Chapter 35: 35 - Defeated

Despite the February frost, Callida would sometimes leave the window in the nursery cracked open at night when it got stuffy because she was always there to close the window again if it became too cold or drafty. It helped everyone sleep a little bit better. Her cot was set up in a corner near the window, so she was the first to know if it got too cold. She’d been resisting the gentle suggestions from Celarus to put a real bed in the nursery for herself. The perpetual state of exhaustion would seem to indicate that any and all efforts to improve her sleep quality were worth it, for she was at the mercy of the triplets for the quantity of sleep she got. But officially moving into the nursery felt like giving up, and she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

They were chubby and getting more fun — the triplets. Cooing and giggling and grabbing at things more and more, Callida appreciated being able to interact with them meaningfully even when they managed to snag a fistful of her hair. All three of the boys were trying to roll over too. Tiaki had succeeded quite by accident the other day; he had yet to repeat the maneuver, but the two nurses had excitedly informed Callida that this was the first step to becoming mobile. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

More relevant to her sleep dilemma, the boys had started teething. Between the coos and giggles, they fussed and gnawed on anything and everything. It took longer to get them to sleep, and they struggled more to stay asleep because of the discomfort. Her own body ratcheted up on shots of sleep-deprived adrenaline, it also took her longer to fall asleep. Finally getting all three boys down, Callida would slump into her cot and then curse the elusiveness of sleep. Inevitably, the exact moment that the adrenaline would wear off and Callida would begin to drift was the moment a baby would start crying, and a new hit of adrenaline would start the cycle all over again.

She was drifting. The window was cracked. The babies were quiet. But something moved in the dark. It was silent, undetected but for the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. She resisted the awareness, desperate for sleep. And then she remembered that unknown, silent things that moved at night were usually dangerous.

She opened her eyes to see a figure hovering over the bassinet. His back was to her, his hair white in the moonlight and slicked into a short ponytail just above the nape of his neck. She knew him, but she didn’t know his name. He’d only ever introduced himself to her as “the Master of Assassins”; secretive, self-serving, unpredictable but as clever as they came, always knew more than he should, only found when he wanted to be, he was, put simply, extremely dangerous — a phantom. Incidentally, Callida had nicknamed him “Kopam” after a phantom of folklore; he, in turn, called her “Steel Shadow”, the public nickname she’d acquired as Verum’s bodyguard.

Callida slipped off the cot, pulling the knife from under her pillow and moving swiftly to set the blade against his throat before she could be detected. “What are you doing here, Kopam?”

In the moonlight, the Master of Assassins grinned, turning slowly to reveal luminous (glistening?) green eyes, a deceptively middle-aged appearance incongruent with his pure white hair, and the sleeping bundle in his arms. Already jittery from the overdose of adrenaline, Callida’s knife nearly slipped. The MOA flinched. “I’m only testing a theory.”

“Put him down,” she hissed, and he obliged, moving slowly but fluidly to return Manasik to his bed. His next move was a deliberate display of surrender. He stepped back with his hands up, allowing the jumpy mother to place herself between him and her babies.

“Good evening, Steel Shadow,” he greeted her with a slight nod. “It’s been a while.”

“What did you do to them?” Callida opted to skip the pleasantries.

“Nothing.”

“You said you were testing a theory. I know how you test your theories, Kopam. I’ve been the subject of your tests before, remember?”

“Ah. A poor choice of words on my part then.”

“What did you do?”

“I intend no harm. I was merely curious to meet your children.”

“Then knock on the door.”

He smiled at that. “You know that’s not my way.”

“What do you want? Why are you curious about my sons?”

His smile transitioned into a smirk that held secrets she knew he wouldn’t reveal readily if at all. “They are unusual,” was all he said, and Callida’s brain started spinning with the implications.

“You are a spiritualist, aren’t you?”

“Ah, but what is a spiri–”

“Cut the riddles, Kopam! We’ve been through this exact definitions game before.”

“Have we indeed?”

“Can you or can you not tell me what they are?”

“You don’t already know?”

“Can you explain what it means or how it happened?”

His brow quirked, and Callida held his eye contact unflinchingly, watching his expression as the deflective banter became calculated. He began a slow back-and-forth ambling, mindful not to wander too close to the bassinet, his hands interlocking in front of him, index fingers pointed in thought. “Would you like to see for yourself what they are?”

“How? I’m not a spiritualist.”

“It will require you to trust me.”

“Trust you.” She nearly scoffed at the idea, but she lowered the knife just the same.

He chuckled softly and approached her, still careful. “Would you like to introduce me to your sons properly?”

“No tricks, Kopam.”

“My dear, given your current condition, trying any tricks would be hazardous to my health,” he said, but Callida detected something more sincere beneath the superficial tease. For that, she stowed the knife in her waistband, prepared to trust his intentions for one night.

“What do I need to do?”

He gestured toward the crib behind her, and Callida turned, feeling Kopam creep up behind her until she could feel his heat without any physical contact. “Reach out and touch them.” She extended her hand, placing it on Probus’s chest. Kopam’s right hand settled lightly over the top of hers, and she gasped a little when his left splayed between her shoulder blades. “Shut your eyes,” he whispered.

The moment her eyes closed, her consciousness seemed to travel to her chest, level with where his hand rested against her back. From there, it moved through her arm down to where her hand was touching Probus, but it also subtly leaked into Kopam’s hand at her back and through to where his hand hovered over hers. It was bizarre… and distracting. Which point of contact — the top of her hand or her palm — was she supposed to pay attention to?

“You have to look,” he instructed, a moment later adding, “not with your eyes. Use your wolf’s eyes.”

It simultaneously made perfect sense and no sense at all, but as she focused on her connection with Goldie, something materialized in her mind’s eye. What she saw was a sleepy, fluffy feline formed from a glittery black light. Large, round ears and a tuft at the end of its tail, the creature, though black, was unmistakably a lion cub. That precious ball of fuzzy ether was as much her son as Probus was — another thought that both did and didn’t make sense. She wasn’t ready to move on when Kopam’s hand coaxed hers to transition to Tiaki’s chest, but no sooner had her skin come into contact with his blanket than she saw more shimmery black. This creature in Tiaki’s chest swam steadily in a circle, the loops synchronized with his resting heart rate. Long and lean, the creature was different from any she’d ever seen before. It was like a fish but with predatory power. Having lived in land-locked tribes her entire life, Callida had never seen a shark before, but she could easily imagine that this was what one looked like. Kopam moved her hand to Manasik’s chest where another animal spirit was resting in a tight coil. How anyone could confuse this creature with a dragon, Callida had no idea. It looked exactly like an obsidian-scaled, baby waste serpent — a snake. It was sleek and beautiful.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

And it made sense. Somehow it all made sense. Of course Probus hosted a lion, Tiaki a shark, and Manasik a snake. How could they not? This was what– This was who they were, much like how their names had simply fit.

The Master of Assassins stepped back, giving her space and silence in which to process after the connection was broken.

“Thank you,” Callida whispered tearfully when her mind returned to the moment.

“Mn,” he hummed. Another minute passed before Kopam bowed out and went to the window.

“Wait!” she called to him, and he paused, allowing her to approach him. “What does it mean? How did this happen? Why did this happen?”

“All in good time, my dear,” he replied softly, and intentionally benign hands moved to tilt her face downward so he could kiss the crown of her head. She accepted the gesture, and her eyes closed to the gentle pressure. She blinked. He was already gone.

***

“General, what do you think of the proposed changes?” Verum asked after the presentation had been thoroughly picked apart by his council to the point that he almost couldn’t even remember the main points up for consideration. He was counting on her military efficiency to bring the discussion full circle and back on track. “General Yudha?” he prompted when she didn’t readily respond. After a moment more spent in silence, Verum pulled his head out of the documents he was scanning to look for her in her usual place against the western wall. “General?” Her head was bowed, her hands clasped behind a back now leaning precariously against the tapestried wall behind her. “Callida?” Her posture seemed to sag even further as he watched until– “Primordials, Callida!”

He was on his feet, rushing to where she’d… fallen asleep? Even the impact against the hard, stone floor hadn’t woken her, and rolling her onto her back barely elicited a small pinching between her eyebrows, the forming bruise above her temple already transitioning from a lush red into a deep purple that promised an impressive goose egg. “You, soldier, get a doctor,” he ordered, and the palace guard in question left quickly, leaving the council to circle and fret until his return.

Meanwhile, Verum removed the regal cloak he was wearing and lifted his friend’s head off the hard ground to stuff it underneath her. Threading the gap between appropriate concern and inappropriate intimacy was, as usual, a challenge when it came to Callida. Apart from brushing the loose hair out of her face, he resisted doing anything more than simply looking her over — the knot swelling on the left side of her head, the heavy makeup concealing dark bags under her eyes, how hollow her cheeks were, how pale her skin had become, things he’d never have noticed without studying her like this. Pondering for a moment, he realized that the last time he’d really looked her over, she was still on maternity leave. Though pale, she’d looked better then. That was only three months ago? Four?

The doctor arrived, procuring a packet of smelling salts that roused Callida into a groggy consciousness. “What happened?” she mumbled, sitting up slowly with the doctor’s hand supporting her back. She winced a little when her hand moved to rub the sleep from her eyes and accidentally found the bump on her head. The doctor conducted a cursory exam, declared that she’d simply fainted, prescribed rest, and packed up, the rest of the room once again settling into their assigned seats as he left.

“Callida, a word?” Verum asked when she’d found her feet. “Council, excuse us a minute.” Leading Callida to a small room down the hallway, Verum dismissed Captain Pius to stand outside the door while he debated where to begin.

“I’m sorry, Verum. It won’t happen again.”

“What?” He frowned and turned to where she was standing with her hands behind her back once more, her head now hanging with apologetic shame. “Callida, I’m more worried about it happening at all.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt the council. I-”

“Stop apologizing! I didn’t bring you here to scold you.” Verum waited for a response, watched her head lift and face pinch in confusion, watched it drop again with a defeat that made him hurt. “Callida, are you alright?” The jagged staccato of her next inhale, the way she ducked her face and turned further away from him — Verum felt momentarily winded. “Primordials.”

“I’m sorry.” It came out in a pale gasp. “I’m sorry, Verum.”

His arms wrapped around her before he could think to stop himself, and though her hands remained stubbornly clasped behind her, her face buried into his chest, and Verum couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so utterly broken.

“I’m failing at literally everything,” she puffed between sobs. “I’m passing out during council meetings, I can’t get through my own training, I’m barely functioning as a commanding officer, I’m a terrible mother and a worse wife… I can’t do everything! I can’t, Verum! I can’t explain what happened. I don’t know why the boys aren’t wolves! I’m sorry. I… I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I… Primordials! I can’t believe I just told you that!” She pulled away, embarrassment in the way she choked back whatever remained unsaid. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything….”

“Callida,” Verum probed cautiously, “what’s going on with your boys?”

“Nothing. They’re fine,” she deflected clumsily.

“But they aren’t wolves?”

Anguished tears welled up again, and Verum watched his friend methodically stifle them. “No. They’re not. They’re not even the same as each other. I can’t explain what happened.”

“What species are they hosts to?”

“They shouldn’t even exist, Verum.”

“Callida, what are they?” he asked as gently as he could while Callida grew frantic.

“It doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t exist. Even if I had cheated, who could father three different species all at once?”

The surprise that had lifted his brow initially pinched into a scowl. “Qiangde is questioning your faithfulness?”

“How could he not?” she whispered painfully, that same defeat from earlier becoming heavy enough to drive her into a chair, and Verum was once again struck by how exhausted she looked. “How could he not, Verum? I mean, what would you think? I’m surrounded by men constantly, most of them lions, and Probus at least is a lion. What would you think?”

“I’m not him, Callida. I would think it was weird and take the boys to a temple to see if the Guardians there could explain anything.”

“You wouldn’t doubt that you were the father, even for a second?”

“I know you too well for that.” Two fat tears rolled down her face as she met his eyes, and it hurt to see how badly she wanted to believe him — how she couldn’t believe him. “There wasn’t anyone else?”

“No. No one. Verum, I swear, Qiangde–”

“I believe you.”

“What?”

Verum sat down in the seat across from hers, taking her hand and very intentionally leveling their eyes. “Callida, I believe you.” She burst into tears again, this time folding in half as the sobs overwhelmed her, and Verum set his free hand against her shoulder until she’d cried herself dry. It hurt to watch, and suddenly that strange interaction with a drunk Qiangde all those months ago started to make sense. Verum found himself growing angry on Callida's behalf. “Where are your boys at?”

“Home, with their nurses.”

“Why don’t you bring them to the palace nursery? Their nurses can come with them, and we have an incredible, rotating, twenty-four hour staff that’s, frankly, underwhelmed with only Tatio to look after.”

“That’s very generous, Verum, but–”

“Go get your boys. Our staff can keep them overnight so you can get a solid night’s sleep. For future reference, taking advantage of the palace nursery is a standing offer, but I’m ordering you to use it for at least the next twenty-four hours. You need the support, Callida, and I need you to be functional.”

“Verum–”

“Why don’t you sleep in Avena’s old room? That way you can be closer should there be an emergency or should your boys need something. The nursery is just upstairs from there.” She’d run out of specific protests, and Verum waited, watching her fierce independence contend with her exhaustion through the window of her eyes. “Let me help you, Callida. There is no reason why you should have to do this alone, and the ladies in the nursery would absolutely die to have a few new babies to cuddle,” he added with a small chuckle. “Optatio is approaching his first birthday, and Flore told me last week that his nurses were probing about when they could expect the next installment.”

“Ok, you win. I’ll go get the boys.”

“I’ll let the nursery know that you’re coming.”