing to do with Xerxes. The other man, perhaps, but even him . . . it had been a dream. Nothing more. Nothing that should have become such a nightmare.

Where was
her
Persian? Had he, too, told the king about her? Was he perhaps even one of the king’s scouts, who deliberately searched the land for beautiful virgins to add to the harem? Had his interest been only on behalf of his king?

“Kasia.” Ima managed to turn her name into a moan, a plea. “Tell them they have the wrong girl.”

Her shoulders sagged. Perhaps they could have tried that argument if only strangers had arrived today, and before she admitted to meeting them, but now?

Haman smirked and strode over to them. Kasia battled the urge to recoil against her mother as he approached.

He reached out, gripped her wrist, and raised her arm until her sleeve fell back. The silver torc gleamed. “No mistaking
that
, is there?”

Her parents both gasped, and a shuffle came from her brother’s hiding spot. Kasia let her eyes slide shut. She should have taken it off. Should have refused it to begin with, no matter how alluring the stranger’s gaze. It had probably been nothing but a brand—something to prove she was chosen for the king.

She was a fool. And now she would have to pay the price for it.

When she opened her eyes, Abba’s face was mottled red. “Is this how I raised you, Kasia? To play the harlot for a Persian dog?”

Haman spun around, jerked her with him. “Watch your tongue, swine.”

Abba ignored Haman and glared at her. “You have shamed us all. Why would you accept such a mark from our oppressors? Do you think they give without asking something in return?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I am sorry, Abba. I tried to refuse it, but—”

“Enough of this.” Haman released her arm and motioned the other man forward. “This is Hegai, the custodian of the women. He will instruct you on what you may bring to the palace. I suppose you have no dowry?”

Abba’s fingers curled into his palm. “Even if she did, I would not give it to you. No daughter of mine weds a Persian, even Xerxes himself. Especially Xerxes himself.”

Haman look unfazed. “Then I suppose you are officially one daughter less. This girl is coming with me. Fight me, and you will lose.”

Abba looked like he might try anyway. Kasia ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. “I am sorry, Abba. I did not mean for this to happen.”

“I know.” His voice went soft and low, a mere murmur against her hair as his arms closed around her. “I know not what to do, daughter. I do not want to lose you, but how does a lowly Jewish man fight the king of kings?”

She buried her face in his chest. It smelled of wood and Abba. “You do not, or the family will suffer.”

He held her tighter for a moment, then eased up again. “It will be like burying you, child. You will be in another world, another life. They will make you Persian. Strip you of your heritage.”

“They cannot strip my soul of its love for Jehovah.”

“They will try.” He pulled away and touched his knuckle to her chin. “I will spare your siblings the truth of this. I am sorry to do it, sweet one, but it is better they think you in the bosom of Abraham than another wife to the tyrant.”

A few tears splashed onto her cheeks. “You will tell them I am dead?”

“I see little choice.”

“Abba!”

Ima bit back a sob. Kasia shook her head as a wash of numbness swept over her. Anger and pain, as cathartic as they would be, would change nothing. But perhaps logic could. “People will have seen them come in here. They will see me leave.”

“I will tell them the Persians came inquiring on a price for carving. They have done so before, even if they rarely deign to give me their business.”

Haman snorted. “I imagine if your daughter pleases the king, he will gladly have a few pieces commissioned.”

Abba’s nostrils flared. She was unsure what he thought about that suggestion, but it made her knees go weak. How, exactly, was a girl to please a king? “What of my leaving with them?”

“You will not.” Abba straightened his spine, rolled back his shoulders, and stared down the Persians. “You will leave separately, head to the river where you met them before. ”

Haman waved a hand as if such details were of no concern to him. “As you please. Hegai, instruct her on her possessions while I settle the contract.”

The other man gave her a gentle smile. “You will receive new garments and jewelry, perfumes and oils. Bring only a few small items of sentimental value. With all respect to your father, you seem to have nothing else worthy to be seen in the king’s household.”

Kasia swallowed back her dismay. She would have nothing familiar, then. Nothing of home, since they never had enough money to spare for trinkets, and she had given all her childhood treasures to her sisters. “I . . . I can think of nothing to bring.”

The sorrow in his eyes said he understood. “Very well. Eat with your family one last time, then go to the river. We will be waiting there.”

She managed a nod, kept her back straight as the two men left. But the moment they were gone, her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Ima’s arms encircled her in the next second, Ima’s tears mixed with hers.

This was not how she should have felt upon her betrothal. This was not the betrothal she should have had. Had she not been thinking just minutes before about marrying Mordecai? Now he would think her dead. And Esther . . .

“Ima, please.” She spoke in a whisper at her mother’s ear. “Please tell Esther the truth. She should not have to face yet another death.”

Ima’s sobs hitched. “I dare not cross your father on this. I know how it will hurt her, but we will comfort each other.”

There was nothing to do but nod. And wonder who would be there to comfort
her
.

~*~

Zechariah stood just inside the doorway, where the cool breezes brought by the rain could whisper over his skin. Behind him, the house was silent. No weeping, no mourning, no frantic prayers to a deaf God. No more pleas to the heavens that Kasia be returned to them.

His nostrils flared as he swallowed back anger and grief. They knew he had been listening. Still, they expected him to play along. To bid his favorite sister farewell as if she were only running an errand. To wonder with the others where she was when darkness fell and the rains came with it. To search the banks of the swollen river long into the night.