Harvest - 02 - Harvest of Gold

by Tessa Afshar

  Roxanna turned to face Darius, once again looking convincingly male. “Don’t be such a tyrant, Darius. I’m certain she would enjoy my company.”

  A loud knock brought their discourse to an abrupt end. Darius threw Roxanna a tense glance and placed a silencing finger to his lips. Without warning, he whipped the door open. Roxanna’s servant waited on the other side. He did not seem startled by the violence of his welcome. After bowing with admirable calm, he offered his mistress a long package.

  “This came for you directly from the king’s secretary, my lord. According to his letter, I was to bring it to you without delay.”

  Roxanna took the package. “What is it?”

  “A gift for the satrap of Egypt. The royal secretary bids that you deliver it when you are finished with your work in Damascus.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see to it.” She dismissed the man with a nod.

  Darius leaned against a crooked wall. “Does your servant know who you are? He called you my lord.”

  “He knows. He’s too discreet to slip his guard when we are in public. Like all the king’s men, he knows his craft well.”

  “Why couldn’t he wait until you returned to your chambers to give you the satrap’s gift?”

  “Because,” Roxanna said as she began to unwrap the folds of fabric, “there is a message from the king hidden in here somewhere.”

  Inside the fabric packaging they found a thick linen robe, decorated with gold thread and jewels of a size that were more vulgar than elegant.

  Darius stroked the fabric. “Revolting, but expensive.”

  “Not everyone has your superior taste, my lord.” Roxanna removed a thin knife from an inside pocket in her loose robe. She began feeling around the Egyptian satrap’s gift. To Darius’s surprise she slashed open a section in the hem of the robe.

  “I hope you are good at mending.”

  “Can’t sew a stitch. Thankfully, the king’s servant is handy with a needle.” She searched through the torn area until a small roll of parchment dropped out of the hem onto the ground.

  She took a moment to read it and swore. “The king has been attacked again.”

  “Is he injured?”

  “Not seriously. They were hunting in the royal enclosure when someone shot an arrow at him. It grazed him in the arm. His armor deflected most of the damage, but it was a close call.”

  Darius sank to the edge of his bed. “Did they catch the culprit?”

  “I’m afraid not. By the time they found his perch, he was long gone. The king grows impatient with the delay in our investigations.”

  “I can imagine how grating this must be from his point of view. He sits on his throne, helpless, knowing that every time he eats or sleeps or rides, it is an opportunity for a clever assassin to put an end to his life. We cannot afford to dawdle with cautious investigations, anymore. Our assassin is growing bolder. We must take a more aggressive stance in our inquiry.”

  Darius rode to the inn, his stomach turning somersaults with tension. In a few moments, he would see Sarah. He had spent half the night trying to figure out what could motivate Lysander to bring her to Damascus. The more he had pondered the strange circumstance, the heavier his anxiety had grown. He knew Lysander would not have made such a decision lightly.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him in the diminutive, private bedchamber. He noticed inconsequential details as he walked in: the whitewashed walls; Pari’s downcast face; Sarah’s hair, lying loose down her back like a waterfall of silk; the green embroidery on her blue linen dress; the way her eyes softened when she saw him. And then, with speech-robbing, mind-numbing shock, the rise of her belly, which pressed against the fabric of her loose gown. His wife, who had bled the life of their baby into his arms only weeks ago, was clearly with child.

  Darius had spent a significant part of his childhood learning to control his emotions. Learning to conceal the expression of them. His long-practiced defenses failed him. He had to remind himself to close his mouth. He whipped his head to the corner of the room where Lysander waited.

  “Did you … did you misdiagnose her condition?”

  “No. She must have been carrying twins. She lost one that morning. The other …” He made a vague gesture toward Sarah. “As you see.”

  Darius felt torn between the desire to pull his wife into his arms, to feel the new curves of her body pressed against him, their child cradled between them, and the equally strong need to keep his distance. He leaned against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankles to give the impression that he hadn’t a care in the world. He would rather have fought against Niq and his staff for a week straight than admit he needed the wall for support.

  “I see. You brought her all the way to Damascus in order to show me this?”

  “Of course not. I brought her because there’s a complication.”

  Darius straightened. He forced himself to look at Sarah. “You’d better sit down.”

  She obeyed him, her movements awkward. For the first time he noted her pallor and the dark circles under her wide eyes. She was tired. As Lysander spelled out the risk to the pregnancy, Darius studied her from the corner of his eye. She was on the verge of tears. The thought of losing this child weighed heavy on her.

  “Is Sarah’s life in peril?” he asked Lysander, careful to keep his voice neutral.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t even know if the baby is at risk. But I could not take a chance, given what happened before.”

  Darius gave a slow nod. “You made the right decision. Thank you for bringing her.”

  Lysander gave a tight smile. “I’m relieved you think so. I feared you’d strike me first and ask questions later.”

  “I considered it.” He lifted his chin toward Sarah. “The sight of her made me forget my intentions.”

  “I was counting on that. Now, I’d better go fetch the physician.”

  “Take Pari with you.”

  Alone with Sarah, Darius found himself at a loss for words. “Are you hungry?” he asked, trying to sound solicitous. He felt stupid. Here she was, carrying his baby, the child he had wanted with such desperation, and all he could ask was whether she wanted food?

  “No, thank you.” Her voice was soft. Uncertain. “Are you … are you happy about the baby?”

  His heart contracted at the hesitance in her voice. “Of course. I’m very happy.” Astounded. Dumbfounded. But happy.

  “It would have been lovely to have had twins.”

  Darius sank into a stool. “One is good too.”

  She looked up. Her large brown eyes were swimming and vulnerable. He felt his breath catch. “Would you like to feel him? You never had the chance before.”

  He went down to kneel beside her. She had sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress, stuffed with straw, must have been old, for lumps poked out in various places. She bent forward and caught his hand in hers. Gently, she laid his palm flat against the bulge of her stomach. She was large enough to be unmistakably pregnant, but not so large as a woman near her term. Her flesh under the soft fabric of her garments felt taut. He allowed his hand to linger there in an aching caress.

  “Sometimes I can feel him flutter within me. I doubt you’ll be able to tell; he’s very small yet.”

  “He?”

  “Or she. Do you have a preference?”

  He shrugged and removed his hand. “As long as the child is healthy, I care not. She is welcome either way.”

  “I know this baby cannot magically undo the wrong I’ve done you, Darius. I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I am carrying your child.”

  He rose up and turned his back. To his surprise, he felt something like relief wash over him. At least she did not expect him to act as if everything was well between them.

  He heard her stir on the bed to come and stand near him. “Do you know, with the drama of the baby, I believe Lysander forgot to send you a message about my new discovery.”

  He turned around, gratef
ul for a new topic, knowing she had changed the course of their conversation on purpose in order to allay his discomfort. These uncanny intuitions had always made her an irresistible companion. Which made her betrayal even harder to bear. He forced his thoughts away from that gaping wound. “What new discovery?”

  “While I was searching for parchment in my trunks, I happened to come upon the note the assassin gave the Babylonian brothers. When I studied it again, I had an interesting insight. That note was not written to a stranger. It wasn’t for a hired man at all. The man who wrote it knew its recipient. Knew him well, even. Perhaps intimately.”

  Darius went still. “Well enough to be in mourning at the news of his death?”

  “I imagine so. Do you know such a man?”

  “A high official named Zikir. He is in mourning for the death of his grandson, and fits every criteria we know about. He is from Damascus and occupies a high place in the court. He is in mourning. And he has reason to hold a grudge against Artaxerxes.”

  They were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Your physician,” Darius said, as he pulled the door open.

  A rotund man with balding head and a bushy salt and pepper beard came in. His forehead shone with perspiration. Darius imagined Lysander had treated the man to a taste of friendly pressure and was grateful for his friend’s intervention. His stomach turned into a sour mass at the thought of Sarah growing weak. Bleeding. Dying. If it came to a choice between his wife and his baby, he knew what his decision would be. The realization confounded him.

  “Would you like to wait outside, my lord, while I examine your wife?” The tone of his voice suggested that was exactly what he expected Darius to do.

  “No, I would not.”

  The physician cleared his throat. “As you wish.”

  The exam took a long time. He saw that it hurt Sarah, and could barely keep himself from grabbing the physician by the nape of his fat neck and pulling his probing fingers off her. He reached for her hand at one point and held it, trying to give her his own strength. He was touched by the way she gripped him, driven by fear and pain. Without meaning to, he caressed the hair away from her perspiring face.

  “Shhh. It will be over soon.”

  After finishing his thorough exam, the physician asked Sarah many questions about her pregnancy, as well as the initial miscarriage. He had small, clever eyes that didn’t seem to miss any details. Darius felt his tense muscles begin to relax.

  Finally, the physician stood up and stretched. “Well. Your friend Lysander is not as unskilled in matters of childbirth as he surmises. He’s right that your wife was pregnant with twins originally. One she lost. Why, I could not tell you. No one understands these things. The child might not have formed right from the start. In any case, this baby,” he gestured toward Sarah on the bed, “is healthy and growing. There’s nothing wrong with him or with your wife. She should carry him to term without complications. The slight bleeding and birth pangs she experienced are not out of the ordinary. Many women have them. I see nothing to concern you. Nothing at all. Enjoy your good fortune, and worry no more.”

  Darius heard a choked sound from the bed and turned to see Sarah bury her face in a pillow, her shoulders shaking. Without planning to, he reached out and caressed her back, rubbing the nape of her neck. As if he could not resist the touch, his hand lingered there for a moment, absorbing the shivers that were going through her. Wordlessly he remained by her side until he felt her body settle into calm.

  He felt as if the weight of a mountain had lifted from his own shoulders. The physician departed with a considerably fatter purse; Darius had never been so happy to part with his gold. When he returned, he found that Sarah had wiped her face and was already sitting up, looking sheepish.

  “What a fuss I made over nothing. I feel very foolish.”

  “You did right to come to Damascus. If I’d been there myself, I would have wanted you to see the physician too.”

  She gave a watery smile. “I’m so relieved the baby is well.”

  Darius nodded. “Why don’t you rest for a while?”

  The noise of a muffled altercation outside made them both go rigid with alarm. Darius pulled out his dagger and whipped into attack stance as the door burst open.

  “I beg pardon, my lord. She would not abide,” Meres cried through clenched teeth, trying to hold on to the silky skirts of a tall woman who danced into the chamber with admirable aplomb, as if she had not broken twenty-three rules of social decorum by her brazen behavior.

  “Slippery thing,” Meres said, as the woman’s scarf came off in his hands and she continued to advance into the room.

  It had been a while since Darius had seen her in woman’s garb. He had forgotten how exotically attractive she was. Her mouth was too wide; her nose too short, the nostrils flared in a curious curl to each side; her eyes too narrow. And yet the overall effect left the viewer a little breathless. More trouble for him. He closed his eyes. “Roxanna.”

  Sarah’s jaw almost hit the floor as the ravishing woman made her way inside, her wide smile devoid of any embarrassment at having interrupted husband and wife. Darius nodded at Meres who left the chamber, closing the door behind him, creating a measure of privacy again. The woman named Roxanna sauntered further into the chamber, her steps wide and leisurely. She flopped on the dilapidated stool Darius had vacated earlier, and spreading her legs, placed her elbows on her knees.

  Darius blew out an impatient breath and nudged her leg with the tip of his shoe. “You aren’t wearing trousers anymore. Try to at least give the impression that you are a woman or you’ll be recognized.”

  Roxanna grinned and pulled her long limbs into a semblance of demure femininity. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your wife?”

  Sarah gathered her mouth into a tight line. Clearly this woman knew her husband well. “Yes, my lord. Won’t you introduce us?”

  If Darius felt uncomfortable with this unusual visit, it did not show on his face. “Sarah, this is the king’s secret agent in Damascus. Obviously, that is not information you can repeat to anyone else. Her name is Roxanna. Everyone in the court of Damascus knows her as Cyrus, however.”

  The king’s secret agent! Sarah felt momentary relief at that bit of information, until she realized that the woman’s vocation meant she must have spent considerable time with her husband over the past few weeks. Then it sank into her benumbed mind that Darius had given her a man’s name. She came to her feet, her movements slow. “How curious.”

  “Not as curious as you might think, given the fact that she has been sporting a false beard and men’s disguise until today. She is pretending to be one of Artaxerxes’ merchants while helping to solve his attempted murder.”

  Sarah sent Roxanna a calculating glance. She was tall and athletic, with dark blond curls and eyes the color of spring honey. She was also entrancingly beautiful. Hard to swallow that such a creature could convincingly switch genders at will. “And you have managed to make everyone believe you are a man all this time? How clever.”

  Roxanna shrugged. “One must do what one can for the empire.”

  Her accent was crisp and aristocratic. Sarah felt a stab of jealousy. This was precisely the kind of woman Darius would have wanted for his wife if the choice had been left up to him. Stunning, supple, with the inherent brand of self-confidence that seemed bred into their class. She felt short and dumpy in comparison.

  “How close are you to solving the plot?” Sarah asked. “Any breakthroughs?”

  For a moment, the young woman seemed flustered. “Not yet. But we draw close.”

  Darius rubbed the back of his neck. “Sarah has brought news that might give us a new insight.”

  To Sarah’s surprise, Roxanna gave her a genuine smile when Darius explained her discovery. “I’d heard you had a brilliant mind. Glad to have your help.”

  It occurred to Sarah that living the life of an agent could not be easy for a woman. No matter how adventurous, Roxanna must struggle
with loneliness. She would always be an outsider, never belonging to anyone. Sarah wondered if the girl’s crude intrusion was more than a bid to satisfy her curiosity. Perhaps she had wanted to meet another woman who in some small way promised a meaningful connection. Because she had once served as the queen’s senior scribe, Sarah might be the closest Roxanna had come to another woman who broke the normal rules that governed women’s lives.

  The hard, defensive wall around Sarah’s heart cracked. She felt ashamed of her own spiteful attitude toward Roxanna. Jealousy was not an emotion with which Sarah battled often. She was shocked at the depth of her own envy. Could the woman help being lovely? Did she have to pay the price of Sarah’s lack of confidence?

  Sarah could not retain Darius’s attachment by showing her claws to every attractive woman who came near him. Pulling other women down with waspish words was no way to keep her husband. She would have a much better chance at holding on to him if she proved loving and trustworthy herself. Raising herself up in his esteem was the one sure way to secure his affections.

  There was a respectful knock at the door. Their little room had turned into the Throne Hall of Persepolis, it seemed. Everyone was lining up to enter. Darius pulled the door open with impatience and barked, “What?” at Meres, who stood on the other side.

  “My lord. If you are available, may I have a word?”

  Darius raised a brow. “The Babylonian brothers giving you trouble?”

  “No. We uncovered something enlightening earlier this morning. I would have ridden to tell you, except that I didn’t want to leave our guests to their own devices. I don’t think they would get into trouble intentionally, but they have been cooped up for some days and grow restless. In their desire to clear their name, they’re liable to cause havoc. Since you are here already, perhaps you and my lady might wish to hear this news.”

  Darius looked over his shoulder at Sarah, his eyebrows raised in question. Another man would not have considered exposing his wife to a bunch of wild men. From the start, Sarah had found her husband unusually tolerant in such matters, however. As long as he judged her to be out of harm’s way, he allowed her contact with many of his friends and associates, esteeming her opinion in various situations. He wasn’t lax enough to put up with her going off on her own. But he permitted her a wider access to the world than was normal in his circles.