When she blinked, a drop of brine fell from each eye. “You are too good, my father. I cannot be like you.”
“No?” He smoothed back a few stray hairs from her face and smiled. “Odd. In you I see a spirit far sweeter than mine has ever been. If you will turn over your injured
heart to Jehovah, I think you will find far more strength at your disposal than I have.”
Her lip quivered, making her look far younger than her twelve years. “How do I do that?”
“Pray, little one. Ask him to touch you, to speak to you. Ask him to bring clarity through the pain.”
A frown creased her brow. “And that will work?”
“Jehovah will not keep his comfort from a contrite spirit. Seek him, and he will pour a balm over your soul.”
Her nod was small. “I cannot fathom what good can come of Kasia’s death . . . but I will look for some.”
Not the total surrender to almighty Jehovah that he would have wished, but at least she would keep her heart open to the Lord’s ministrations. Mordecai nodded and stood,
held out his hand. “Come. We must go to our friends.”
The pinched look eased away from her face as she put her hand in his. “Yes. Let us go to our friends.”
*
Gossip sprinted through the palace, and it did not earn Kasia any friends. For a week, she endured hostile glances from the virgins nearly finished their year of
preparation. She listened to their mutters and snickers as she walked by on her way from lesson to lesson. More than one “accidental” bump sent her into a table corner or
statue.
She would go to the king tonight, and she would go with bruises on body and soul. She would go knowing the other soon-to-be wives hated her for receiving the best room, a
higher daily allotment of oils and perfumes, the undivided attention of Hegai. And for being put ahead of them in the line of women awaiting their turn with the king of
kings.
Gladly would she have traded places with any one of them. But instead here she stood in her chamber, listening to Hegai instruct her on her final minutes before meeting her
husband.
“You may take anything you like with you,” he said. “Most select their own dress and jewelry. Some take incense or gifts they make for the king. What do you wish?”
An escape? Kasia swallowed, though her throat felt dry and swollen. Perhaps some fatal disease would strike her down before she came face to face with Xerxes. One could
hope.
Moistening her lips, she shook her head. “What do you recommend?”
Hegai smiled, even chuckled. “No one ever asks—they spend so long planning, they care little for what I have to say. But I offer my advice freely to you. Dress simply. Do
not detract from your natural beauty with too many adornments. Take no gift, as you have had no time to make one with your hands and could otherwise give nothing the king
has not first given you.”
He held up a hand and twirled a finger. She spun in a circle so that he could see her from all angles. “The king was intrigued by stories of simple beauty, not riches. Go
as you. Offer him what you are, who you are. I think he will find it pleasing.”
Though she nodded, her hands trembled. She clasped them together. “Will you select my clothing for me?”
“I will.” He moved to where the new garments rested, chose a few of the fine pieces—a sleeveless red sheath in the style of the Egyptians, topped with a robe of white
linen so finely woven it was translucent. Servants helped her into them behind the screen, and then she emerged and turned again for the custodian’s approval.
He nodded. “They suit you well. One necklace, I think, to showcase the fine column of your throat.”
“And my torc.” Perhaps that would prove a mistake, wearing the gift that reminded her of Masistes, who continued to haunt her dreams. Or perhaps the king would recognize
what marked her as his, if that was its purpose.
“Of course.” He handed her the silver with its two lions’ heads, and while she fitted it onto her arm, he selected an intricately worked necklace for her.
When he turned her to face the mirror of polished bronze, Kasia held her breath. But the image was not so unfamiliar. Finer clothing, yes. And the wink of precious metals
was new. But it was her face, unchanged. Her hair, if glossier and trimmed to have more motion in its length. She was still Kasia, daughter of Kish. But how would Kasia,
daughter of Kish, fare as Kasia, wife of Xerxes?
The door opened, and seven servants entered. Hegai welcomed them with a nod and a smile. “Your escort. They will take you to the king’s chambers and will remain your
servants in the house of wives. The rest of your things will be taken over in the morning, once the king gives instruction on where you will stay.”