Chapter 37 Part 3: Tempering the Blade Chapter 36: False Truths
I spent the whole day hidden away from the world, a prisoner in the sanctuary of Silver’s apartment. A prisoner in the cage of this Nate body.
The irony was a bitter pill. I had never truly wanted to be a Polli. My parents’ pride in their dieball captain, my own fierce, internal wishes to be a warrior, they were the bedrock of my childhood. But when the change first came, I had, in my mind, made a peace treaty with myself. I had given all that up. I had buried Nanda the athlete, the fighter.
In her place, I had found an exciting future as a diplomat’s assistant, a path that required wit and grace, not physical strength. My parents, after their initial shock, had not just accepted me as their Polli, but had begun to beam with a new, different kind of pride. And most miraculously of all, I had found someone who loved me, truly loved me, as a Polli. Silver saw me.
Just when everything was finding its strange, chaotic, but proper place, my own body turned on my head once again. Nanda the Polli, my new work, my new life, it was all crumbling.
Right now, there were a thousand reasons to be that, Polli. My job, my relationship, the fragile peace with my family, it all depended on her. I had to get her back before my world imploded.
Frustration mounting, I tried once again to scour my com unit for answers, for any sliver of a similar case. But the screens yielded nothing but cold, clinical certainty. As far as recorded history was concerned, I was a ghost. A unique and inexplicable anomaly.
After wasting the morning, my thoughts going round, and round in circles like a trapped insect, I decided to give up. The answer wouldn’t be found in my panic. If I was stuck as a Nate for now, I would use the time constructively. I pulled the two large folders on Sylva from my bag, their weight a tangible purpose. If nothing else, I was going to prove my worth with my intellect.
I already knew much about Sylva, having written numerous papers in school about the land, its long war with us, and it’s strange, rigid cultural habits. But I wanted to look at everything again with fresh eyes, searching for nuances I might have missed, for weaknesses or opportunities a diplomat could exploit.
Sylva was a nation of contradictions, made up of five major states or counties, each with its own unique character and rule, yet all bound by the same stringent religion, some following it more faithfully than others.
Ardenia – known for its vast, untamed forests and rolling agricultural lands. The breadbasket.
Marrowind – a coastal state of bustling ports and relentless trade. The economic heart.
Veyra – mountainous and mineral-rich, home to grim, hardy mining towns. The nation’s forge.
Halora – the cultural hub, famous for its arts, music, and ancient centres of learning. The mind.
Sanctara – the austere religious capital, where the nation’s most sacred institutions and clerical leaders were based. The soul.
The treatment of Pollis was the most jarring aspect. In most counties, Pollis faced restrictions that Nates did not. They were religiously required to cover themselves with a hijab or abaya, while Nates had no such dress code. Pollis could be restricted from traveling, working, or even driving without permission from a Nate guardian, unlike Nates who moved with innate freedom. In courts, a Polli's testimony carried half the weight of a Nate's; in some regions, it took the word of five Pollis to equal that of one Nate.
Yet, as far as I could tell from the legal briefs, these were often religious edicts, not always codified state law. The small print suggested that the strictest rules concerning Pollis did not always apply to foreigners, a crucial, potentially life-saving distinction.
I was not blind. I knew Lord Vincent had more than one reason for taking me on this mission, and I was pretty sure me being a Polli was a huge part of it. Yes, he liked me sexually, that was clear. But there was more. Was I meant to be a pawn? A Polli from a progressive nation paraded to offend our traditionalist enemies and provoke international strife?
It seemed too small, too petty, even for Lord Vincent. Especially for Lord Vincent, I thought. Don’t let that foppish Nate fool you; he is viciously intelligent. There was a deeper game here, and I was a piece on his board. I just couldn't see the strategy.
Lost in these thoughts and the dense study of Sylvan society, I lost all track of space and time. The sun shifted across the floor, and the shadows grew long.
Then, the distinct, welcome sound of a key turning in the lock broke my concentration. The door opened, and her voice, warm and real, cut through the silent anxiety of the apartment.
“I’m home.” Her voice called out, bright and clear, even before the door was fully open. She stopped halfway through, a soft laugh escaping her. “You’ve been busy,” she smiled, taking in the picture before her.
I was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, a lone island in a sea of paper. Documents, maps, and printed briefs were sprawled in a chaotic radius around me, creating a makeshift fortress of information that left no clear passage through the room.
“Sorry,” I said, scrambling to gather the pages, my movements clumsy with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so out of hand. Let me just…”
“That’s O.K.,” she said gently, carefully picking her way through the paper minefield. She dropped her bag by the door and looked at me, her expression shifting from amusement to concern. “How are you feeling? I was worried. I thought you might be… I don’t know. I was just a little worried for you all day.”
“I’ve been trying to forget my problems,” I admitted, gesturing weakly at the mess. “So, I thought I’d do a little homework. I didn’t realize it was so late. I just got lost in it.”
“No problem. I had a hellish day, too.” She sighed, kicking off her shoes. “I was thinking maybe we should eat out. Get some air. Change of scenery?”
The thought sent a jolt of panic through me. Being seen in public, in this body, felt like a betrayal waiting to happen. “I can’t,” I said, the words coming out too quickly, too sharply. I softened my tone. “I just can’t. Not tonight. Can’t we just order in or something? I can’t face the world right now.”
She looked disappointed, a fleeting shadow in her eyes, but she quickly put on a brave face. “Sure. We can do that.” She sat down on the floor beside me, crossing her legs. She was quiet for a moment, picking up a stray document about Sylvan trade routes and putting it aside. “I’ve been thinking,” she started, her voice deliberately casual. “I think maybe it’s sex. It’s sex that changes you.”
The directness of it, the echo of my own earlier thoughts, made my breath catch. “I was thinking the same thing this morning,” I confessed. “But we didn’t really have sex the first night I stayed over. There was no real penetration. So that doesn’t fit.”
A playful, determined glint came into her eyes. She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a mock-husky, seductive tone that was meant to be both silly and alluring. “Well, then I think it’s worth a try. You know. For science.” She winked. “And it might be fun trying.”
We started our night curled up on the sofa, a tangle of limbs and comfort. The soft glow of the vid-box painted shifting colours across the dim room, some dramatic space opera playing out as a backdrop to our peace. Silver’s head was nestled in the crook of my neck, her breathing slow and even. The scent of her shampoo, something clean like citrus and mint, while waiting for the food we’d ordered, which was slowly making its way across the city to us. Everything felt so homely, so deceptively simple. It was a fragile bubble of normalcy, and I clung to it.
Then, my com unit beeped from where it lay face down on the sofa table. Again. It had been beeping all day, a persistent, digital nagging that had become the soundtrack to my anxiety. I didn’t need to look to know it was my mother. The specific, slightly frantic rhythm of her messages was unmistakable.
A cold knot tightened in my stomach, right beside the warmth of Silver. I could not bear the agony of talking to her. What would I say? That her Polli had vanished overnight, replaced once again by the Nate she thought she’d lost? That the stability she’d just begun to embrace was a lie? That we should see the Professor again, that the results from the first examination had yielded nothing, as yet the thought of hearing the confusion and disappointment in her voice was a weight too heavy to lift.
So, I ignored it. I let the beep cut through the quiet of the room and then fade, swallowed by the sounds of the vid-box and Silver’s quiet presence. I tightened my arm around her, seeking anchor in her solid, accepting reality, and focused on the simple, immediate truth: the warmth of the room, the promise of food, the woman in my arms. Everything else, including the insistent beeping, was a problem for another time.
After our food arrived, a greasy, delicious feast eaten straight from the containers, a heavy contentment settled over us. Silver, full and warm, drifted off as the flickering light of some old movie played across her face. Her head found a comfortable nest in my lap, her breathing deepening into the soft, rhythmic pattern of sleep.
I was in two worlds. One hand absently stroked her hair, feeling the silken strands between my fingers, a gesture of pure, tender affection. The other part of me was a chasm of anxiety.
A deep, physical part of me ached to wake her. To feel her conscious touch, to have her look at me with those knowing eyes, to lose myself in her and, maybe, in the process, find my way back to being the Polli she loved. The desire was a magnetic pull, a desperate hope that our theory was right, that intimacy was the key.
But another, colder part held me back, freezing my gentle strokes. What if we were wrong? The thought was a spike of ice. What if it wasn't the sex? What if this change was random, or worse, permanent? What if I reached for her and, in the morning, I was still… this? A Nate.
The consequences unspooled in my mind like a nightmare. What would it mean for us? Could Silver's love, so fiercely given to the Polli I had been, stretch to encompass this stranger's body? What about my new job, a position built around the perception of me as a Polli? Lord Vincent’s interest felt precarious enough without adding a biological crisis to the mix. My entire world, so carefully and miraculously rebuilt, would implode.
So, I sat perfectly still, a statue of conflict. I was trapped between the warmth of the Polli I loved sleeping on me and the cold terror of a future that might not include her. The movie played on, its plot a distant, meaningless murmur against the real drama unfolding silently in the dark.