Free Harvest of Rubies by Tessa Afshar Page B

and elevated her above his other wives. Her son,whom they named Darius after the great king, became his heir.
     
    “Of course Lord Darius was not raised as a Jew, but a Persian. When he was seventeen, to the sorrow of father and son, Rachel died.
     
    “Since then, Darius has proven himself an honorable son in every regard save one: he has refused to take a wife, though well past marriageable age. This has been a sorrow to his father, whose greatest desire is to behold the children of his son. Vivan holds this one shortcoming against Darius, for in every other regard he is a man of honor and the epitome of what a Persian nobleman ought to be.”
     
    I did not understand why the queen would wish to parade this young man’s admirable qualities before me. I bobbed my head up and down like a fool and waited the queen’s good pleasure to explain.
     
    “Some weeks ago, goaded by his father’s great unhappiness, Darius finally confessed to his father the reason behind his stubborn desire to remain unwed. It happens that before her death, Rachel made her only son promise that his first wife would be a Jewish girl. He knew that his father wished him to marry into Persian nobility. Caught between his youthful promise to his mother and his father’s certain disappointment and wrath, Darius kept quiet, hoping that in time a solution would present itself.
     
    “By this time Lord Vivan was so relieved that his son was willing to marry at all that he cared little where the girl came from. His remaining dilemma was in finding the right Jewish girl for his son.”
     
    An uncomfortable prickling sensation made me squirm where I stood. Why had the queen expressly called me to her chamber to share family gossip?
     
    Damaspia went on. “As I said, the king told me this story as we supped two nights ago. His cupbearer, Nehemiah, was in attendance as usual. He is your cousin, I believe, is he not, Sarah?”
     
    “Yes, Your Majesty, on my mother’s side.”
     
    “A good man.” Damaspia waved a bejeweled hand, to emphasize her words. “The king admires his wisdom. So I asked him, when the king had finished regaling me with his tale, if Nehemiah could recommend a worthy wife for Prince Vivan’s son. Before he could answer, however, I said that I myself had a name to suggest.
     
    “The king and his cupbearer turned to me as though I had suddenly learned to speak the language of the Greeks. ‘Who do you have in mind, my love?’ the king asked me. Do you know whose name I gave, Sarah?”
     
    “No my lady,” I said, beginning to feel sick.
     
    “Yours, you simpleton!”
     
    “
Mine?”
I croaked.
     
    Everyone around the room laughed. The sound came as though from far away. I felt the room sway and feared that I might faint. Perhaps I would wake up and find that this whole scene was a nightmare—that I had fallen asleep while overseeing the packing of records. I would wake up drooling over a pot of ink and have a good laugh over the absurdities that my mind could conceive.
     
    “Yours,” the queen repeated remorselessly, unmindful of the effect her words had on me. “I told the king you were the one who had discovered Alogune’s perfidy, and that it was you who had approached the queen mother with the truth. Then I asked Nehemiah what he thought of you and your family.
     
    “He said he held you in the highest regard; though you were poor, you were trustworthy and loyal. Well, I could havesaid as much myself. I told the king that I owed you a reward for protecting my good name. Marriage to a Persian aristocrat—the king’s own cousin, no less—seemed as good a prize as anyone could have. And Lord Vivan would have his heart’s desire, which was marriage for his son. It was a perfect solution for everyone. The king and his cupbearer agreed with me heartily and the next evening we invited Lord Vivan and told him the good news.”
     
    I kept waiting for the ending of the story, the part where the queen would tell