Kozima stepped forward and knelt. He didn't step on the carpet. He chose to be next to me, on the hard tiles. Turmoil pooled in his eyes, not spilling over yet, only welling up as tears. His throat bobbed up and down, his hands shook.
I swallowed too, imagining what was going on inside him. Kozima was too shy to even sleep in a room with other orphans. He blushed before crossing an empty court-yard. All those glances trained on him must have been driving him mad.
Strangely though, his back was the straightest I'd ever seen. It gave his lanky figure the air of maturity he previously lacked. Also, it reminded me that his shoulders were wider than they appeared when he walked around hunched. His knee-length shirt didn't conceal them or the narrowness of his waist. His curls hang loose to his shoulders. Some other man must have helped him to shave his scraggly stubble to a length that shadowed his chin attractively.
He looked so beautiful, my heart lurched.
The Head Priestess allowed the scene of humility when facing judgment soak into the gathering. Then she almost chanted. "The Temple of Gala brings forth the charge of seduction on behalf of this young man."
The very words I feared she'd say next rung out so loudly, they seemed to reach the sky. This was a disaster, a nightmare. Kozima, Kozima... He seemed so smart, yet he'd done something so monumentally foolish, confessing his ruination!
This was one charge in the world that hurt the accuser more than the accused. And he brought it forward. The fool! He risked everything, his future, his dignity, Anastasia's favor... why, o why?
My glare fell upon his face. It was still completely composed. There was not a trace of impulsive passion men are given to.
He risked it all on the off chance that I would agree to remove the stain from his honor by--
"Ina'amatus, ina'guarda, ina'Gala," he rasped the words as his gaze slowly lifted to my face.
To be guarded by thy love and Gala's. A marriage pledge as written thousands years ago in the Mother of All Tongues.
Or, in his case, this wasn't a pledge. Neither was it a challenge. My whole body would twang like a bow string if I saw a shadow of challenge. It was a plea. His eyelashes trembled, like leaves in the wind, before he said the final word that sealed it. "Ismar."
"I—" I started, but the Head Priestess' lips twisted in disgust.
Oh, it was well-rehearsed, her interjection. Parneres would have applauded her timing. "Ismar, you stand before Gala, before Her Maxima and me. Before you answer, consider this."
My innards tightened. The gloating didn't behoove the graceful matriarch she had always professed to be. I searched the Captain's Commander's face and found it a mask of serenity cast in bronze. I wish I had the same ability, for I could feel my face twisting with every revelation.
"Do you think I know not what goes on in my Temple? Why Kozima walks into columns? Don't you think I know how a seduced man smiles?" the Head Priestess went on.
If she knew all along, if I was a wingless bug in the palm of her hand to catch, why did she allow the sacrilege to continue within her own Temple walls? Why?
She read that question in my eyes, her snide smile said. She tightened up the invisible screws on my symbolic torture rack. "Do you think that the guards were incompetent rather than ordered to not intervene with the will of Gala and Mythra, who are allies in Nirvana?"
I felt sick to my stomach. Kozima wasn't the only person to believe he could entice me back with his nubile body. I could forgive him for his delusion. I could forgive him anything!
But a woman should have known better! She wanted me to come back as a prodigious daughter, a penitent sinner to be forgiven with the world watching. Gala's mercy over Mythra's valor. Her plan had failed, but she still got her public display of largess, the clever witch. Her pawn, though, was becoming a liability.
The Head Priestess judged me to be an impetuous girl. She wanted me to be this ungrateful, selfish brat, a moral lesson to all the straying sheep. I'd ride into the sunset with Mythra's blessing and hers. Kozima would fall. They'd chase him away with the clothes on his back if... no, when I refused to accept his pledge.
And Gala would look upon the world, Their eyes full of sorrow.
Kozima knew the script better than I did. He couldn't have not known. He was far too devout, far too sensitive to the undercurrents in the Temple. Yet he knelt composed and unafraid. He wasn't playing a game any more. He was past caring what would happen to him afterward if I refused to take him as my husband. My heart went out to him.
Without taking my eyes off the old hag, I drove every syllable of the Mother of All Tongues through her throat, like knives.
"Ina'Mythra...
"...tea'guardo...
"...tea'amatus,
"...Kozima."
Kozima said his vow the way it was written at the dawn of time not as a formality, but as his declaration of faith in me.
I followed his example. I said my vows exactly the way it was written, to the letter, but also in the spirit of the law. In Mythra's name I shall love and guard thee. Forever.
He knelt Kozima of Palmyr, an orphan. He rose back to his feet Ismar's husband.
Miccola winked at me from the sidelines.
The ugly scarlet flooding Anastasia's throat was worth every problem that I'd just visited upon myself. Even if taking on the responsibility for my young husband, setting him up with a modest household would use up the last bit of silver I had inherited, that moment of triumph was worth it.
Customarily, the wedding guests threw handfuls of flowers over the newlyweds, sang happy songs and fed them a crumbling cake dripping with nuts and honey, cloven in two.
A priestess, any priestess, should have blessed us, completing the ceremony. It was a sign for the celebration of a marriage to begin. But following their Head Priestess, the entire staff of Gala's Temple kept mum.
Kozima and I stood in thickening silence. Dozens of eyes scrutinized my dirty clothes, scarred face, shaven head and one arm draped around his slim waist after I urged him back to his feet. And none of them dared to say the blessing.
The Captain-Commander broke the impasse. She hopped off her dappled gray with a girl's lightness. The horse followed her like a docile child despite the fire in her eye.
She threw Breva's reins to me. "A wedding gift, Ismar. Mythra's blessing!"
A royal gift. No, not royal! If Queen Zinaida was here or the Divine Empress of the South, she couldn't have matched the magnanimous offering.
The Head Priestess stirred, plastering a smile over her features. "Gala's blessing upon Ismar and Kozima! May their union be blessed with daughters and peace!"
The flowers flew at us, likely plucked straight out of the containers decorating the yard. They were red, orange and golden, the colors of joy.
I caught a nasturtium vine full of trumpet blossoms and wound it into Kozima's hair.
"Nasturtium, for this victory and all the victories to come," I whispered to him.
He replied, "Ismar."
I had the most beautiful horse in the world, a position with the Deadhead Company, my mother's money and the freedom to do as I pleased with my life.
So, I had everything I wanted, plus one more gift. I grinned at my dazed husband, nodding for him to climb into the saddle.
"Hop on, sweetheart. I'm stealing you away from this wretched place."
When in possession of a good fortune, a woman is expected to be in want of a spouse—everyone knows that.
And why shouldn't she?
Why wouldn't she?
Why indeed?
THE END
Calgary, February 27, 2020
Last Edited: September 2, 2022