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it’s what they would have expected us to do. But I’m still not sure. I never wanted to be king, you know. I still don’t.”
    “Then why did you agree to marry me?”
    “Joshua said it was what you wanted, and I … I wanted to make it up to you, somehow … for what Manasseh did to you.”
    “What your brother did wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”
    “I’m not sure that’s true, because I didn’t even try.” He unfolded his arms, gesturing fervently as if his hands could convey his feelings better than mere words. She noticed that he had graceful, artistic hands with long, slender fingers. “I should have done something to stop Manasseh from killing your father and Rabbi Isaiah. They didn’t even get a fair trial. And when Manasseh started worshiping all those idols, I should have known where it would all lead. I should have tried to save your son. I’m sorry.” He folded his arms again as if in defeat, tucking his hands out of sight.
    “I blame myself, not you,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
    “I want to make it up to you, Dinah … and so if I can give you another child, an heir to David’s throne like your first son, then that’s what I want to do.”
    His unselfishness touched her. But in spite of the bond of guilt they shared, in spite of the matching wounds Manasseh had inflicted on each of them, she didn’t love Amariah. She doubted if she ever would. Dinah was barely twenty years old, Amariah twenty-one. They might be married to each other for a long time. The thought of all those empty years stretching ahead of them exhausted her.
    Every moment she had spent with Hadad had seemed charged with energy and excitement, making Dinah feel breathless and alive. She smiled, remembering his broad, handsome face and dazzling smile. He was her savior, strong and vigorous yet surprisingly tender. An angel, she had told him, sent by God to rescue her.
    “It’s still not too late,” Amariah said softly. “Our marriage isn’t official … until we …”
    But Dinah knew that it was too late. Hadad was gone. She needed to focus instead on Manasseh—on her need for revenge. She took a step closer to Amariah. “We’re doing the right thing,” she said. “Neither of us was able to stop Manasseh. Now we’re finally fighting back.”
    Amariah nodded and carefully drew her into his arms. His embrace felt formal and unnatural. She remembered how comfortable she had felt in Hadad’s brawny arms, held against his broad, solid chest.
    Finally Amariah bent to kiss her. Dinah glimpsed the deep sorrow in his eyes before he closed them and wondered if it mirrored her own.

3
    J OSHUA PACED RESTLESSLY IN THE COURTYARD of the military outpost, waiting for the recruits to assemble for their training in hand-to-hand combat. He seemed to spend far too much of his time in limbo—waiting for Amariah to reach a decision, waiting for these young men to solidify into a fighting force, waiting for God’s signal that the day of His revenge against King Manasseh had finally arrived.
    “Come on, let’s go! Take your places!” he shouted. The recruits moved lethargically in the morning heat. It was well before noon, but the sun already felt hot on Joshua’s back, the desert breeze moving across his bare arms and legs like warm water.
    A few weeks ago it had been Hadad’s job to instruct these men, but after he’d disappeared, the task had fallen to Joshua. He felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that the men looked up to him or had named their regiment in his honor. He wasn’t as patient with them as Hadad had been, and the setbacks they’d experienced after the change in leadership frustrated him. He gazed at the row of straw practice dummies in front of him and saw that someone had sketched an ox on one of the dummies’ tunics, over the place where the heart would be. He glanced at the gate one last time, wishing that Hadad would miraculously appear and take over