Free Holiday Magick by Rich Storrs

possibly stand up to his scrutiny.
    â€œWe don’t often see such hair color here in Persia, my queen.” He grunted as he stuffed an enormous hunk of roasted meat into his mouth, grease and juice dribbling down his chin. “Where did you say you were from, again?”
    I stuttered, then pulled myself together. “The north.”
    â€œRome?” he asked around a mouthful of animal flesh.
    â€œGaul.” Close enough to the truth.
    Haman nodded but did not tear his gaze from the food on our bedroom table. He wiped his hands absently on the stuffed silk cushions behind him, and I made a mental note to have them burned before day’s end.
    â€œI’ve been to Gaul.” Grunt, splatter, belch. “Stupid men, nasty women.”
    â€œWatch your tongue,” Ahasuerus warned. “Those are my wife’s people you speak of.”
    Haman gestured absently toward me with one hand while holding a bone in his other hand. As he sucked out the marrow, he muttered, “There are always exceptions, of course.”
    â€œHaman, why don’t you tell your new queen about your wedding gift?”
    With a grimace, Haman said, “I’m going to finally rid our king of the pesky Jewish problem once and for all. Those people live by their own laws, not the king’s. We cannot have this sort of open rebellion in Persia. They will all die the death of traitors, by hanging, three days hence. Oh!” He rubbed his chest. “But I’m afraid I can say no more right now. If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I must return to my own room and send for the medic. This rich Gaulish food does not agree with me.”
    I knew Mordechai had not poisoned the food. She would not risk Ahasuerus, or me, eating it. Neither Ahasuerus nor I felt the burning indigestion Haman seemed to suffer from, but then, we had not gorged ourselves as thoroughly as he did. No, he had brought this pain upon himself.
    That night, as we lay side by side in our silk bed stuffed with goose down, I asked Ahasuerus to tell me more about Haman’s “gift.”
    Ahasuerus shrugged one shoulder and stroked a finger up and down my bare arm. “What care I for the fate of the Jews? What are they to me?”
    â€œLoyal subjects.”
    He grunted. “Perhaps. But Haman is right. For such loyalty, why do they obey another’s laws instead of their king’s?”
    â€œThey obey God’s law. Is the king higher than God?”
    He kissed the top of my head. “Does their god pave the roads or protect them from invaders as their king does?”
    â€œThat sounds like Haman talking, not my king.”
    â€œBut he is right.”
    â€œDid the Jews bother you so before Haman came to court as your advisor?”
    â€œI had not given the matter any thought.”
    â€œWhy three days from now?”
    â€œHaman chose the date by lottery. There is no significance.”
    I propped myself up on an elbow and traced the thick black hair on his chest. “So my mighty king would allow Haman to turn his thoughts to genocide, and their death to a whim? Why not leave the Jews alone?”
    Ahasuerus grabbed my hand and kissed my palm. “I am tired. Let’s leave all talk of Jews and advisors for morning, my love.” He turned his back to me and went to sleep.
    Though keeping up the glamour non-stop drained my energy, I could not drift off. Instead, I watched the breeze from the windows flutter the gossamer curtains around our bed and prayed to HaShem to inspire me with a plan. Mordechai was right. Time was running out.

    By the time Ahasuerus woke up, I had been active for hours already. I had smirking messengers sent around the palace informing everyone that His Majesty would take no meetings, no audiences, and no visitors today. We were to be left alone, except for meals that would be brought to our bedchamber.
    While I waited for Ahasuerus to pull himself out of deep slumber, my nerves got