Stranger Skin ch 3: Priceless and Breakable

“Master Mystis was too quiet,” Rifo commented as they entered the soft-walled exercise room of the med-center. “That’s never a good sign.”

Xlack gulped. He thought she had participated plenty.

“Yeah, well, I’m disappointed.” Stevalok slouched, footsteps exaggerated. “After all that talk about ’netic Talents, I was sure Ekymé was going to have to battle Entrycii. Or Master Mystis. That would have been awesome.”

“Maybe they’re saving that for round two,” Entrycii suggested.

Xlack didn’t see what would be so awesome about him battling an old woman. Then such thoughts were tossed aside as they rounded a curtain and Twi came into view. With Lanox ready to catch her, she clung to a tether attached to the ceiling. Sweat glistened on her brow as she tried to walk a straight line.

His heart both leapt and flopped. This was the one he had chosen to save, and here she stood, proving how strong she was, a work of art that was more than just her outward beauty.

She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him—that statement had a double edge. If he had acted the proper Aylata, she would not have had this chance to recover from her lacerated back and shattered ankle. She would have been dead. Yet, if she had never met him, would she have been on Napix in the first place?

“Okay, time for more salve,” Lanox chimed and helped her lie on her front on a hovering stretcher.

Twi’s slender eyes were scrunched shut, breaths smooth but heavy. Her fists tangled in the sheet as Lanox peeled away part of the med-center toga—a beyond complicated wrapping that gave relatively easy access to her back.

This seemed like an intrusion with the four new arrivals crowding around, and Xlack thought she might tell them to go away, but Twi remained silent.

“Here, hold this.” Lanox thrust the cloth into his grip.

It was still attached to the rest of Twi’s toga, twisting around her side and disappearing beneath her. He felt awkward, eyes falling to her bare shoulder blades, the slightest shadows on an expanse of moonlight skin. She flinched as Lanox touched her, rubbing balm into the network of silvery scars on her lower back.

“Ya need to hold still. Here.” Lanox grabbed his hands and placed them against Twi’s shoulders. “Now don’t move.”

This was more than awkward. He swallowed. Agitation rattled Rifo as if at any moment he would push Xlack away from her, but he didn’t, and Xlack had to admit he didn’t want to switch places.

He moved his fingers to flatten his hold. Her skin was chilled, a little damp, and so very soft, as smooth as her sweet scent. The fragrance toyed with his thoughts like a drug, combining with the feel of her to make his vision both blurry and achingly clear at the same time.

She’s not a Sereh, he tried to remind himself. She’s not my kind.

He could repeat that as much as he wanted. It didn’t matter. He had already fallen for her. Hard. He wanted to have his hands on her bare back because he chose to put them there, not because Lanox had positioned him like some mannequin. And he wanted her to want him to touch her, not to just tolerate it.

He needed a distraction. Lanox’s massaging hands were not a good distraction.

“Um…” He cleared his throat. “What’s in the ointment?”

“The salve is made from Lettaplexal ‘healers’ and little bits and stuff,” Lanox answered.

Stevalok rolled his eyes, sharp teeth peeking over his lower lip. “That sounds real scientific.”

She shrugged and dripped a few more globs onto Twi’s back. It had a stinging aroma, like menthol. “Lettaplexal is good for ya.”

Xlack snorted. “That sounds like saying vegetables are good for you.”

“Well”—Lanox threw a pointed look at Stevalok—“the only reason ya feed a gkapu is so ya can eat it later.”

“I taste horrible,” Stevalok shot back. His smile resembled a saw, and Xlack wondered if he ever cut himself with his own teeth. Maybe that was how he knew how terrible he tasted.

Rifo elbowed him playfully. “Scientifically proven this, have ya?”

Standing a few paces back, Entrycii raised his hand. “I vouch for him. He tastes awful.”

Rifo’s eyebrows rose. “Ya know this how?”

In a slow, deliberate motion, Entrycii folded his arms. “One day when we were six, he ambled over, picked up my hand, and chomped down for no reason.”

“I’ve told you my reason.” Stevalok spread his palms as if offended, but his smile remained, arrowhead incisors gleaming. “I had just gotten my first adult tooth, and I wanted to test how sharp it was. Plus, your skin is the same color as that kau ti drink you like so much, and I’d been wondering for a while if you tasted like it.”

Xlack laughed. “Well, they say Zalerit is tasty.” To their appalled looks, he added, “Not that I’ve ever eaten a Zalerit. Neither has anyone I know.”

“Then who told ya they were tasty?” Lanox blinked at him, head tilted and pale curls swaying.

He looked at the floor. “It’s just a saying.”

Rifo sighed. “Not an appropriate one.”

Where was the line? Entrycii and Stevalok had been talking about tasting people, and Zalerits were barely people anyway. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

His eyes slid back to his hands on Twi’s shoulders, and his frown deepened. What was that discoloration on his right index finger?

“So,” Rifo continued, “I assume ya bit him back, Entrycii.”

“Of course. On the ear, and he squeaked. It would have been funny had my hand not hurt so bad. It had to get sewn up, and that’s how I got this scar.” He twisted his left hand to show off the silver crescent between his thumb and forefinger.

Lanox squinted at it, mouth twisted and slit-nostrils flared. “Ya told me an Aberrant gave ya that scar.”

“At the time, that sounded a lot more valorous than my own amaraq biting me.”

“He does taste a little like kau ti, by the way,” Stevalok added.

Xlack barely heard them. Was the color spreading? It looked like darkness crawling through his veins, blossoming like flames.

“Lanox, I need to move my hands.”

“Silly, ya could have let go at any time.”

Tearing away, he pulled back his sleeve to expose that yes, the discoloration had spread over his hand and wrist. Horror was a blazing whirlwind inside his chest. The ashes of his organs rained through his gut and to his toes, each speck tipped with a thousand needles.

Rifo looked at him, features narrowed in concern. “Ekymé, what’s wrong?”

“My hand.”

“What about it?”

“Look! Can’t you see that?”

But none of them could.

***

“Stop gaping at yer hands before I declare ya insane,” Rifo reprimanded before telling Xlack to pace another patrol through the north wings of this musty museum.

This wasn’t even their mission. Xlack had hoped tagging along with Entrycii and Stevalok on guard duty would provide a distraction and the discoloration would go away. It didn’t work. It stained both his hands now, twining up his arms and nearly to his shoulders.

No one else could see it.

He tried not to think about it, to concentrate on the mission. Some artifacts were on loan from the Knalcal palace to this local Vlavaran museum, and there was a possibility they would attract Aberrant—a very slight possibility, so this was a low-ranker mission and boring.

As if to remind him the blot still grew, a warm, slimy sensation dripped up his arms, and his gaze returned to his shaded hand gliding along the rail. On the other side of it, a fountain gurgled, mimicking a hundred whispers. Ending at the first floor, the cascade angled in a pyramid with its top somewhere in the darkness above his head. It didn’t seem that far from the edge of this fourth story loft. Could he reach out and wash this stain away?

“The bucket will fall like this,” Entrycii whispered. “I can’t wait to see Zeln’s—” He stopped and looked up as Xlack approached.

Right, Entrycii vowed to get Zeln back for those flames he painted.

He still saw traces of the graffiti on Entrycii’s cheeks. Could whatever was wrong with Xlack’s skin now be similar? Was this just another prank?

“Zeln deserves it,” Xlack greeted, abandoning the rail. “I won’t say anything to ruin whatever you’re coming up with.”

Entrycii’s skepticism didn’t lessen. It felt like static, like a never-ending gust filled with snowflakes. “Rifo would, always trying to play the responsible older brother.”

“I’m bored,” Stevalok announced. A wicked grin appeared as he stretched.

Entrycii turned to him. “No, you’re smelly.”

“And stunningly handsome, but also bored. I can be more than one adjective at a time because I’m good like that.” His grin grew wider, blanched teeth a bright contrast to his dark skin. “We should have a sparring match.”

“In a museum?” Xlack’s face fell into its crooked squint. “Do you realize how many priceless and breakable things are within the distance I could throw you?”

“Like your fragile ego, too worried to find out you can’t throw me at all?”

“Come on, Stevalok.” Entrycii rolled his eyes, but his stance shifted, shoulders loosening, ready for movement. “Either one of us could throw your sorry butt into next week whenever we wanted.”

“Go ahead and try. It’ll turn out just like the time my dearest granny threw Ekymé’s mama across the room and through a window.”

“That never happened.” Xlack lowered his center and bounced on his heels. “Do you know what the consequences would be for throwing a Grand Lady through a window?”

“Why don’t you show me?”

Maybe knocking some sense into him wouldn’t hurt, if only to wipe that stupid smirk off Stevalok’s face.

Xlack charged.

Stevalok deflected the first blow. A knee connected with his jaw, but he moved with the impact, grin wider than ever as he bent backward and kicked.

With a grunt, Xlack fell into a fast roll, dragging Stevalok with him, and they smashed through the rail at the edge of the loft.

Stevalok hit the pyramid and tumbled down its wet tiers. Xlack’s feet attracted to the wall between levels, and he stood on the vertical surface, watching Stevalok’s deserved demise.

“En garde.”

A rain of swords dropped over the ruined rail, Entrycii amid them. He landed on the wall and faced Xlack, a pair of rapiers in his hands.

Xlack snatched another blade out of the air. “Where did you get swords?”

“We’re in a museum.”

Entrycii lunged, and Xlack’s broad blade swept the first rapier aside. Its clang sounded like a growl. He ducked under the second foil and somersaulted, an ankle hooking around Entrycii’s foot as he passed. Entrycii flew into a backflip, and the pyramid’s cascade extended to meet his feet, hardening into a lacy platform.

No longer content with being spectators, the other blades attacked Xlack. He batted them away, shoving their aim wide as he wove through them, eyes darting from one point to the next. They curved, coming at him from all sides. How could Entrycii control so many at once?

They were relentless, unending, overwhelming, and their master swam through them as if weightless, aimed at Xlack like a torpedo.

With a battle cry, Stevalok landed on Xlack’s shoulder and parried Entrycii’s rapiers with a very ancient-looking spear.

It was all Xlack could do not to tumble off the wall. A foot and a hand stretched out and reoriented his stance to account for the extra weight. His higher leg bent, knee gripping the granite surface as he slid forward so Stevalok could drive Entrycii back.

His sword arm was pinned to his side, but he kept up with their foe’s lithe footwork. Entrycii moved like dancing wind, but Stevalok met his every strike with that antique spear. The soft metal dented further with each blow.

One of the rapiers flipped free and stalled, blade pointing at Xlack. It shot forward. He threw a hand up, Kinetic influence like a million fingers pushing against the weapon. It stopped just short of his palm and hovered as if frozen in time. He blinked at it, gaze cutting to Entrycii.

“That could have killed me!”

Entrycii exchanged one more strike and retreated beyond Stevalok’s range. “You stopped it.” He smirked. “Round two will be harder. Ready?”

All the hovering swords swiveled toward Xlack.

“Admit your inevitable defeat, vile villain!” Stevalok leapt on Entrycii.

Kinetic strings snapped, and the blades plummeted as Entrycii’s feet slid along the wall. Stevalok swung, full weight wrenching down and around before he let go and flew back to Xlack. Entrycii tumbled, arms flailing. His elbows found stone and managed to direct his fall in a spiral around a column.

He disappeared in shadow.

Stevalok gestured dramatically with his misshapen spear. “Follow him, Noble Steed!”

“I’m not a pack animal.”

“You’re a party pooper.” Stevalok swung the spear, and Xlack blocked it with the broadsword.

“Quiet.” Something wasn’t right. Their ‘responsible older brother’ should have been back by now. “Where’s Rifo?”

“Calling in the party pooper reinforcements?”

“I’m serious.”

A shot rang out, a near-silent ping and a flash of light. Xlack chopped it. The sword shattered, but it altered the darter’s trajectory just enough. A hole appeared in the granite beside his foot.

Adjuvants didn’t carry shooters. In the Alliance, no one did except military personnel. And Aberrant.

A cacophony of exploding glass filled the space. Xlack and Stevalok raced back to the artifacts. Entrycii was already there, surrounded by five visible Aberrant.

The display case lay in thousands of shimmering pieces.

Continued in Chapter 4: Pretending to Be Something

Thank you for reading!