Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

1. A Poor Thing Born with a Penis

This story is dedicated to the City of Palmyra, destroyed by the modern barbarians.

***

No woman is born entirely without merit.

Take Anastasia, for example. She spent her days daydreaming that the Head Priestess would present her devotional poetry to the Queen, but her handwriting was beautiful. Her letters curved the same way as neat as her red-gold curls. This talent for calligraphy landed her in charge of our medicinal stores. Perhaps, if I stayed at the Temple long enough, I'd come to appreciate why a clear label is more important than a clear head, but I wasn't going to stay.

To me, the Divines are impeccable, but while They attend to Their godly business in Nirvana, the mortals make a mess of things here. The Head Priestess of Gala only saw what was written in the sacred rules. An orphaned girl, when unclaimed by a female relative, must serve Divine Gala. My heart, however, belonged to a different Divine. So, I resolved to leave my childhood home in secret.

It was to that end, that I sidled up to Anastasia in the dimly lit infirmary, filled with the astringent scent of drying herbs and smoking incense.

"What are you working on today, Wise Sister?" I asked her.

"Gala's blessing on you too, my Daughter," she said pointedly.

My Daughter, huh? It used to be Ismar not a month ago, an equal. She was barely invested as a priestess, and already delighted in pulling rank on the mere acolytes like me. Of all the pompous—

Alas, my plan required her cooperation, so I bit my tongue.

"Gala's blessing, always and forever!" I said demurely.

"What brings you here, Ismar?" She squinted and pushed a blank scroll on top of a scrap of parchment.

Like I hadn't glimpsed her drivel about Divine Gala binding Divine Mythra's wounds with rainbows and rose petals already. May the memory of it fade before I go to my grave!

They had a great worktable in the infirmary—polished to shine showing the wavy cedar-wood texture, wide, but far too firm for my skinny butt. I should have sat on top of Anastasia's paper stack in lieu of a pillow. If words could soften a heart of a sinner, maybe they could cushion her too.

"Want some help, Anastasia?" I asked. "I'm free until the Evensong prayers."

"No, thank you, Ismar. These inventories require the knowledge of medicines. Any mistake could prove fatal." She moved the scrolls around the table, the way a losing gambler shuffles her cards. "And I assigned Kozima to help me already."

I gaped. "You have a man helping you?" Boy, rather than a man. Kozima was shy and pretty, and... just another pretty little thing born with a penis. Why would she want him to help her?

"The boy has a pious and sharp mind unusual for his sex. With his upcoming marriage, additional experience in keeping the inventories organized in his future wife's stores."

No boy warranted so much talking about, not even all of them taken together. I flipped a stack of paper to the floor. "Divine Gala forgive me! I'm such an impossible klutz!"

With a desolate cry, Anastasia dropped to her hands and knees to collect her treasures. She pressed the scrolls to her enviable bosom, away from the menace.

"No, Ismar, no! Please... With Kozima I'll have all the help I require."

While she was moaning, I snatched a vial of sleeping draught from the shelf, marked in her gorgeous curly script, Valerian Root Extract; add three drops in a cup of water against insomnia and hysteria. Easier than eating flatbread with chickpeas!