The Book of V.: A Novel(56)

Lily picks up her glass, empties it, then clinks it against her brothers’ glasses. I’m the one doing it now, she thinks. May you be Lily, in all that you are. One of the glasses will topple off the bar in a minute, and then they will leave, and get in cabs, and go their separate ways, but until then she toasts with her brothers, clink, clink, and they nod together to the beat.





SUSA


ESTHER


Descent



The bird is perfect. She has taught it the scent of sumac, and cardamom and sesame, too. When she frees it in the courtyard, the bird flies without hesitation over the wall and away. She trusts it as she trusts herself. It is her, in a sense. When it reaches Nadav’s mother, and speaks, it will speak Esther’s words. The guards eye her but no more than usual. They do not ask questions. The triumph she feels with the bird safely over the wall is so replete she could lie down on the stones and sing; she feels as if the bird has been released from her own chest.

But that night, on her pillow, she finds the bird’s bones, picked clean. She knows the bones as she knew her own hands; she knows they are not another bird’s bones masquerading as her bird’s. Next to them is a miniature scepter: an invitation to a banquet in the king’s rooms.

She is not surprised, the following evening, to find herself seated next to the minister. He wastes no time. “Spices have been prohibited in the camp for months now,” he says in greeting, swirling his finger in his wine. “Your poor bird didn’t have a chance.”

Esther stares at her plate, avoiding the minister’s glinting ornaments and his toothless, fearsome smile.

“And your eunuch? He’s a coward. Soft. Always has been. But you knew that, didn’t you.” The minister slows his words, as if talking to a child. “He didn’t go close enough to the camp to have any idea.”

Esther imagines strangling the minister with the gilded collar he wears. It might be doable, she thinks—if she could bring back the beast, she could do it. But she doubts she will ever again have enough power to become the beast. And even if she could, wouldn’t Darius be harmed, seeing his mother like that? And the new child inside her—what would happen to it? Still, she can feel her giant paddle hands on the minister’s neck. She sees vividly the color his skin would turn, a red as fierce as the sumac he’s banned. She faces him. “How did you capture it?”

“Your Majesty. Did you really think they would listen to you? Are you so arrogant as that? Even now?” Spittle shines in the corners of his lips. “You must know they are cowards, too. Like you, trying to escape fate. Yours, theirs. Your poor bird was the only brave one. You should have seen it when it found me, my palm outstretched, full of spices. Oh, the fragrance of my skin!”

A hand arrives on her thigh. It rests for a moment, then the fingers begin to walk her robes aside. The king rises to say something and the minister’s head follows but his fingers stay behind and keep walking. Esther clamps her legs together and watches the king’s mouth move. When he is seated again, the minister grows bolder. He looks at her as he speaks; he speaks to her as he forces his fingers between her thighs; he forces his fingers between her thighs as he brings meat to his mouth with his other hand. “I twisted its neck,” he says. “It was easy. Not so different, really, from ordering the killing of the queen.” He leans closer. “The king regrets that, you know. You must—you are not stupid. You must know that Vashti is the one he wants.”

Did she know that? Esther can’t decide. And she can’t see how it matters now. She presses her legs together more tightly, trying to squeeze the fingers into retreat, but it’s difficult to clamp down one part of your body with all your might while keeping other parts—in particular the face—appearing jovial and relaxed. It is, in fact, as Esther is neither the first nor last to discover, pretty much impossible. And the face must take precedence—the face either masks or gives away. As the minister’s fingers reach their intended goal, Esther shifts sideways but cannot escape.

“But as you also know,” the minister continues, “one must not change direction. The queen had to be killed. The bird had to be killed. All this is clear. Less clear is how you brought the thing to life. Your people—” his breath in her nostrils, smelling of meat “—insist there is one God. They insist to the point of torture. To the point of death. It’s their one bravery, I suppose. And perhaps it’s why they stay. Perhaps they imagine from that quarter will come their relief.” The fingers go slack for a moment, before coming alive again at his next thought. “But that’s irrelevant to what I want to know, which is how you can be one of them, yet play God.”

Esther struggles to speak. “I did no such thing.”

“The bird,” breathes the minister. “You created the bird.”

“The bird was already a bird.”

“Is that right. I want to know how you do it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“But Darius is growing larger.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“He’s walking. He might be sent to the training grounds. They’re far from here, you know. He’ll make a fine warrior. One day a warrior king.”

“I’ll go with him.”

The minister chuckles. “You’ll go nowhere. Teach me.”