After a bit of wiggling, I nestled myself in Kozima's embrace. The position didn't hurt any of my scrapes and bruises, so I could enjoy a sweeter ache brought upon by his closeness. He lifted himself on one elbow behind my back, his left shoulder hovering over mine, his neck craned till his lips grazed my cheek. His hand avoided the sore spots with innate gentleness. Something poked the small of my back.

"It's far too dangerous a plan, Ismar," he said. "The scorpia assassin will murder you."

My ear rested on his forearm. Young blood coursed through his veins, speeding up to a dizzying pace. I wanted to be carried away by its currents to a bliss of coupling. A sigh lifted my chest.

"You're so easily frightened, sweetheart, yet you make me tremble like no monster can."

Half-words, half-kisses descended to my lips from on high.

"Tremble, and moan, and cry," he whispered. "You do that to me too."

Like the travelers lost in the night, his fingers searched their way to the warm refuge inside me, closing in on the place aptly named Indara's Joy. He circled it tentatively.

"Liar," I teased, closing my eyes to better follow his wonderful progress. "I don't cry."

"Then tears are only mine. They come when I think how easy it would have been for you to return to the fold. Safety and peace will be in it for you. Sanity--for me."

I shook my head. "Not again and not now, Kozima. Not now..."

His fingers circled fruitfully, his lips slipped down, providing me with more reasons to push my hips against his, inviting him inside. Our bodies were accustomed to finding the best fit on their own by then.

"Come here, sweetheart."

He obeyed.

On instinct, I avoided ripping the stitches. It was much easier than when I was swimming. Sharim was good with her needle, and the medical gum did its magic, but mainly it was Kozima. He was gentler than the first leaves in spring, flexible like a young branch and foresaw my movements with a preternatural aptness.

"You return to me, because it's fraught with danger." His chest jiggled with laughter, intermingling with tremors, rocking, and the other elating movements. "That's what excites you, not I."

I cried out in protest.

"But the battles and monsters, that's even more thrilling for you."

Love scattered my thoughts, let alone my words. Men and fighting both made me feel equally alive. Instinctively, I knew to let the body do the talking. He didn't lie—he cried after he loved. I thought it was happy tears, at least right after I drew every drop of sweet nectar he had to offer.

A bit later, as his mouth hopelessly searched for comfort at my breast and I stroked his head, maybe he cried out of fear of parting.

Once all his tears were exhausted, Kozima breathed freer. "I'll ask Anastasia to meet us in the infirmary tomorrow night. But you know that it's blasphemy."

"Is not," I argued, kissing him good morning and wishing courage upon him. "Anastasia is a priestess, and she'll tell you the same thing."

***

"What you want is blasphemy!" Anastasia said after listening to my proposition next evening.

Her round bottom barely fit on the narrow bench in the infirmary. Lucky her, always carrying a cushion along. And a crown of golden curls. She was slipping into the full glory of mature womanhood faster than I acquired scars!

I shifted my skinny ass on the tiled floor. Terracotta was wonderful to sit upon when it was warmed by the sun, but in the middle of the night it was way too cold.

"Let Gala decide, Anastasia," I murmured and squirmed again. "You're the most talented poet I know. If you pray to Them, then you awake with inspiration to write the best verses that have ever flown from your quill, amazing even for your genius, then it's the opposite of blasphemy."

Her pink lips opened up while I pleaded.

I hurried to slather more butter and honey upon that flatbread. "It would mean Divine Gala favors our plan for saving Kozima from a loveless marriage. If They wish you to write it, They'll give you magnificent words!"

Whatever rebuttal she had died before her tongue moved. So, she just touched its soft point to her upper lip, as she was wetting the tip of her quill already. I didn't see a single flaw in my logic either. Our success was guaranteed, since Anastasia always believed her poetry was wonderful.

"I had prayed to exhaustion today." She covered a yawn with her hand, but her eyes glittered as if she was already seeing the lines of the hymn in her mind. "But no labor is too great in service of the sacred mysteries."

The pantomime wouldn't have convinced a newborn lamb. She'd be up till dawn, covering miles of parchment with her curly script. If Kozima was lucky, Parneres would find an inch worth repeating in there, but that was a battle for another day.

The main thing for now was that Anastasia was in!

I suppressed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, bard! We'll leave you to contemplate."

Her brows quivered. An unexpectedly alert gaze darted between Kozima and me.

Did I just ruin the whole scheme by one incautious word? Not even a word! It was the intonation. It was the way I'd said 'we'. Gala's mourning eyes!

I relaxed my shoulders, eased four breaths in and out of my chest and resisted an impulse to jump away from Kozima like an addled rabbit. If I did, the truth would be out.

Despite my efforts, Anastasia's honey-colored eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where will you go at this hour, Ismar?" she asked in a saccharine tone. "They already shut the gates for the night."

"I'll sit in the darkest corner of the library till Vespers, fighting sleep." I grimaced as if it was the worst place I've ever slept at. "I hope you appreciate all the sacrifices I make to do your bidding on this dolt's behalf."

Kozima knelt in one achingly beautiful motion, made even smoother by the hoarseness of my voice and battered appearance. We couldn't have done better if we had rehearsed it to cover up our affair. A knave like me wasn't worthy of setting foot at the grand Temple, let alone steal a pearl of manhood like Kozima.

He pressed a penitent head to Anastasia's ankles. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble with my stupidity, Mistress. You're too generous to this undeserving man."

She leaned to ruffle his black ringlets and murmur something comfortingly. The hemispheres of her freckled breasts flushed pink above the collar of her shirt. The saffron saree shifted.

My fingers inched toward the knife I carried in a sheath embroidered by Lydia's husband, but I forced them to unclench. I needed her. And I didn't say my vows, so Kozima wasn't a husband to me, just a fallen man I used in secret.

I pressed my hands to the floor, palms down, until it hurt. I forced my lips from a scowl into a semblance of a smile, while Kozima stuttered through some nonsense about rain in the air and how he should sleep inside the dormitory tonight because of it.

Immovable like a statue, I sat in the infirmary until he left. Silence coated the room while I sucked my stomach in, and Anastasia gazed at the door behind which he disappeared.

"You..." Anastasia said shakily, "you need to leave. I'm going to pray and await Divine inspiration."

Aha. Let's call it inspiration, then. I stretched, rolling my shoulders till they cracked and massaged every joint down to my little toes. If I wasn't getting Kozima that night, I wouldn't let her go after him either.

"If you don't leave immediately, I'll take you by the ear and drag you before the High Priestess," she said.

"Gala's blessing be upon you!" I beamed at Anastasia. "I'll pray for Them to illuminate your way."

I bit my tongue before adding the threats that hung at the tip of my tongue and went to the library.

They built the library to guard the dead silence inside from the onslaught of the noisy life of the commons.

I slept so soundly that for the first time since I had wind-fever as a child, I slept through the vespers' bell.

Googly eyed, I crept out of my hideout and blended amongst the early morning worshippers. But, somehow, Kozima found me and offered me a tray with perfumed water, votive candles and rose petals.

His features were sharpened by anxiety and stark-white garb of the temple's servant. While I rummaged through his wares, he whispered, "Ismar, this won't work. Anastasia isn't stupid. She'll know that her verses are not Divine-inspired when they're just her usual nonsense."

I paid him a copper for a bundle of wine-red petals.

"Thank you for your service, merciful servant of Gala!" I said as loudly as possible, then dropped my voice to a whisper. 'Kozima, don't be such a dolt!'

Then again, very loudly: "Gala be praised!"

And back to whispering, 'Have you never seen Anastasia write all night long, then stumble around, clutching scrolls to her bosom, thinking herself a genius?'

He moved his tray from under my nose and bowed low. "Gala's blessing on you, Safic."

'Just don't forget to faint after you hear the first few lines, and all will be well.' I whispered hastily before he had to withdraw.

'Don't worry, the mere thought of you taking Anastasia's scroll to the scorpia's den--and I won't have to fake a swoon,' he breathed out. Then he stared wildly around us. His hand shot out to grab my sleeve and turn me a little to the right. 'Here comes the High Priestess. Please, please just go beg her for forgiveness.'

I covered my face with the saree's end and bowed to the passing matriarch. She passed so close that a shiver ran down my spine. Yet, her steps retreated without her unmasking me.

I patted Kozima on the back to comfort him. I was just another worshiper to her. A foreigner who came to praise Gala. "Don't worry, Kozima. The Divines favor us."

My sourpuss blew out yet another sigh.