of silver on her biceps, and her hand whipped out to grab the girl’s arm. “What is this?”
“I—”
“Silence.” She tugged the wretch closer, shoved her sleeve out of the way, and hissed when she saw the twin lions’ heads on the torc. “You dare to steal from the king? Next time, take something not given him by my hand. Did you think no one would recognize the gift I commissioned for his birthday feast? Stupid Jewess.”
The girl’s eyes flashed, but not with guilt or rebellion. She swallowed. “I did not realize it was a gift from your blessed hand, my queen. I will return it to the king the next time I see him.”
A red haze drifted over Amestris’s vision. He had given it to her, the faithless dolt, given her gift to this slave. She ought to have the girl’s arm cut off to show them the price for such audacity. She ought to have a knife plunged through the harlot’s heart for daring to steal the king’s. She ought to—
The air heated, the red over her eyes blazed a white so hot Amestris gasped and dropped the girl’s arm, stumbled back a step. When she blinked, her vision wavered. The Jewess stood as she had a moment before, but something had changed. Her shadow had lengthened to nearly half again what it was before, had broadened. It looked . . . masculine.
Demons. Amestris took another step back and snarled. “Enemy of Ahura Mazda! No servant of Angra Mainyu will live under my roof.”
Through the girl’s confusion shone the authority of the uncreated evil one. “I am a servant of none but Jehovah.”
Amestris spat. “Call him what you may, slave. He is still the enemy of my god.”
The wretch arched that insolent brow again. “That only speaks to the nature of whatever devil you serve.”
Amestris rested a hand on the curve of her stomach. “You make a grave error by opposing me. You are nothing but a harlot with a flimsy contract, easily severed.” She lunged forward, gripped her arm again, and tore the lion torc from her.
The girl grimaced and covered the rising welt of where the lion bit her. But she made no protest. Perhaps she recognized the fire of Ahura Mazda when she saw it blazing from an enemy’s eyes.
Amestris stepped back again, her chest heaving. “Get out of my sight.”
Her chin edged up instead of tucking to her chest. When her hand fell from her arm, Amestris gasped to see the welt had vanished already. The work of the demons, no doubt.
The fool offered a mocking smile. “As the queen wishes.” She turned leisurely to the path that would lead to her pathetic closet.
Amestris’s hand fisted around the torc. At least the harlot was taking her demon with her. She could almost glimpse it, the shimmer of an outline around the girl, taller and wider. It warped the light, made the image of the concubine waver.
The babe inside her leapt. Perhaps he, too, sensed the presence of their nemesis. She covered the bulge in her stomach with a firm hand. “Rest, blessed one. I will not let her near you.”
Fury bubbled in her throat. How dare the king bring that creature here? She had always known he was an idiot, more concerned with his own pleasure than the good of his family. But this—this was too much.
She spun back toward the private entrance to her suite of rooms, paying no mind to the servants that surged around her. Not until she had gained her chamber and halted in the center of the room. Then she narrowed her gaze on one of her eunuchs. “You—bring Haman to me.”
“Yes, mistress.” He bowed and sprinted back out.
She looked down at the torc still clutched in her hand. With a curse, she hurled it against the wall. “Wine—now. And where is the fruit I requested? Would you beasts have this prince inside me starve while I await the start of the feast?”
Food and drink appeared on the table, but Amestris was not calm enough to eat. It would churn into wormwood in her stomach—she must see this taken care of first.
What would the god have her do? She could work to nullify any influence the girl had over Xerxes, but that would take time. Months, even years. Usually she was patient with such schemes, and confident enough in the knowledge that her husband’s attention was fickle.
This one was different, though. She had seen it with her own eyes while they frolicked like adolescents in the garden. This was not his usual, short-lived affair. There was more to it.
The Jewess would not be so easily relegated to oblivion.
What then?
She paced from one end of her suite to the other, then beckoned her most trusted handmaiden to her.
The girl stepped close. “What may I get for you, mistress?”
“Hemlock. I want it put in that Jewess’s food this very night—her girl will take a tray to her. Escape notice if possible, but bribe whomever you must if you are seen. When my husband discovers her dead, I will not have him realize it is on my order.”
The maid dipped her head. “Shall I slip some into the room of another wife to cast suspicion her way?”
“Yes. Whichever was his favorite before this one.” She waved the girl away and sat to await Haman. If anyone would be her ally in this plot against the Jewess, it would be him.
One of the maids slipped the torc onto the table, and Amestris tasted fury anew. Ah, well. Before the night was out, Xerxes would learn that betrayal cut both ways.
~*~
Kasia looked again over her shoulder. She could have sworn someone stood behind her, but each time she looked, she found nothing. Though this felt unthreatening, it must still be residual unease from her encounter with Amestris.
Remembering the queen brought a fresh chill to her spine. Had Amestris insulted her alone, Kasia would have accepted her opinions without complaint. But to attack her God?
She shook her head. The Persian Empire was renowned for its tolerance of other religions, had even encouraged her people more than once—Xerxes’ grandfather releasing the Jews from captivity was a perfect example—but clashes were inevitable when monotheistic religions collided.
Amestris believed her Ahura Mazda was the one and true god. Kasia knew Jehovah owned that title. She had occasionally wondered if perhaps they were two different names for the same being, but the queen had succeeded in convincing her otherwise.
Her soul had recognized its enemy.
For an hour she sat at her loom and took up her weaving. For an hour she prayed for God’s protection, for his presence to blanket the palace, for his strength to fill her. For an hour her fingers moved with confidence. But when her meal was brought in and she ceased her prayers, her hands shook.
The tray was silver, as were the bowls with her food. The rhyton of wine was rimmed in gold. The meat was covered in a sauce she could not name, the grain baked into a beautiful loaf, the fruit exotic, the wine sweet and strong.
All looked like sand.
“Is it not to your liking, mistress?” Desma asked with wrinkled brow.
