It’s a good thing people can’t die from tension.
I hope.
It would be terrible to find out awkward tables are my fatal weakness after arranging what promised to be a tension-filled dinner. And it has definitely delivered.
At the dining table of my temporary home, the Tome clan is gathered along with our three unexpected guests. I stand at the head of the table, searching for the words that will make the event feel more like a family gathering and less like a battlefield. To my right is Alana, wearing her usual stern frown and a pretty white dress, her hair kept out of her face by two thin braids pinned in a blond halo. She contributes to the tension with her usual steely glare, ramped up a new notch in the presence of multiple fighters that can overpower her.
Beside her is Talia, dressed in a courtly dress of pale blue and white, her eyes closed as she sits with her hands folded in her lap; as beautiful and cold as an ice sculpture carved in the shape of a flower. She’s playing her role but it’s a little off. Not quite as refined as usual and a glaring sign of her nerves.
Beside her is her guardian-father, the esteemed Lord Remmings, leader of the famed interrogators. Except, he is far from the noble visage that stared me down in the doorway of his temporary lodging earlier. For the umpteenth time, he wipes his sweaty brow with the golden handkerchief in his jacket pocket, the poor cloth closer to a rumpled ball than the neatly folded square he walked in with. He wasn’t even collected enough to hand over his gift, Earl presenting it in his stead as he dazedly took a seat, taking furtive glances at the dark corners of the room.
To my left is Kierra, her expression the tight grimace of someone expecting trouble. Which is very worrying because she normally laughs in the face of danger. Revels in it even. She’s making no secret that she expects this to all go to the Abyss, dressed in leathers rather than something more comfortable. The saints watch over us, there are knives strapped to her waist. Thankfully, she’s at least giving the impression of civility, the knives out of sight as her fingers incessantly drum on the edge of the table.
Next to her is her father, big as a bear and just as grumpy. For some reason, he’s bare-chested but that’s not the most problematic part. It’s the glare. He hasn’t stopped glaring since he sat down. First, at me. Then Lord Remmings. Finally, shifting between the two of us with varying intensity. Thankfully, his gaze is more discerning than threatening.
Finally, at the other end of the table is Morgene, by far the most relaxed of the attendees. Wearing a woven green dress that reminds me of my time in the Enchanted Forest and a big smile, she is the picture of carefree amusement, one leg crossed over the other, a bare foot tapping the air to her whims. Her silver hair is tied up in a high ponytail, exposing her long neck. I try not to stare. She’s Kierra’s mother for saints’ sake and that is the root of the problem. The Atainna line is truly blessed.
I clear my throat, grabbing their attention. The words I need are still eluding my grasp but there’s no time to waste. The last thing I want is for this carriage to go off the road, which it certainly will if any of the others grab the reins.
“I want to thank our guests for joining us tonight. We live in…interesting times. Days where our homes can change in a matter of hours and unexpected dangers are frequent. When walking the winding road of life, it’s our loved ones that keep us true. Family is a rock and what binds family together are…experiences. The traditions they pass on. The obstacles they overcome. The laughs, the tears, the fights, and the reconciliations they share. And most of those things happen over a good meal.” Ah, darn it. We need drinks for me to make a toast…ah.
My servants sweep into the room, setting glasses before everyone. Herbanacle all around except for Morgene. Geneva and Morgene exchange concerning smiles as the succubus pours her a glass of wine. I purposefully ignore it as I raise my own glass high. “A toast to us and our time together. Whether we laugh, cry, or fight, let it all bring us closer to together as family. Cheers.”
The words feel strange on my tongue. Family. What do I know about it? My father, my only real family, is gone and we never had a healthy relationship. Cordial, but far from loving. My cousins are the next closest to me and our relationships are best described as distant. But what I have with my clan is good. I think? If it isn’t, I don’t care because it works for us.
Here’s hoping I can mimic something similar with the strong personalities sitting at my table. Sending a prayer to the saints and a glossy god, I toss back my drink. Then I retake my seat as the dining room erupts with movement.
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The bare table is quickly burdened by bowls and platters as a literal feast is laid out before us. Geneva and Earl work in perfect concert setting out the food and refilling drinks. Then they take up positions on the walls, shadows ready to pounce on anyone’s slightest need. The smell of incredible food is the hammer that finally shatters the tension that’s been building since this morning and the table digs in. Lord Remmings even manages to forget his anxiety as he tears into a fish dish. Orum is taking a liking to the fried vegetables. Kierra is a tiny serving of salad away from a carnivore. And Morgene…
Morgene only has an appetite for wine. And me. Geneva caught her attention for a moment but now she’s back to watching me. She hasn’t stopped watching me since she appeared in our bedroom and saw me transform. Soon enough, my reprieve comes to an end.
“I have heard of creatures like you,” Morgene starts and I know from her tone that it’s the beginning of the end. “In the past, when Orum tried to convince me to travel the world with him, he would show me records of the strange beasts that inhabit other lands. In Common, they would be called cruel bogs. Slime-like creatures that eat their prey from the inside. While they do, they puppet their new skins, using it to infiltrate settlements.” She tilts her head and the gesture is achingly familiar. “Are you a mutation? Or perhaps it is more justified to call you an evolution?”
“Pardon me.” Lord Remmings stops enjoying his food, the reprieve from whatever was bothering him having done much for his control. There is a trace of the man who stared me down earlier in his hard gaze as he looks up from his food and right at me. “Are you not human?”
Sigh. That is information I would have really preferred to not be shared with the head interrogator. I wonder if Talia will resent me if I have his mind stripped of the inconvenient details? The last thing I need is the king painting me as another Aggro. And whatever he feels for Talia, the man’s loyalty to the crown is without question. He’s wearing the royal colors, for saints’ sake. Hm.
“I like to think of myself as human,” I say, my lovers listening with one ear while our guests give me their full attention. “But, strictly speaking, I’m not. Nothing as disgusting as whatever monstrosity you just described.”
“They are quite formidable. A bog grows larger the more it consumes but its form is malleable. What appears to be a creature no bigger than a wild dog can unfurl into the size of a wyvern. Many that hunt them underestimate them and add to the bog.”
Huh. No wonder she drew that conclusion. “My…blessing is…”
“You are being very hesitant, Lou.” Morgene leans forward, eyes sharp. “You promised us answers, didn’t you?”
“Let the girl speak in her own time,” Orum grunts. “Sate your hunger with what is already before you in the meantime. It is disrespectful to ignore a meal. Especially one well-prepared.”
“I hope you don’t use a bloated stomach as an excuse for poor performance later,” she scoffs, holding out her glass. Geneva is right there to fill it before disappearing once more.
“You wish to experience my performance, dedia?”
Her gaze leaves me for a moment to focus on Orum, who I keep forgetting is married to this woman. Well, they’re reminding me. Relaxed and enjoying themselves, I think, the tension between them has shifted, becoming something different. “You think you’d have the strength after wrestling with the creature strong enough to enamor our daughter?”
“Can we get back to you not being human?” Lord Remmings interrupts their flirting and I curse him for it. “Are you a spy? An agent of war?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I squash the urge to roll my eyes. “My origins aren’t hard to investigate and I’d bet every crown I have you’ve investigated me, extensively.”
“She—" He jerks his head in the direction of Morgene and I cut him off before she can take offense.
“Morgene Atainna. D’Atainna if you address her directly. Royal etiquette, I’m sure you understand.”
“…Lady Atainna said these bog creatures can take the skins of their victims. What is to say you didn’t take the skin of Lourianne Tome?”
“Because I am myself. I think if I were an impostor, my family would have noticed.”
“Perhaps they noticed and said nothing. Nobles are pragmatic creatures easily swayed by benefits. I can imagine them sacrificing an unremarkable daughter for the protection of a powerful manabeast. And having her memories is easily explained by the creatures serving us dinner.” He eyed Geneva, who returned his look with a shy smile. Saints, it’s unnerving when she does the docile act. “If you are some creature with—"
“I’m gonna stop you right there and ask you one question,” I interrupt. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it—"
“Doesn’t. It really doesn’t matter if I’m human, bog, or a dragon in disguise. It’s not like this kingdom has a hard stance against other races. We gave our city to a damn elemental and the crown has been courting my wife since she showed up. Only two things matter.”
I raise two fingers and waggle them. “How strong I am and what I want. I’m too strong to fight and I don’t want anything, so you don’t need to fight me. That’s it. And don’t ask about my blessing. I’m not sharing the details with any of you three.
He doesn’t look happy. Is he going to be a problem?
[Not if you do not want him to be.]
“You will not tell us what you are.” Morgene doesn’t sound happy, but she doesn’t try to refute me. “Will you tell us what you can do?” Her tone tells me that she won’t take kindly to being refused twice.
This, I’m willing to share, for my own ends. “It’s simple. I’m a shapeshifter but I don’t use spells. If I consume enough of something, I can take its form.”
To my surprise, it’s not Morgene who reacts but Orum. He drops a half-shredded leg of meat and stands with enough force to knock down his chair.
“Show me,” he demands.