CHAPTER
Twenty-nine

Esther moved about her suite of rooms, trying to destroy the restless feeling that had taken root inside of her the past few weeks. Xerxes had not called for her in nearly a month, and the absence had left her struggling with understanding why. Had her favor with him already diminished in so short a marriage? Had Amestris taken her place? Had he found a new love?

She told herself he was simply busy. Haman had returned from a trip to Persepolis, and the two of them had been in conference about the king’s building projects ever since—at least according to her eunuch Hathach.

“What if we work on the mosaics today?” Parisa came up beside her and bowed slightly. “You always enjoy working with the tiles.”

Esther stopped her pacing and looked at her maid, then glanced around at all of the women in her service. “Am I that obvious?”

“You seem distracted, my queen. But there is much good you can do even if the king is too busy to call for you,” Zareen said. “What did you enjoy doing before you came here?”

“Certainly not mosaics.” Esther smiled at Parisa. “Though I have come to enjoy working with them since. In truth, I enjoyed weaving with my ima.” Thoughts of Levia caused an ache to settle within her. She missed her family. She missed all that was once so familiar, things that she thought would never change.

“Then we shall order a loom and the finest wool and you can teach us how to weave.” Zareen smiled, obviously pleased with her suggestion.

“There will be no problem with such a thing?” She looked from one maid to the next. She had never had to request anything, for every one of her needs was met before she realized she needed or wanted it.

“There will be no problem at all, my queen,” Hathach said, coming from a side room where he had likely overheard everything. “I will order a loom and the finest of every kind of thread available. You can weave or create fabric, if that is what you wish for, as long as you like.”

She nodded her thanks and sank onto one of the cushioned chairs, extending her legs. Before she could say a word, Shirin stepped forward and bent with bowl and towel and ointments to treat her feet to her ultimate pleasure. Esther leaned back, enjoying the pressure of Shirin’s hands working the ache from her feet. If Xerxes had tired of her, at least she had the ability to enjoy the pleasures of royalty.

But even the thought of things to do that she once enjoyed and the sudden overattention of all of her maids did not seem to have the ability to pull her from the melancholy mood that had slipped over her of late. She should not miss the king. It was not like they would ever have an honest love. She was a queen, he a king. They would live separate lives, probably from now on. She would carry on queenly duties, and when he remembered her, she would go to him.

She could not go to him if he did not ask. Even she was not free to simply enter his presence as she once did. Something had changed between them. Did Haman have something to do with it? Or was it Amestris? Where once she had found favor throughout the court, now she wondered just how long that favor would last.

“Bring the lots.” Haman stood in the main area of his house with his sons surrounding the outer area. A Zoroastrian priest stood near a table, dressed in his white robe and golden sash, holding the Pur in his right hand. He looked at Haman, his gaze penetrating.

The idea to cast the Pur had come to Haman during his visit to Persepolis, and he had hardly been able to contain his excitement or his anxiety to see what the lots would decide. But Zeresh had warned him that to hurry was to invite error. They needed to be precise, she’d said. They needed the Pur to land on the perfect day and time.

“This must be done with great care and precision so that we know the exact will of the gods,” Haman said. “I don’t want anything to get in the way of taking action on my enemies.” He nodded toward the priest as deep silence settled over the room.

Lamps lit the darkness, as night had fallen during this first month of Nisan. The priest rubbed the Pur between both hands, bowed his head, and tossed them into a golden bowl on the table.

Haman stepped closer, his gaze on the priest, his heart pounding. “What day?”

The priest bent close and took the lamp Haman handed to him. He straightened and shook his head. “They did not land flat. It is impossible to get an accurate reading.”

“Then do it again.” Haman felt the heat rise from his middle to his face. The rage grew every day, and his patience wore thin.

The priest shook his head again. “I am sorry. The Pur can only be cast once a day. It will have to wait until tomorrow.” He picked up the lots, tucked them into a leather pouch, and tied the pouch to the golden sash at his waist.

“The same time tomorrow then,” Haman said, waiting for the man’s acknowledgment. “We will do it every single day for a year if we must, but I will have my day. We will not stop until the Pur is right.”

The priest narrowed his gaze. “Such attempts will be costly.”

“You need not worry about payment. You will be well compensated, I assure you.” Anger bubbled up again at the way the man attempted to control him.

The priest held his gaze. “Nevertheless, a donation to the priesthood will be necessary each week.”

Haman forced himself not to flinch. This man was going to rob him of all of his earthly goods if this took too long. But the thought of destroying Mordecai’s people overruled his concern for his wealth. Once the Jews were destroyed, he would regain far more than the wealth he now possessed.

“Name your price.” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, reminding the priest just whom he was dealing with. Agagites did not accept Zoroastrian beliefs, but Haman had convinced Xerxes that his entire family had adopted everything Persia had to offer, including her religion. Yet saying so did not take away his disdain for the practices or the priests.

“One siglos a week ought to cover it.” The priest gave him a slight smile.

Outrageous! But Haman merely nodded. The silver he could handle. At least the man hadn’t asked for the gold daric. “Consider it done.” He would send a servant each week to put the coins in their coffers. For now, he simply wanted this to be over with. He wanted the Pur to give him what he needed. It would do no good to anger the gods or to arbitrarily choose a date without the assurance that he had chosen wisely.

“Very well. I will return tomorrow.” The priest turned, bells jingling from his garments, and left the house.

Haman sank onto a couch and put his head in his hands. Zeresh sat beside him and his sons drew close. “Did we do something wrong?” he asked. “How is it possible that we have to do this over again?”

“I am sure it has nothing to do with you, my husband,” Zeresh assured him. “That priest is probably purposely misreading them in order to draw more money from you.”

“I’m sure that’s it, Father,” Dalphon said. “The man looked greedy.”

His other sons agreed, praising Haman and condemning the priest. Perhaps he should have the priests of Zoroaster killed too. But no. He stopped that thought before it could gain strength.

“We must speak no more ill of the priests,” he commanded, standing. “If we dishonor them, the gods will not give me the day that I need. I want their favor, not their wrath. So no more.”

His sons each meekly nodded and whispered their agreement. “We will do as you say, Father,” Aspatha said.

“Good. See to it that you do. And keep this quiet. I want no one else to know until I can bring the results to the king. If word gets out too soon, all could be lost.”

Haman could not even abide that possibility. He would have vengeance on the sons of Abraham for what they had done to his people. He would do whatever it took to destroy them, even if it cost him his life’s fortune.