Chapter Text
33 YEARS AGO
Syrena swam sluggishly back to consciousness, memory and thought obscured by a heavy fog of exhaustion and blood loss. Her limbs felt like they were made of lead, the core of her body felt like it had been wrung out, and her mind was unable to hold onto more than vague, disjointed memories.
She remembered pain. A vise gripping the center of her body, threatening to split her in half from sheer pressure. Panic rising with each contraction as the pain spiraled out of control, barely a few seconds of rest before the next sickening wave of agony hit. Nurses and servants bustling all around her, voices soft but urgent. Her own screams, animalistic but distant as though they came from someone else. People giving terse instructions, to her and to others. Push. Don’t push. We need more towels. Breathe. Boil some water. Don’t breathe. Hold your breath. Bite down on this. Don’t scream. How can I not scream when it hurts like this. Push NOW. A baby’s tiny high-pitched wails. A warm gush between her legs, though her waters had broken hours before. It wasn’t amniotic fluid, what was it? It was blood. So much blood. Then darkness.
Sleep tried to reclaim her. She wanted to sleep, to rest, to forget. She almost succumbed, until a single, frantic thought crystallized in her mind and came rushing forward with breathless panic.
Where was the baby?
The thought rattled around in her mind for a moment or two before sinking fully into her awareness and becoming a scream. A scream that ripped itself from her throat before her mind had time to form words. She had been pregnant, she could feel her womb was empty now, she could remember some of the birth…where was her baby?
Her screams brought Antonio and the doctor running into the room. Just the two of them, an eerie silence in their wake. In fact, her screams and their footfalls were the only sounds she could hear at all; where was the usual bustle and hum of palace life?
“Where is he? What happened? Where is the baby?” She asked breathlessly as her husband came to take her hands and the doctor began to check her over.
“He’s well, mi flor, don’t worry, He’s sleeping in the next room.” Antonio soothed. She blinked. His words began to sink in. The baby was alright. Her baby was alright. And a prince! They had the heir they had so longed for, the heir they needed to continue the Calaveras family’s reign.
Her panic began to subside, her breathing began to slow. Antonio sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into his embrace, exhausted and relieved. They were silent for several minutes as the doctor confirmed she was stable and made a silent exit.
Antonio gently helped her lay back down and stretched his body out next to her, her head on his chest and his arms around her. They lay there together silently for a little longer, soaking in the gratitude and relief of being in each other’s arms.
Finally, Antonio said softly, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up.” She pulled back to look in his eyes and saw them glistening with tears. Her own tears welled up and threatened to overwhelm her, and her breath caught in her throat.
Just then a thin wail came from the next room. Antonio jumped up. “He’s awake…I’ll be right back,” and hurried out of the room. He came back a few minutes later with a swaddled bundle. He looked harried, but as he looked down at her, his eyes softened.
“Do you feel strong enough to hold him?” He asked her.
“I think so,” she said, pulling herself up slowly to a sitting position. He placed the baby gently into her arms and she gazed at the perfect tiny face, the shock of blonde hair, the eyes scrunched closed as if determined to shut out the overwhelm of the world. He’s going to be fierce, she thought, the way he came into this world and even the way he’s sleeping right now. My fierce, strong boy.
As she held her tiny son in her arms her body began to calm, the relief of knowing he was safe and well and the sensation of holding him was more healing than any medicine. Gradually, the question that had been lurking in the back of her mind became more and more clear.
“Antonio, mi amor…where are all the nurses and servants?”
Antonio stiffened slightly.
“Vargas…uh…” he stammered, “…We sent them away. We thought it would be best to have privacy.”
Privacy? While becoming royalty had conferred many privileges upon her, privacy was not one of them. She had grown accustomed to the constant presence of guards, maids, officials, guests, and various palace staff ever since Antonio had formally begun to court her. Early in her time in the palace, she had been frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t so much as dress without assistance from staff, but she had come to accept it. When Celia was born, there hadn’t been a moment of privacy; there was a constant stream of maids and servants in and out of her chamber from the moment her water broke until the baby had been whisked away by a team of nurses, leaving Syrena to be doted on by yet another team of maids and nurses as she healed..
“Privacy wasn’t something you wanted when Celia was born. Why do you see a need for it now?”
Antonio looked away, frowning, as though searching for the right words.
“The baby…” He said as she instinctively tightened her grip on the sleeping infant in her arms, “...We will raise him as the Prince of Calaveras. Nobody will know. Nobody must know.”
She was confused. “Know what, Antonio?”
“Syrena,” he said, “We thought you were as good as dead. The Congregation…”
The Congregation of Negotiations! The meeting during which the human and Sergo leaders would come together to negotiate peace for all of their people, once and for all.
“Has it already begun?” she asked excitedly. “How are the negotiations?”
He looked even more distraught.
“Mi amor…the Congregation ended weeks ago, before it had even begun.”
This didn’t make sense to her. When she went into labor it had just been two days away. Her mind struggled to reconcile these mismatched facts.
He sat next to her on the bed again, a hand on her knee as she held the baby.
“Syrena, my love…you lost a lot of blood during the birth. You were unconscious for weeks. We thought you’d never wake up.” He paused and choked back tears before he was able to continue. “When the Congregation began, we thought you were dead. I stayed with you and the baby and Vargas went to meet with them in my stead, but they would not negotiate without me there. The Sergos left…but not before Vargas announced to them that you had borne a son.”
Was the baby in her arms not their son? It took her a moment to put the pieces together and understand what Antonio could not voice.
“But we can have another baby, the next baby may be a boy.” She said, and watched his expression darken.
“No,” he said, “I almost lost you, I can’t lose you. The doctor says you’ll die if you bear another child. We will raise Osora as the prince. Nobody can know the truth.”
She looked down at the beautiful baby in her arms. Too new to the world to have any concept of gender, what their gender might be, or the weight it carried. It was done; there was no going back on the decisions her husband and brother in law had made while she was unconscious. And this tiny baby, her sweet, beautiful, fierce little Osora, would pay the price.