Trickskin

by Amelia R. Moore

  He wondered if they would let him, and, if they did, would he be content to return to how things were? Loken had utter faith in his ability to convince them that his suicide attempt had been a fluke, a product of his captivity and nothing more. Yes, he’d admitted that he’d attempted it before, but he could make them believe it had taken place when he’d been Lestat’s prisoner.

  Silvertongue. He’d had the term spat at him in distaste, but he cherished his gift for words.

  “Woah, woah. Wait. Lailoken?”

  Loken turned to see Ian Nolan’s eyes had widened.

  “Well,” Nolan said. “This gives ‘Princess’ a whole new meaning.”

  Batting his eyes, Loken said, “I hope it's not too disruptive.” His tone implied otherwise.

  “Oh, don't you worry, Princess, I can make this work.”

  Though he hadn’t a clue what Nolan meant, Loken only smiled.

  “Ignore him, or he won't shut up,” Raaum said as she helped set the table across the room. “Come sit.”

  Seeing no reason to argue—though he wasn't certain he enjoyed the comfort with which she gave him orders—Loken followed Danika and Nora to the table and sat between them. Salad and garlic bread already awaited them, but Loken wasn't confident he could partake in either. His jaw had already begun to ache, which made no sense. It was healed, wasn't it?

  Eloy sat a huge bowl of pasta in the center of the table, and Raaum followed with a second.

  “Five cheese marinara,” Eloy announced. “And, of course, meatballs to go with it.”

  “It looks great,” Patrick commented, smiling earnestly.

  “Yeah, thanks, Little Italy,” Nolan said, taking a seat at the head of the table with a glass of liquor.

  Eloy ignored him. “Hey, Jeremy, can you pass me the wine?”

  “Got it. Where's the corkscrew opener? I'll grab that too.”

  Nolan picked up the presumed wine opener from where he sat and waved it in the air. “Way ahead of you. This is not my first rodeo.”

  Loken watched them in silence, suddenly musing on how strange it was knowing that each of them had aided in his liberation. They were, he realized, all connected to him in some way. Mostly through relationships forged through ALPHA, though some were more pronounced than others.

  He hardly knew Jeremy, Nolan, or Patrick. Then again, at least he could puzzle out motivations for the first two. Patrick remained a mystery.

  In fact, the man seemed to be having an issue even looking at him. Loken knew when someone was uncomfortable because of him; he'd often made a game out of getting reactions...whenever he was certain his father wouldn't find out.

  “What's wrong, darling?” he asked as he added salad to his plate.

  “You're confusing his sexuality,” Nolan said offhandedly.

  Patrick looked mortified at the accusation. “No!”

  “It's okay, Boy Scout. I support it. This estate embraces and promotes tolerance. Though, really, when a guy likes a girl...isn’t that just heterosexuality?”

  “Leave him alone, Ian,” Jeremy said without looking up from his plate.

  “But mom!” Nolan whined half-heartedly before turning to Loken. “Ah-ha! I can still call you Hedwig!”

  Loken squinted at Nolan, as if that would help him discern the foreign word.

  “Harry Potter’s messenger owl,” Danika explained with a mouthful of food. “In the books, wizards use owls to deliver letters.”

  “That seems highly impractical,” Loken said.

  “Don’t give me that. After dinner, I’m going to buy the books for you. You’ll love ‘em.”

  “No! Don’t give him ammunition! If I get called a muggle, I’m gonna be triggered,” Eloy protested.

  “Let me guess. Your acceptance letter is just twenty years late?”

  “Don't ruin this for me, Nolan.”

  Jeremy sighed.

  “It’s like I work with toddlers,” Raaum said, apparently echoing Jeremy’s opinion.

  Conversation continued while they ate, and Loken was struck by how comfortable they were with each other. It made sense. If they’d been searching for him together, they would have been spending much time in each other’s company.

  He felt like an outsider looking in, cliché as it was. As if he were a dark shadow upon a haughty feast, nothing but a blemish.

  “So. Why the change?”

  It took Loken a moment to realize he'd been spoken to and another moment to register Nolan’s words. “Why so curious about what I have under my skirt?” Loken retorted, wearing hostility like an armor.

  “Woah. I would have been fine wining and dining you before I got to see under the skirt, but if you insist…”

  Loken stabbed his butter knife into the table beside Nolan’s plate in the blink of an eye.

  Nolan paused, staring at the dull knife now piercing his table. “I am both frightened and aroused.”

  Was Nolan mocking him? He'd seen Loken’s hideous true form, and now he wanted to continue on with his flirtatious game as if it changed nothing? Did Nolan think he could be taken for a fool?

  (He’s laughing at you.)

  When Loken, eyes still locked on Nolan, reached for his fork, Nora grabbed his hand. “Can we please get through this dinner without any more silverware casualties?”

  Loken grunted and, with prodding from Danika, used his fork for less violent endeavors. Pretending to eat amongst so many witnesses was difficult, but he had practice. His arms and jaw were hurting, a deep ache that throbbed on and off, and all he truly wanted to do was sleep. In his own rooms. Not the apartment at ALPHA, not the suite Nolan had give him, and not the prison-like room they'd locked him in. He wanted his rooms on Rellaeria, the familiarity, the ignorance…

  No, that was a fool’s hope. He could never go back. Everything he’d known had been an elaborate lie, a hoax, and he had no desire to be who he once was. Ignorant and oh-so-desperate to please.

  Loken jerked to his feet before he registered the shattered glass that had startled him from his thoughts. Luckily, Danika had offered her arm, and he managed to grab onto her to steady himself. Chagrined, he fought to even his breathing and reclaimed his seat with more dignity than he thought possible.

  No one commented, and he wasn’t certain if that made it worse or not. As if he were an animal they were afraid of spooking or enraging.

  As dinner came to an end and almost everyone was done eating, Raaum said, “So, yesterday Jeremy said you wanted to talk to us. That still true?”

  It was an invitation as much as it was a way out.

  “You don't have to tell us, you know. It's your business.”

  He’d be lying if he said he didn't feel obligated, but he also knew it was his choice.

  “Yes,” he confirmed, trying to push aside his physical and emotional discomfort.

  “I can go,” Patrick offered abruptly. “You don't know me that well.”

  “Were you there?” Loken asked, clarifying when Patrick frowned. “At Lestat’s base. Did you accompany the others there?”

  Patrick nodded. “Yeah.” The ‘of course’ was implied.

  “Then you can stay, if you desire.” Though he made it sound simple, turmoil boiled in Loken’s gut.

  “I appreciate the gesture, but you don't owe me for that. I only wish we could have done it sooner.”

  The resolute statement, undeniably sincere, left Loken uncertain how to proceed.

  Fortunately, Patrick didn’t let the silence linger. “I'll be in the gym. Have a good night.” He smiled to each of them before departing.

  Jeremy stood as well. “Thanks for dinner, guys, but I should finish up in the lab. Call me if you need the IV drip.” With the last statement aimed pointedly at Loken, he too left.

  Loken didn't protest their departures. Maybe he should have, but it would be difficult enough to share his truths with those that had earned it. Except...

  His eyes drifted to Nolan.

  As if making clear his intent to
stay, Nolan met his gaze and poured another glass of red wine.

  Right.

  He tried to organize his thoughts. Between his increasing anxiety and returning aches, he wasn’t certain he could, but he had to. He had practice telling stories in a pinch, retellings of his adventures with his not-brother, cousin, and their friends. There was a reason he’d earned the nickname wordsmith, among others.

  “In a distant system, far from Earth, lives a powerful King and Queen who preside over the envy of the Alatheia System—Rellaeria, home of the Evoir. With access to an infinitygate, a bridge between worlds, King Balan, as his father before him, was tasked with presiding over not only Rellaeria but that of the entire Alatheia System. So, naturally, when conflict came between the Drakain and the Kyants, it was expected for Rellaeria to get involved. To help solve it.”

  “The United States of planets,” Nolan commented.

  Loken wasn’t certain what he was referring to, so he continued. “The war lasted for many years—neither side willing to retreat—but, eventually, the Drakain were forced to surrender to Rellaeria’s might. As they were deemed the instigators, their punishment was great. The Drakain leader was tried and executed on Rellaeria for his crimes, and Draferia, their home world, was put under a blockade in exchange for funds to rebuild. No one, without permission from King Balan, was to enter or leave Draferia.”

  He paused when he finished reciting all that he’d been taught about the Draferian War. Oh, he’d left out the names and dates of specific battles, usually centered around General Urien’s tactical victories over King Krorun’s forces, but that was the gist of it.

  No one prompted him to continue, as he assumed they might, but he somehow managed to say what he’d been building up to. “Unbeknownst to most, King Balan also took a Drakain child as a warprize.”

  Silence.

  Loken realized he was holding his breath, and he wasn’t certain if he was afraid someone would make the connection or afraid they wouldn’t.

  Nolan finally broke the silence. “A warprize? A kid?”

  “An infant,” Loken corrected him, taking pleasure in adding to the horror. In a way, it was comforting to have his shock validated.

  “To be clear, we’re talking about the practice in which the victors of a war claim a prize from those they defeated?” Danika said.

  Loken inclined his head.

  “That’s barbaric,” Eloy said, disgusted.

  “I mean, it’s not unheard of,” Danika said. “Usually when people are taken as warprizes, they’re made slaves though.”

  “This prize he gave to his brother, to be raised as a companion to his nephew,” Loken said, not dwelling on her words. Such could have easily been his fate, but was he supposed to be grateful that it hadn’t been? Maybe. For all that he lacked, General Urien had never been cruel to him. Not many would take a creature such as he into their home and raise him as their son.

  “Oh, fuck no,” Nolan growled, making the connection. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

  He could see it in all their faces; they’d reached the same conclusion Nolan had, but Loken was having trouble confirming it.

  “Did they...did they make you…” Danika seemed to struggle wording her question. “Did they make you take an Evoir form? Is that why…?”

  Was that why he hadn’t reacted well to seeing his Drakain form? That’s what she was wondering, where the self-revulsion came from.

  Embarrassment coursed through him, and for a moment, the idea of sharing his humiliation was mortifying. He didn’t want their pity. “No. That wasn’t their doing.” He swallowed his shame. “I didn’t know what I was. You asked me earlier why I chose this feminine skin, but the truth is that I didn’t. My magic, still healing, reacted to my subconscious. I’m a changeling, a natural-born shapeshifter. A changeling. When young, we instinctively match that which touches us. To mimic our surroundings. When I was younger and still learning to control it, I had accidental changes all too often. I can only guess that, when I was too young to recall, I changed my form to match that of the Evoir who raised me. Thus, I grew up unaware of the truth.”

  “That’s…” Eloy struggled for the right word.

  “Fucked up?” Nora suggested, not bothering to hide her anger.

  “Fucked up,” Eloy concurred.

  “Is that why he took you?” Raaum asked suddenly, and Loken was not surprised that she would deduce that so quickly. “A natural-born shapeshifter. That’s an asset.”

  “It was implied, yes.”

  “Stole a kid to raise as a weapon? What a great guy. Can't imagine why you left. Sounds like a real winner. Father of the Year.” Nolan downed the last of his wine and poured another glass.

  Danika laid her head on Loken’s shoulder.

  He took the offered support, drawing strength so that he might finish his tale. He had their sympathy—as much as he didn’t want it. It was the perfect opportunity to spin the story, to lie, so that they never learned the part he'd played in his own downfall.

  “And so begins the tale of how I came to Earth.” There's still time to lie, his mind urged him. No. The truth. He would tell them the truth so that they might see what he saw in himself. A monster that needed to be slain. “In short, for the entirety of my life, I had difficulty being the type of scion Rellaeria respects. I'm not a warrior, I’m not straightforward, I'm—"

  “Rockin’ that skirt?” Nolan offered.

  Loken, for once, appreciated the humor. “Indeed. My cousin and my brother, on the other hand…” Oh, how thinking about them grated his nerves. “Sanjay, my brother, is an arrogant, careless idiot, but he's… It's hard describe, unless you meet him. He's like a planet, and everyone orbits around him. Which, as heir to the throne, is a good trait to have, I suppose.”

  “The line of success isn't linear?” Nora asked with a frown.

  “King Balan’s brother, my father, is the General of Rellaeria,” Loken explained. “Sanjay is heir because the eldest child between the King and the General inherits the throne. This has always been the way of my people.”

  (But they aren’t your people, are they?)

  “The second oldest becomes the heir to the General. In this case, my cousin, Zakir. Any other children are merely scions, next in line based upon their age.”

  He saw the look on Raaum’s face and remembered that she’d long ago pegged him for a diplomat.

  “One night, we had another disagreement. Sanjay was always trying to ‘help me.’” Loken realized now that every time Sanjay had said ‘the people won't like that,’ he meant ‘Father won't like that.’ “I can't recall what we argued over that particular night—”

  That was a lie. He could still hear Sanjay’s outrage.

  “You tricked the information out of Lord Stoll how, brother? With a pair of breasts?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “If you're traversing around, playing the part of a common whore to get it? Yes, it does!”

  Outrage at the accusation enveloped him, rage prickling his scalp. “Better a whore than a fool!” Loken hissed.

  “Be careful how you speak! I will be King, and when I am, I won't have my brother embarrassing the crown in this way!” The moment the words left his mouth, Sanjay froze, as if surprised by his own declaration. “Brother, wait!”

  Loken teleported away.

  “—But it enraged me enough to desire revenge.” Loken had often answered his brother’s ignorance with pranks. “So, to get even with him, I disguised myself and paid a man to publicly challenge my brother’s honor.” To make Sanjay feel a fraction of the humiliation Loken was regularly subjected to. “The man lied and told Sanjay that a band of Drakain had broken the peace treaty, trespassed into Rellaeria, and raided his land.”

  It had all spiraled out of control from there. Not only had Sanjay fallen for it, but he'd initiated a small scale invasion when he'd brought Loken, Zakir, and a select few of his friends to ‘seek justice.’

  “We can't
just go to Draferia,” Loken snapped. “For once, use your brain.”

  “I am, brother. Which is why I say you will take us. You must know a hidden pathway there. Show me. Or do you claim this man does not deserve justice? Are you a Scion of Rellaeria or not?”

  Loken told them all of it, recounting how Sanjay had led the charge that had killed the Drakain soldiers that had responded to their presence. Sanjay had dispatched them all with little regard, and Loken couldn’t throw stones. He'd killed a few as well, and what did it matter? Drakain were beasts.

  “You killed innocent men knowing it was all a lie? That a raid never happened?”

  Danika’s sad look ignited an urge to defend himself. She thought he should feel remorse? Well, he didn't. “Why shouldn't I have? I was defending myself, and even if I wasn’t, the Drakain are comparable to vermin. It wouldn't be the first time Rellaeria has cleansed the universe of an inferior race, all for the good of the galaxy.”

  Loken thought he would feel satisfaction at their horror, but he didn't. He felt nauseous. He wasn’t an idiot. If he’d been lied to about his heritage, what other facts that he took for granted could be wrong?

  “Loken…” Nora’s gentle tone made him bristle.

  “Wiping out an entire race is genocide,” Danika said when Nora didn’t continue. “You can’t label an entire group based on the actions of a few.”

  He shook his head in disagreement but didn’t elaborate. What was there to say? His feelings on this matter couldn’t be swayed easily. His head and heart were in conflict. “We fled Draferia as quickly as possible, overwhelmed by their forces. Once we found a place to hide, I managed to get us home, but it was too late. The scions of Rellaeria were easily recognized, and King Balan was told of our crimes.”

  But no one on Rellaeria knew he'd orchestrated the entire thing. What would they have done, he wondered, if they had?

  “My father came to me, hours later, to inform me of my punishment: I was to be the wergild to the families of the fallen Drakain soldiers. That’s when my—when General Urien told me the truth of my heritage.” Loken paused to gather his thoughts. “I couldn’t. I...it was too much. To be told I was taken as a warprize and then, just as suddenly, turned into an offering of compensation to the Drakain…I fled Rellaeria, rather than submit to that fate.” Eyes downcast, he let those words sink in before he said, “I understand if you want me to leave. A fugitive—”