name had burst from her lips and the nightmare had vanished.
Only it had not. Kasia was still gone, lost to those waves. Had her last moments been like that? The burning, the confusion, the mad fight for salvation?
Esther tossed her cover aside and crawled out of her bed, desperate for fresh air. Exiting into the main room, she heard the soft snoring of the servants and silence from Mordecai’s chamber. She held her breath and let herself out the front door.
The night washed cool and refreshing over her. She knew not where she intended to go, but her feet would not stand still. They took her down the street, stuck close to the houses, and paused at the end. A low wall stretched ahead. Over it she would find the Choaspes River.
Dare she?
Kasia would have. She would have cast a glance over her shoulder to be sure no one followed, then run off with a grin. She would have plunged into the water until it erased all her worries, then reemerged the better for it.
Until the night the waters did not relinquish her again.
With a shudder, Esther turned back toward home. She took a step, then stopped when the sound of metal clashing against metal reached her ears. Weapons? Out here? Curiosity underscored her alarm—she slid forward until she could see over the wall.
The moon, three-quarters full, shone down and bathed the earth with silver light that erased all color and left it shimmering. It gilded the two men, caught their spears and daggers arcing through the air.
Her breath caught when she recognized Zechariah, his face stony, his arms bulging as he parried off his attacker. She was set to release it in a scream when the attacker broke off. And laughed.
“Were it possible, I would swear you had been practicing on your own, Zech.”
Zechariah relaxed his stance, but from where she stood in the shadows, his smile looked forced. “I have a few demons to battle.”
“The Spartans themselves would tremble if they saw you tonight. Fight like that in the war, and the king will advance you quickly.”
War? King? Esther pressed a hand to her lips. Surely he did not intend to join the army, to march against Greece. Surely she would not lose him, too.
Zechariah sighed. “Assuming I can convince my father to let me go. If he knew you were training me, Bijan . . .”
“You are a man, Zechariah. Old enough to join the army without your father’s permission.”
Esther had the urge to lob a rock at this Bijan’s skull for such a suggestion. Zechariah sighed again. “He just lost his eldest daughter. If I joined the king’s forces, he would see it as losing his eldest son as well. I cannot do that to the family. I will not go without his blessing.”
Yet the expression on Zechariah’s face told her that though he may respect his father’s word on the matter, he would also resent him for it.
Her poor Zechariah. Would he ever be content in the life he was given? To labor beside his father and take over the wood shop? Or would he forever yearn for more, for what he could not have?
Bijan snorted. “You are a better son than your father deserves. Did you see the way he sneered at me when I came into the shop last week? It is no wonder few other Persians make use of his skill.”
Esther winced, but Zechariah chuckled. “He will never see that he is as judgmental of his Persian neighbors as they have been of him. I had better get back, Bijan, before I am missed. Same time tomorrow night?”
“I will be sure I am well rested so I might offer you more of a challenge.” The Persian took the spear Zechariah proffered and, with a wave, trotted off down the river.
Before she could dash away, Zechariah turned. A start of recognition crossed his countenance, and he strode her way.
She pulled her spine up, rolled her shoulders back, and promised herself she would not cower.
“Esther.” His voice, though low and harsh, sounded sweet to her ears. “What are you doing here?”
She tried to arch her brow in the same way Kasia would have. “I might ask you the same question.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up, though he was quick to bite back the smile. “Ah, but I am not a slip of a girl out without chaperone.”
“And yet I daresay my cousin would not be as angry at finding me here as your father would be you.” She nodded to the spot where he had been training for a war not his own. “What are you doing, Zechariah? You know he will never allow you to go, so why torment yourself?”
He loosed a long breath and raked a hand over his hair. “I do not expect a girl-child to understand these things. Even Kasia did not, though she found it amusing.”
Realizing Kasia had known and greeted it with good humor eased her heart. “So you will leave me to guess why? Is it that you do not enjoy your work in the wood shop? Are you seeking relief for the pain of Kasia’s loss?”
He folded his arms over his chest and stared at her in the soft light of the moon. “Have you ever wanted something without reason, little Esther? As if it were part of your blood, part of your flesh, even though all logic tells you it cannot be?”
She took a moment to consider, then shook her head.
“I thought not. But can you imagine what it would feel like?” He let his arms drop to his sides and turned his face toward the moon. “I cannot shake the feeling that I was born for more than carving chairs and tables. The first time I took up a spear and shield, it was as though I could finally see through the veil always over my eyes, as if I glimpsed what my future could be.” He looked her way again. “Have I shocked you?”
How could she be shocked when his tone conveyed such assurance? “The blood of warriors must still flow through you.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps if there were a chance to fight against Persia rather than for it, Abba would not argue with my desire to take up arms.” He sighed and studied her for a long moment. “Will you keep my secret, little Esther? If he found out I come here each night . . .”
“Of course.” Her eyes tracked past him though, to where his training took place. One false move, one slip, and he could be wounded or killed. “Who is this Bijan? I did not recognize him.”
“He does not live in this part of Susa—he is the son of a wealthy Persian, one who sought out the best to carve a chest for him, in spite of the fact that the best is Jewish. That is how we met. We began talking one day when Abba was out. He is one of the Immortals.”
Esther blinked. One of the king’s most elite fighters was training Zechariah? And found him so competent? “Oh.”
“Mmm.” He nodded toward the street behind her. “Come, let me deliver you home.”
She turned when he touched her elbow and fell in beside him. Though her feet strolled sedately, her thoughts sprinted too fast. What if this hidden drive of Zechariah’s ripped him away from her?
He stopped outside Mordecai’s door and looked down at her. “I can trust you with this?”
Her
