fell to her knees, bent over until she was prostrate, and wished for some extra light. Granted, in the summer she appreciated the protection their roof afforded with its three-foot thickness, but at the moment the way it blocked the sun was more curse than blessing.
Her mother clucked behind her. “Kasia, what are you doing? Searching for dust?”
“No, for Esther’s bracelet.”
“You still have not found it?” Ima sighed. “Perhaps you ought to retrace your steps from the other day.”
Kasia straightened and rubbed at her neck, sore from all the craning and stooping she had done that afternoon after Esther left. “I suppose I shall have to. Poor little Esther. It is the only thing she has left of her mother. I cannot bear the thought that she lost it.”
Ima gave her a small smile and reached out to cup her cheek. “You are a sweet one, my Kasia. Go now, before darkness falls.”
“Do you not need help with the meal?”
“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
