Christina Rich - The Warrior's Vow

“It is like Jehoiada to deceive the people to gain their cooperation. He’s hungry for power.”

Jesse drew in a breath and clenched his teeth against the pain throbbing in his head. “Is that what you believe? Jehoiada is a man of God, chosen to be God’s high priest to intercede on behalf of God’s people. He does not need to deceive the people, Uncle. He has the approval of God, unlike you and that queen you were loyal to.”

A low growl emanated from his right. The captain shoved Elam aside and pressed the tip of a dagger beneath Jesse’s chin. Eyes, red from too much wine and hatred, glared at him. “It is with great providence our future queen has a soft heart, else I’d leave little of you for the birds.”

Queen?

Certainly the young woman with the pointy chin and high forehead wasn’t a product of Athaliah. Although pretty with her waist-length chestnut hair and her strange green eyes, she wasn’t the stunning beauty her mother had been; nor did she seem to carry the same abhorrent character. Her pale complexion at the sight of him said as much. No, the captain toyed with him. But if Suph thought to play games with the people of Judah, at least he could have chosen a more prominent woman, not one frightened of her own shadow.

Jesse straightened his shoulders, removing his flesh from the man’s blade. “I killed your queen. And I’ll kill her, too, if need be.”

The captain’s fist slammed into Jesse’s jaw. A flash of white light exploded in his head a moment before his feet were swept from beneath him. He landed on his back. Air stole from his lungs as the wooden yoke jammed against his shoulders.

The sun captured and glinted off the dagger held above his attacker’s head. The captain’s chest heaved with each breath. He meant to kill him.

Just as well. Although he did not relish passing from this earth, he hated being a pawn even more. With his eyes set on the captain, Jesse arched his neck. “Go on.”

The captain inhaled as his blade rose higher.

“Enough!”

Jesse pressed his lips together at the sound of his uncle’s voice. The old man’s sanity returned at the oddest times. If Elam hadn’t kidnapped Mira, Jesse’s brother’s betrothed, Jesse wouldn’t have been taking him back to Jerusalem to face the elders, and he certainly wouldn’t be facing death at the hands of a coward. Who killed a man when he was half-beaten and bound?

“Killing him will not achieve our goal, Suph.”

The captain rolled his shoulders, leaned over Jesse and cut the leather strap holding the carbuncle from his neck before sheathing his dagger. “Stretch him out near the altar, but keep him alive.”

Suph kicked Jesse before stalking away, his helmet tucked beneath his arm and Jesse’s tribal identity loose in his fingers. Jesse narrowed his eyes. When he was free from his bindings, he wouldn’t show such mercy. When he was done with the traitor, the captain would beg for the sun’s hottest kiss.

Elam knelt beside him and smoothed a cool cloth to Jesse’s lips. “You should not provoke his anger.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “You should have let him kill me.”

A nervous laugh rumbled through Elam’s chest, trembling his fingers. “Your father would have my head if anything happened to you.”

“Your loyalties confuse me, Uncle.”

Elam tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “I’ve always been loyal to my family. Have done what I thought best.”

“And God?”

“Has abandoned us in our greatest time of need.” Elam braced his arms beneath Jesse’s shoulders and helped him to sit. “We must fend for ourselves, stand with those who are strong and bound to rule like Suph’s pawn, Queen Athaliah’s disgraceful daughter. Whether we agree with their beliefs or not.”

Elam motioned for two soldiers to approach. “Stretch him between the postings erected, and then have a servant clean his wounds and feed him. My nephew needs his strength for what he is about to endure.”

The soldiers lifted Jesse to his feet. He looked at his uncle. “I do not know how, or when, but God will reign. He did not restore Joash to the throne only to fail, of that I have no doubt.”

They began to move forward, but Elam’s hand held him still. He leaned close and whispered, “You’ve great potential, nephew. You are strong and with a bit of discipline you could be self-controlled. If you would only see to reason, you could become what your brother Ari rejected. You’d make a much better captain of the guard than Suph. A much better husband to Judah’s rightful queen. If you would only choose, I could make it happen. You could be King of Judah and I the high priest.”

An image of unique green eyes, the color of olive leaves, flickered through his mind.

“So be it, Uncle, but I would not serve a god imagined in the mind of a fallible man. And you can be sure I would never marry a spawn of Athaliah.”

Chapter Two

Heat infused Abigail’s cheeks as she slipped between the folds of her tent and stepped in front of Suph. His jaw hardened. His chest rose and fell in harsh, rapid movements. She laid a hand on his shoulder. A gesture she’d often spied her mother do from the balcony outside her chamber.

His gaze flicked to her hand before settling on her. He shifted his stance, dislodging her hand, and propped a fist on his hip. “What is it I can do for you, Abigail?”

She straightened her shoulders, standing a few inches above him, and tilted her head. “My apologies if I wounded your pride, Suph. However, I believe you can see the wisdom of keeping the prisoner alive.”

He firmed his lips. “Alive, yes. Being left capable of killing what few men we have to protect you, no.”

Her gaze sought out the man carried by her soldiers. His wide shoulders sagged, his arms limp. He couldn’t even walk on his own.

“Do not allow his condition to fool you, Abigail.”

“Even hale I doubt he could do as much harm.”

A harsh chuckle burst from Suph. His eyes bore a mocking yet dangerous glint. “Do not think to underestimate him, dearest. He’s an elite soldier trained in ways I can only imagine, as much as it wounds me to admit. Given the chance, he’ll kill me, kill my men.” He gripped her chin, the scent of blood heavy on his hands. “And he’ll kill you if only to save that child he claims is your brother’s. The child he helped set on the throne. Are you willing to risk as much?”

She thought of the child and the varied stories that had whispered off the palace walls. She’d seen only twelve summers that awful year when word of her brother’s death reached them. At first, she’d heard her mother had gone mad and had had all of Abigail’s male cousins and nephews killed, but then her mother told her otherwise. It had been that priest Jehoiada who had infiltrated the princes’ chambers and annihilated them all.

But then, only weeks ago, rumors of a surviving child began anew. Many said he had the look of her brother. Could it be he’d been spared Jehoiada’s wrath? Why would the priest spare him when he’d killed all the others? To instill the beliefs of their so-called god? Certainly the boy was not her nephew. “Of course not, Suph. However, my stance remains, do not cause the prisoner further harm.”

His lips twitched as if he were about to defy her. “As you wish, but I will do nothing to ease his wounds.” Suph spit at the ground. “His wounds can fester until he dies. I care not. There will be other ways to remove the child from the throne.”

She reached into her soul for courage. “Your grief over my mother credits you, but do not allow it to own you, Suph. You serve me now and will do as I bid. Even if it means cleaning the prisoner’s wounds.”

“You surprise me, Abigail. Your mother claimed you were weak. However, your commands reveal your mother’s courage. Although, she never would have begged for a prisoner’s life such as you have.”