“Did you see battle?”
An odd expression settled on his face. “I did. The first day, and also yesterday. It was not what I expected.”
“Worse?” She could not imagine facing down the Spartans.
“No.” Brows knit, he drew in a breath. “When I faced the enemy, it was as if . . . as if another’s arm steadied my own, as if someone breathed confidence and strength into me.” He shook his head, dislodged the frown. “That must sound odd.”
She pressed her lips into a close smile. “Actually, I prayed Jehovah would send his angels to do just that.”
“You prayed to Jehovah for me?” Shock glazed his eyes, but under it she thought she detected recognition. “Why?”
“Because I felt the Spirit whispering that I should. Because you are my brother’s friend.”
He nodded and gazed ahead of them, silent. Content to leave him to his musings, Kasia settled back and patted Zad’s side. There would be plenty of time to talk.
At the moment, she preferred to sit and not think.
Twenty-Eight
Susa, Persia
Zechariah soothed the plane over the wood. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he swiped at it with his forearm. His gaze went out the door, open to receive whatever sweltering winds might blow in.
His throat tightened when he saw Esther crouched in the street. She laughed at something Ima said and swept barley seeds from the hot road into a basket. He wanted her to glance his way. Wanted her to flash that perfect smile at him. Just to see if his heart would pound as it had every other time she looked at him lately.
Abba gave him a playful thump to the side of the head. “Watch yourself instead of her or you may slice off a finger.”
Zechariah swallowed and checked to make sure no siblings lurked about. Joshua was out making deliveries, and the rest were in the house. “How does this happen, Abba? A few short months ago, I saw her as a sister. Now . . .”
“It only takes one stray thought.” His father grinned. “I knew your mother all my life, just as you have known Esther. I never expected to fall in love with her, but then one day I saw her, felt a bolt of attraction before I realized who she was, and I was doomed.”
He laughed because Abba expected him to. “I feel doomed. So long I ignored her infatuation with me, and now I worry it is not as strong as this thing building inside.”
This strange, stretching thing. It was not just attraction. That was far too simple a word for the complicated mess his feelings for Esther had become since that night they prayed at Mordecai’s house.
There had been a seed of it before then, he would admit it. A seed planted when he rescued her from that over-zealous Persian. But
that
had been attraction. Since he put his heart right with Jehovah and refused to see Ruana again . . .
Esther glanced his way, perhaps sensing his attention, and grinned. His heart hammered. “Doomed,” Zechariah muttered. “Completely doomed.”
His father chuckled. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Please.” He smiled back at Esther then turned to Abba.
He found his gaze serious. “Take your time with her. She has loved you since she was a child and has been telling herself for years that you were not interested. While you could go to Mordecai today and arrange a betrothal, she would doubt your heart and think you did it because we pushed you. Woo her. Make it clear you love her before any arrangements are made.”
When had Abba gotten so wise? “Good idea.” He set down the plane and drew in a long breath. “Abba . . . I cannot marry her with secrets between us.”
His father’s hand stilled, awl poised over wood. “When you are the head of your own family, Zechariah, you may tell your wife what you please. But you will caution her not to speak of it here.”
“Abba, it is ridiculous. Mordecai already knows she lives—Jehovah asks him frequently to pray for her.” He had learned of that the day Mordecai writhed in pain he claimed was Kasia’s. Keeping that from Esther had grated, even before the blossoming attraction took root.
His father’s brows pulled down. “I did not know that. Even so, my decision holds.”
“But Abba—”
“If you are serious about marriage, Zech, you ought to get started on an addition for your bride. We have the revenue now to expand the house.”
Zechariah spun to look out the back door and into the open space behind it. Until his father’s parents both passed on, they had all been crammed into their small house, as there had been no money for Abba to build extra rooms. But a space of their own . . . one with Esther puttering around inside, able to visit his family without being overwhelmed by them . . .
Abba chuckled. “Go out, look around. We could get started next week.”
He ought to finish here, but the allure was too great. Knowing he grinned like a fool, he strode outside.
He could build there, at a right angle to the main part of the house. Esther and Ima could share a kitchen, but they could make it bigger, add a second hearth. He would not put a door between the new and the old, not directly. But the kitchen would serve as a connection.
How large to make it? They had plenty of room, being on the outskirts of the city, but he needed to leave space for the rest of the boys to build too, as they married. Still, he wanted room enough that it would not be so cramped as his parents’, no matter how many children Jehovah blessed them with.
“Zech? What are you doing out here?” Esther stepped out to the kitchen, where she set down her basket of roasted barley.
His lips tugged up. “Planning. Abba has decided it is time for me to begin the addition to the house. For my future family.”
She paled, eyes flashing distress. “You . . . you are to marry?”
“Eventually.” He sidled over to crowd her, under the guise of peeking into the basket. “First, though, I must win my bride.”
Her breath came too fast, and a flush stole over her cheeks. Zechariah smiled and snatched a few heads of barley. What he really wanted to do was slip his arms around her waist and pull her close, take her lips with his . . .
Her kiss would be innocent and sweet, with an undercurrent of eagerness. Those graceful arms would come about him, cling to him. Best of all, she would look at him with eyes brimming with love.
“Zech?” Her voice shook, her gaze filled with question more than love. A hopeful question.
He tossed the barley into his mouth and, after munching it, gave her a grin. “Would you like to take a walk along the river this evening, Esther?”
Her lips parted. She blinked. “I . . . I would love to. I will ask my cousin’s permission when he gets home.”
“Good.” He trailed a finger through a lock of hair that escaped from her head covering.
She swallowed. “Zech . . . why?”
He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. How many times had he done that over the years? But never before had he so wanted to hover, to bend a little lower for another, more satisfying kiss.
Taking his time with her may be the wise choice, but it would not be the easy one.
He made himself back away, enjoying the flash of mixed longing and disappointment in her eyes. She wanted him to kiss her—perhaps had dreamed of it. And when finally he did, it would be worth the wait for both of them.
He smiled. “I need to get back to work. Thank you for helping Ima with the barley, Esther.”
“I do not mind.” She looked bemused, probably at his thanks for what she did all the time.
Good. That would ensure she thought of him as she went about her tasks, just as he would think of her. With a lifted hand in farewell, Zechariah went back to the wood shop.
Abba met him at the door. “I need you to handle a customer while I check on a piece of cypress. And tell him if he orders another monstrous bed, we will charge him twice what we did last time.”
Bed? Zechariah’s throat went dry as he scanned the shop. Ruana’s husband stood in the corner, studying a mosaic. He had not seen the man since he first placed the order for the frame. Certainly not since . . .
“Do not keep him waiting, Zech.” Abba spun around and headed out the front of the shop.
Zechariah cleared his throat and prayed he was not about to breathe his last. “Good afternoon, Asho.”
Asho looked up with a smile. No murderous intent gleamed in his eyes, but that may only mean he was subtle. “Zechariah, it is good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He would rather have faced down a den of angry lions. “How can I help you today?”
Asho moved closer. Perhaps it was only to look at the chest his gaze latched on . . . or perhaps he wanted to be within reach so he could throttle him. “Actually, my wife has a complaint about the last purchase she made.”
Was that a dagger on the man’s belt? “She has?”
“Mm.” Asho sounded amused. Which made no sense at all. “That your brother delivered it instead of you.”
“I . . .” Zechariah frowned and leaned into the work bench at his back. “I was busy.”
“Zechariah.” Asho dropped his voice low and took another step toward him. Still, his eyes reflected only friendliness, perhaps even teasing. Could he possibly be as unconcerned as Ruana had claimed? “If you avoid her because you think I am upset by your . . . arrangement, let me assure you I have no problem, even though you are a Jew.”
How was he supposed to greet that pronouncement? “That is not why I avoid her.”
Asho’s brows drew together. “Why then? Surely she pleased you, as often as you came.”
Fire settled in his face. He had thought—what? That the husband was oblivious? He ought to have known better. The servants knew he was there, and they would be loyal to Asho before their new mistress. Not that he seemed to care, except to be upset on his wife’s behalf now.
What was wrong with these people?
“That is not it either. I . . . it was wrong, Asho. I never should have—the laws of my people strictly forbid—”
“Nonsense.” Asho brushed that away with a motion of his wrist. “She is very fond of you, and she has been distraught since you stopped coming. Please, will you not reconsider?”
And now her husband begged him to keep making love to his wife? “It is not nonsense. Besides, I hope to marry soon myself, and I will remain true to my bride.”
Asho sighed. “She will be distressed at that news.”
“Then perhaps her husband ought to comfort her.”
The Persian lifted one superior brow. “I am afraid that is not the direction my tastes lie.” He swept a gaze over Zechariah that made his skin crawl.
He stepped to the side, well away from Asho and that terrible glint in his eye. “Do you have any business today, or just this ‘complaint’ from your wife?”
Asho’s eyes shuttered again, back to friendly ease. “A small chest, similar to that one. And deliver it yourself. I would see my wife smile again.”
Zechariah said nothing as the man strode from the shop.
~*~
Sardis, Lydia
Darius frowned at the image out the window, where the band of Immortals set up camp for the night. A runner had arrived days ago alerting him to the pending arrival of Kasia and her guard, but it had not told him
why
his father’s favorite wife had left his side. He had to wonder no longer when he glimpsed her an hour ago.
It seemed he would have yet another little brother or sister in a few months.
Obviously his father did not want to risk her health, but why had Xerxes not considered the memories that would hit her here? The moment her feet were on the rocky ground, she had looked toward that small grave, overgrown now with grass and the flowers Artaynte had transferred. Even from up here, Darius had seen Kasia’s shoulders hunch, her head go down.
Footsteps sounded outside the throne room, and he stepped away from the window. It had taken her nearly an hour, but his newly arrived guest must finally be ready to present herself in greeting. He prepared a smile.
Kasia did not look up to see it, just stopped a goodly distance in front of him and dipped her knees in respect. “Thank you for receiving me, my prince.”
“Of course. It is good to see you again. How is my father?”
Her jaw clenched. Interesting. “As he always is.”
“Hmm.” He glanced at the servants behind her, the court people milling about. “Are you feeling up to a walk? It will be good to speak with someone so recently with him.”
She hesitated and flicked her gaze to his face. “As you wish.”
He led her out to the walls, careful to head in the direction opposite from where she fell. With only their personal servants around them, she would hopefully feel comfortable answering his questions.
Although she looked far from comfortable. Her jaw was still tight, and she held her spine straight and rigid. He cleared his throat. “You must have left shortly after Thermopylae.”
“The morning following your father’s victory.”