Kirvi swung her feet over the ledge and peered down at the golden sands far below. The rock beneath her was rough and scratchy, but her bare hands were used to the feeling, and her cotton pants did enough to keep her comfortable. It was barely midday, and already it was the hottest it had been all summer. But up in the hills around the City of Aurora, where the winds were at their peak without climbing the far off mountains, she and Opal were given something of a reprieve.

"You met the strangers, then," Opal remarked excitedly. She plunked her legs over the edge beside Kirvi and leaned backwards with a contented sigh. "Are there three of them, like my father said?"

"Mm-hm. I have only met two, though. Opal, they are so strange."

"Strangers, Kirvi."

"They have white skin, like Kalin."

"Do you think she hails from Albion?"

Kirvi shrugged and fiddled with the low neck of her plain cotton tunic. "Not likely. And one man, the older one, he has hair the colour of sand!"

"That exists? I have only seen hair black and brown."

"As have I. But I swear it, Opal. And their accents sound like they are chewing on cotton while they speak. It is charming and cute, but impossible to understand at the same time. The prince, the man staying at my home, his is not so bad as his sand friend."

"So that is true? The prince of Albion is sleeping at your home? In our loft?"

Kirvi giggled and glanced sidelong at her oldest friend. Opal's smooth forehead had crumpled into a scowl; truly disgruntled. "He is not taking it over, Opal. Do not fret. It is only a place for him to stay while his friend—Sir Walter Beck—recovers from being attacked by the Darkness."

The frown deepened; it made the sweat beading her dark forehead stand boldly in the sunlight. "Is that why you so readily offered your home to him, then? Because he encountered the Crawler?"

"I want to know, Opal."

"Let it be, Kirvi. It is dangerous, messing with the work of the Darkness. We will never know where it came from, or how it works, or why it is bent on destroying us all."

Kirvi shook her head and looked back over the City of Aurora. Many shops were open during the day, including her mother tending to the chickens, but the young, the ill, and the elderly were encouraged to remain indoors even at noon, lest the Darkness return for another round of Auroran snacks. The colourful robes of the shopkeepers littered the city, tiny specks from their high seats.

Opal sighed heavily and Kirvi felt her adjust on the slab of rock that was their perch. "I understand, Kirvi. You know I do. I miss your father as much as you do."

Kirvi pressed her lips together and kept her gaze on the city. At the temple in the distance, she could see several small figures emerge from the triangular entrance; judging by the bright red coat and the black and white fluff, it was Christopher and Logie, Ben Finn and Kalin.

"Oh, fine." Opal huffed. "What is his name, at least?"

"The prince? Christopher. He has a goat for a pet."

"A goat?"

"Without hooves." Kirvi leaned forward and shielded her eyes from the blaring desert sun. There was no extra man with them; Christopher and the captain's friend Walter had not yet awoken from his ailments caused by the Crawler and its Darkness. "He calls it a dog. I have never seen one before."

Her friend gave a high twitter of a giggle. "Oh, that is bizarre."

"Its name is Logie," she continued, distracted. The figure of Kalin remained behind at the temple doors, but those of Christopher, Ben, and the dog were moving down the stairs, back toward the rest of the city. "He named it after his brother."

"How beautiful. What are you staring at, Kirvi?"

She hesitated to answer. At the base of the stairs, the men stopped, and one white-sleeved arm was pointing up toward them. "I think they are looking for me," she muttered, and scooted backward on the rock. "Do you want to meet the men from Albion, Opal?"

Her friend laughed and climbed to her feet, taking a moment to adjust the skirt around her slender waist. "Must you even ask? Come on." She held out a hand and Kirvi took it without thought. Hand in hand, the two girls wound down the narrow, treacherous mountain path that carved through the hillside. Ten minutes of hiking brought them directly behind one of their neighbour's houses; panting slightly from the exercise, they trotted onto the streets of the city and made a beeline for the Albion men standing like lost lizards at the foot of the stairs.

Kirvi paused to shake sand out of the tight ankle of her trousers before leading Opal to the steps. Logie barked joyfully and sprinted toward her as soon as he saw her, but at a shout from Christopher, he stopped midway and sat, tongue dangling from his slobbery mouth.

"I told you I found them," Ben remarked cheerfully as the men approached. "Been feeling a little like birds lately, have you?" Smiling so the pleasant dimples in his pale peach cheeks stood out, he glanced at Opal and gave a polite leg. "A pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm Captain Benjamin Finn of the Albion army. And you are?"

"Opal, sir." She held her skirt and gave a little curtsey; Kirvi noticed her mouth twist wryly, and she held back a laugh. Certainly Captain Finn's behaviour was… odd.

Kirvi remembered to bow before asking, "How is your friend today?"

Judging by the shadow of dejection hanging over Christopher's face—darkening his eyes, lining his face to appear much older than he likely was—he wouldn't be answering many questions. Rather, Ben took the mantle of leader and replied, "Oh, he's a tough old chap, to be sure. He'll pull through. It's only a matter of time now. Kalin seems certain her healers can do… whatever it is that they do… and he'll be up and about, training Heroes in no time!" He clapped his hands together and grinned charmingly at the girls. Kirvi smiled, unable to stop herself, and Ben gave her a solemn wink. "What is there to do in this beautiful place, eh? We've got some moping royalty with us, and we've got to get him up and moving."

Christopher winced as Ben nudged him with his elbow. Shuffling several paces back, he scowled at his cheery friend and muttered, "Not now, Ben. I am really not in the mood for your games."

A look of hurt shock spread across Ben's face, but by the twitching of his mouth, it was obviously fake. Opal held back a snicker beside her, and Kirvi suppressed a smile. Christopher was the only one unaffected by Ben's joy.

"Oh, come now, Your Majesty. Surely you jest. Me? Games? You must have me mistaken for someone else. Kirvi here, perhaps." He showed off his perfect white teeth in a grin as he cast his gaze at her. "She seems like the gamey type. Not gamey like the hunt, of course, but… well, I'm sure you understand. Oh, speaking of, is there any hunting to do around here?"

Kirvi shook her head and shrugged one shoulder. "Not unless you intend to bring home lizards or sand furies. And besides, going into the desert is strictly discouraged. It is too dangerous with the threat of the Darkness constantly looming."

A heavy sigh escaped Ben's lungs, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Oh, Archon, this place is gloomy. Haven't you got anything?"

"Not for a man of your age and status, sir," Opal replied dryly. She arched one black brow at the captain and crossed her arms beneath her bosom.

"Excuse me?"

"Unless you still enjoy the games of childhood, Captain," Kivi quickly recovered, "we cannot help you. You see, Opal and I are barely ten and six."

"Ah, well, much closer to Princey here than me. Twenty? Aye." Ben clapped Christopher's shoulder and pretended not to notice the darkening scowl blanketing the youth's unshaven and dirty features. "Don't I just feel ancient now. Is there a pub, at least?"

Kirvi shared a look with Opal, and both girls shook their heads. "Is it not a little early to drink, Captain?" Kirvi inquired, raising her brows at him.

Ben laughed; an infectious and delighted sound, like she had told the funniest joke he had ever heard. "It's never too early to drink, milady. What I meant was cards. Gambling. That's encouraged in the pubs back home. Is there nothing like that here?"

"Nothing so organized. Our papas used to play cards some nights," Kirvi recalled with a rueful smile, "before the Darkness came." She and Opal, too energetic to sleep, would flee the loft and explore the city at night. Cool and peaceful, the opposite of the heat and rumbling bustle of the daytime, it was their favourite childhood act of rebellion, especially once they hiked to the harbour and found the gamblers. Many men of the city, including both their fathers and Opal's older brother, were huddled in a companionable circle on the dock, laughing and chatting with the warm light of a bonfire on the beach exaggerating the shadows in the folds of their robes. At first, the girls kept hidden in the cliffs, but after several nights, Kirvi's father spotted them hunched in the rocks. Rather than punish the girls for staying out late and spying, they were invited to the circle and shown how to play the card game the men were so enamoured with. And until Kirvi's mother caught them and forbade them from gambling, whenever they could stay up late enough they played cards with the men of Aurora.

"But that has not happened since the initial destruction five years ago," Opal murmured. Her voice was heavy with nostalgia and longing; her papa hadn't been the same since the Darkness first came to Aurora and swallowed the light of his son and his best friend.

"Well, which game was it? Blackjack? Fortune's tower? Memory? Coin golf? Wait, there are no cards in that," Ben muttered, fumbling in a pouch around his waist. "Aha!" His hand emerged from the pocket a moment later, grasping a well-worn deck of racy playing cards. Kirvi's eyes bugged at the sight, and feeling her face heat up, she averted her gaze to look at Logie instead.

Christopher groaned, "Oh, Ben, put those cards back. No woman wants to play anything with those filthy things."

Ben flipped through the deck until he came across whichever card he was looking for. "Oh, come off it, Chris. You and Walter loved these on the ship from Albion. Remember the ace of spades? Look at her!" He laughed as Christopher shoved the card away from his face. "Tell you what, Chris: If you ever beat me at keystone, you can have the ace of spades. For keeps."

"There aren't even any cards in keystone! And there is no skill involved at all!" Christopher protested, shooting his friend a heated scowl.

"Hm." Opal braved walking up to Ben's side and flashing the cards a curious glance. "What is keystone? Is it gambling?"

Christopher gave a dry chuckle and shook his head while Ben enthusiastically showed Opal the faces—or bodies, rather—of the cards. "Ben Finn is the one to talk to when it comes to gambling. Bit of a hobby of his."

"Something like that. So what do you say, Opal? Care to learn how to play?" Ben gave her an enticing wink, and as Opal giggled and agreed, Kirvi had to hold back a grin. Never before had she met someone so carefree and full of joy than Ben Finn. He lifted the atmosphere of Aurora by merely inhabiting the city—and that was something the Aurorans could certainly use.

Kirvi settled on the warm, hard ground to watch as Ben removed all the necessary instruments for playing keystone. Trapezoidal stones were placed on the ground in an arch, and using a dagger he carved numbers into the dry earth.

Dust and sand stirred, and Christopher plopped down beside her. "Don't expect your friend to be available for the next several hours. Ben is a relentless gambler. All we did on the way from Albion is play cards," he remarked. Kirvi stole a discreet glance at him; he was watching with mild interest as Ben explained the rules of the game. He had used the bathwater she had provided him with earlier well—the grime was gone from his skin, and his hair was no longer encrusted with sand and dirt, though the messiness remained. The only minor detractions from his otherwise impeccable appearance were the lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the stiff stubble along his jaw, and the fact that it looked as though his clothes hadn't been washed in several weeks of sand- and rainstorms.

Kirvi felt her mouth pull up, and she cast her gaze back at the blonde soldier crouched in front of her. "Is he a good gambler, or just constant?"

"The best of the best. Walter and I lost just under ten grand between us just while we were sailing with the bastard. Oh," he suddenly squeaked. Kirvi watched in awe as his alabaster cheeks blossomed a starling crimson. "Beg your pardon, Kirvi. I didn't mean to curse in front of you. I forgot myself."

"Do not apologize."

His thick brows scrunched together. "But I am the prince. I'm supposed to be civil and polite. And you are a lady—"

"Who is only four years younger than you," she interrupted, untying her hair from its bun and letting the long black locks tumble down her back. His eyes followed the path of her hair, wide and entranced. "If Ben speaks the truth about your age, at least. And besides, Christopher, must you act as a prince, here and now? You are in Aurora; far from the eyes of your people, save," she amended, nodding at Ben, "your gambling captain and your ailing mentor. I think neither will judge you now or ever."

He looked thoughtful as he rolled up the sleeves of his dirty white shirt. "I suppose so. But what about you? I would hate to have my host judge me for my foul tongue."

She snorted and looked on as Ben began the game by rolling three square objects. "I am Auroran, Christopher. We do things differently here. Is he going to take her money?"

"No. Gambling with women is different than gambling with men." He rested his arms on his knees and tilted his head to the side to look at her. Ben had been right; distracting Christopher was the best thing for him while Walter was still ill. "Taking money from a lady is just… disgusting. Ben has enough poise and tact to be a gentleman and not make monetary bets with her."

Content, Kirvi leaned back on her elbows and shook out her hair to see the sky. Perfect, clear blue, as it almost always was; it only seemed to change during a sandstorm or when the Darkness came. Tiny, fluffy clouds drifted lazily across the azure plane above them, and the sun was high, huge and blazing yellow as it scorched the desert a deeper gold. Warm breezes coming in from the sea, tinged with salt and sand, brushed over her skin. Her clothes, the simple, homespun cotton tunic and baggy trousers—soft beige, and edged in beads of red, orange, and yellow—blocked out the worst of the heat, deflecting it and keeping her comfortable.

Her fingers ran over the rows of beads on the low scoop of her collar. Varying shades of crimson and scarlet, copper and ochre, gold and saffron, all the colours her father had treasured above the rest—the hues of fire. It had been the tunic he wore at his wedding to her mother; it became hers after the Crawler sent its Children to the City of Aurora for the first time when she was eleven.

"That's a beautiful shirt," Christopher's voice spoke up, dragging her out of her nostalgia. She glanced up, hands lingering on the bumpy beadwork, to see his glittering brown eyes on her, thoughtful and squinted in the light of the sun.

"Thank you." She lowered her hand and rested her elbow back in the sand. Sleeveless, like most of her shirts save the winter ones; that was the only time it got cool enough in Aurora to cover the arms with a thin piece of cotton. "It was my father's."

A smile played at his lips, but a shadow of sadness clouded his eyes. Shifting, he removed the beautiful pistol from its holster at his side. He held it up, and Kirvi leaned closer to get a better look at it. It was shiny and almost silvery, with intricate golden patterns stamped on the barrel and worn wooden stock. Several scratches slashed through the tracings here and there, but it was otherwise in excellent condition. "This was my father's," he said, rotating it so the sunlight glinted off the gold and silver. "Despite my mother disapproving, he gave it to me when I turned ten. Once she got over it, they both helped me learn how to shoot it." A twinge crossed his face, and he slowly lowered the gun to his lap.

Kirvi looked up at him. She understood that look too well. "When did he pass?"

He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips. "Eight years ago. Only four months after my mother. I'd always heard that people who have spent their lives together and are deeply in love pass close together, but I never believed it until it happened to them." He exhaled deeply and shrugged. "It was their time, I suppose. He was nearing seventy, and she had been fighting pneumonia for months before she died. Less than a week later, Logan was king." Frowning at the gun, he lifted it and pondered it before slinging it back in its holster. "Logan got not only the crown, but Dad's best armour, his best friend as his minister of industry, and a mask that's apparently been in our family for generations."

She felt a pang of sympathy stab her heart. Reaching out, she gently rested a hand on his arm. "Do not think your father preferred Logan over you. From all I have heard, he was a very fair and gracious man."

His eyes fell on her hand, touching the warm leather gauntlet covering his arm. "That's what I get for being the son of a king, apparently," he muttered. His lips turned up at the corners as he flexed his fingers, making the leather glove around his forearm creak. "Well, I guess I got one inheritance Logan can never take."

Kirvi frowned. "What?"

Christopher bit his lip and abruptly shook his head. "Nothing," he said, and pulled his arm away from hers so her fingers slipped to the sand. "How do you keep cool here?" he asked, quickly changing his expression from contemplative to thespian curiosity. "I've never been so hot in my life and you aren't even breaking a sweat."

"Proper clothing." She gave him a narrow stare, and he smiled uncomfortably in return. "Whatever fine fabric you wear is inappropriate for Aurora."

Christopher looked over at Ben and Opal. They were fully immersed in their game. "I don't think they'll notice if we leave for a bit. Is there a clothier here?"

—

"It is just down this road."

Christopher nodded and waited until Kirvi turned forward once more before continuing his admiration. Her bare feet were light on the superheated ground, as if she never even felt the heat. She seemed to have a slight dance to her step as she walked, making the baggy trousers she wore bounce around her legs and her long, glossy black hair sway and shine in the sunlight. She was like the ballerinas from Samarkand he had seen in performances at the castle, back when his parents were alive and his mother wanted some sophisticated entertainment. Elegant and graceful, even when they weren't dancing; despite her youth, Kirvi seemed the same.

Distracted as he was, he didn't notice she had veered toward the open door of a building. Catching himself just before he walked straight into a pole, he followed and paused at the entrance. Logie whined beside him, and he crouched to pat the dog's soft head. "Stay here, boy," he murmured, and straightened to see Kirvi giving him a funny look. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Here." She hopped into the store and Christopher followed, brushing his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead so it slicked back over his head. Catching sight of himself in a pane of glass, he held back a chuckle in the form of a snort, making Kirvi frown at him again. Composing his face, he tried to look as neutral as possible as he stepped into the shop.

"I look like Logan," he muttered to himself, playing with two particularly unruly locks so it splayed out to the sides like Logan's sometimes did. With a little smile, he realized he and Logan really did resemble each other, despite Logan taking after their father and Christopher their mother. If only his scruffy beard of stubble was gone with a pointy soul patch in its place; then he'd really look like a brown-haired, younger Logan.

He trailed after Kirvi and let her pick out trousers that she thought might fit him. He stood like a mannequin as she held them at his waist, and with the help of the shopkeeper, picked a pair. White, with colourful rainbow embroidery at the waistband and ankles, and much less baggy than Kirvi's. Finally, she chose a plain white, sleeveless tunic with a thick crimson cloth belt, and he was shown to a wooden screen to change.

He came out a minute later, clutching his Albion clothes beneath his arm, feeling much more comfortable but much more exposed at the same time. His sword seemed awkwardly heavy against his back without his thicker shirt to cushion it, but at least the crimson belt held his holster in place, so it didn't sway and bump his leg when he walked.

Uncomfortable and awkward with the attention, he simply stood and waited as Kirvi gave him sandals instead of his boots, and the shopkeeper rang up the total, excited to have a new customer.

When the shopkeeper announced the price, Kirvi's expression fell flat and her eyes bugged. "I do not have eight thousand gold to cover that," she told him, giving him a dirty glare. "Why have you raised your prices?"

"We all need the money, Kirvi," he said apologetically. "My son is ill; I cannot afford the medicines from the hermit."

Before Kirvi could protest any more, Christopher stepped forward and dug in his bundle of clothes. Pulling out his purse, he dumped the money on the counter and pushed it toward the shopkeeper. "Here," he said, tucking the rest away. "That should cover it, right?"

The man took a moment to count, then nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Your Highness." With that, he gave a deep bow, and Kirvi stomped out of the shop with Christopher following timidly.

Logie barked excitedly and jumped to his feet as they left the store. "Hey, boy, did you miss me?" Christopher said, smiling, as he patted his bouncing dog. In answer, Logie barked again and sprinted down the market square to chase one of the wandering chickens.

As soon as his dog was vanished from sight, Christopher said, "Excuse me a moment. I should get him." With that, he chased after Logie, leaving Kirvi in front of the clothier. He turned a corner he knew Logie hadn't gone, and once sure he wasn't being watched by anyone but the sun, he held his hands together in front of him and concentrated.

A second later, he stood in his father's Sanctuary.

"Christopher, you're back!"

He blinked, a little worn out from the split-second travel, and spotted one of his dear friends and oldest confidantes pushing back a chair and folding shut a book. Smiling warmly, Jasper strode across the circular room and held out his arms, offering to take his things.

Christopher gratefully handed over the filthy garments, and Jasper took them with only a slight grimace. "Hi, Jasper. How are things here?"

"Oh, same as always, sire. How is Aurora? I see you have gotten in tune with the local customs," he remarked, smiling wryly as he gave Christopher's new getup a look.

Christopher rubbed his bare arm, suddenly cold without the Auroran sun beating down on him. "If that's how you want to put it."

Jasper nodded and led the way to the closet, with Christopher followed tiredly. Using self-made cullis gates wasn't the easiest thing, and he wasn't very good at it, usually relying on the one in the Sanctuary to do all the work.

As Jasper began folding up the shirt, he coughed lightly and inquired, "How is Walter holding up, sire?"

Christopher sighed and fell into a chair next to his changing screen. "He is still unconscious. The Auroran healers are doing the best they can, but…" He trailed off, trying to think up a nice way of putting it. Jasper and Walter were just as close as Christopher was to them, perhaps even closer as their roles of mentor and personal servant had them interacting often during Christopher's childhood. "Well, Ben has high hopes," he concluded lamely, feeling his forehead scrunch.

"Captain Finn always has high hopes, sire, about everything. He is an eternal optimist." The old man's lined face deepened as he smiled. "He is still bent on the idea that you are going to raise the salary of the soldiers once you become king. Speaking of," he added as Christopher chuckled, "nice hair. You really look kingly with your brother's mad aura about you."

The prince grinned and stood, shaking out his hair with his hands. "Ugh, that's the last thing I want. Is there water here, Jasper?"

"Have a particular thirst, do you?"

"A little hairy, more like," he retorted, and followed Jasper's pointing hand to a basin tucked away behind the mannequins. Jasper was a good distraction from the stress of the revolution; as he shaved, his long-time servant and friend chatted amicably about the goings-on in Albion; about how Reaver had raised the prices of his weaponry and household items under Logan's orders, and how people were complaining but did nothing to stop them; the drinking laws had gotten stricter, and Logan was threatening to introduce conscription to the people; Reaver had publically killed a small handful of his labourers because they, like the man Christopher had seen with Walter his first time in Bowerstone Industrial, were protesting the long hours and low pay of Reaver's factories. And of course, Reaver had no repercussions for his actions.

"I always liked him," Christopher remarked, patting his smooth face dry with a towel Jasper seemed to provide out of nowhere. "Despite him being the biggest bastard in Albion, he always spoiled me and Logan."

"Well, he was your father's closest friend, aside from your mother and Walter," Jasper replied, brushing Christopher's leather boots clean.

Christopher grunted and tossed the towel, just to see if Jasper was as spry as he used to be. In a flash, the old man caught it before it hit the ground, and began folding it without a word of reprimand. "Have you noticed how he seems to get younger as the years go on? My earliest memory of him, he looked much older than Dad, but at Dad's funeral, he looked no older than Logan."

"Reaver is a very strange man, sire. Just curious, but how long do you intend to leave Captain Finn alone in Aurora? He must be dying of boredom without someone's ear to chat off."

Christopher gasped and jerked backward, knocking over the shaving soap. "Oh, shit!" he yelped, forgetting to be embarrassed by his language in his forgetfulness. Jasper merely looked at him, unsurprised by his exclamation. "I left Kirvi alone for so long!"

Finally, Jasper blinked, looking taken aback. "Kirvi, sire? Have you already met a lady friend?"

"Something of the sort. Ben's with her friend, but I said I was going to find Logie when I came here. Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled, rushing back to the map room of the Sanctuary. Jasper followed, muttering about Christopher's bad memory.

"You know, sire, this reminds me of the time you forgot your appointment with Lady Elise when you were seventeen," he said, pausing by the map table as Christopher rushed into the glowing blue of the cullis gate.

Christopher halted abruptly, only one foot on the platform of the gate. "Jasper…" he whispered, feeling a spasm of emotion hit him like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh. I am sorry, Christopher. I… I…" For the first time, he was at a loss for words.

"It's fine, Jasper. You forgot." Christopher backed into the cullis gate and sighed as the warmth of will flowed over him. Clenching his fist so his gauntlet tightened over his hand, he nodded to Jasper. "I'll come back as soon as I can." With that, he closed his eyes and let the will take him away.

His feet thudded onto hard golden dirt a moment later, and he ran out of the alley to find himself right back in the market square. A quick scan of the area found Kirvi was sitting where he left her, right outside the clothing shop, with Logie seated neatly beside her, his tongue lolling out of his salivating mouth.

Her eyes were big and childish, perfectly right with long, thick black lashes surrounding them. They stood boldly against her dark olive face as she watched him approach. "Where were you?" she asked, but there was no anger in her tone, thank Archon. "Your goat returned, but you did not."

"I got lost," he lied quickly, and for the first time was glad that growing up with Logan had taught him how to skirt the truth. "The layout of your city is so different than those in Albion." True enough.

Kirvi nodded and stood, stretching her long, slim brown arms above her head before wandering up to him, with Logie panting at her naked heels. "So now you have clothes. Do you want to return to Opal and the captain?"

"Just call him Ben." Christopher exhaled slowly and tried to calm his erratic heart. "He prefers it. And no, if you don't want to. If they aren't still playing keystone, he has likely managed to convince her to play blackjack, Bloodstone style," he admitted with a grimace.

Kirvi's big brown eyes blinked in confusion, and she pursed her plump lips. "What is Bloodstone?"

"Ah…" Christopher coughed into his hand and pointedly looked up at the sky, feeling his face heat up considerably. "It's a city in Albion."

He felt her gaze on him, expectant and questioning. "And how does that relate to blackjack?"

"Um." He shifted his weight on his feet, and winced when hard rocks poked through the thin sole of his sandals. "Bloodstone is a notoriously… um… hedonistic city," he said slowly, trying to pick the right words. "Uh, gambling, and drinking, and, ah, p-prostitution are encouraged. If it surprises you to know or not, Ben lived there for some t-time, and, um…" His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it might burst through his ribcage and explode. His face felt like the time when he and Logan were boys and their father used his fire will abilities to heat up their bathwater, and after he left and it was still cooling, Logan shoved his little brother into the steaming water.

When he looked back at Kirvi, her narrow jaw had dropped. "Your face is brighter red than Auroran blooms," she remarked, and he had no idea what she meant.

"Oh? All right."

"You were saying?"

Damn. He had to keep talking. He cleared his throat loudly and obtrusively, and rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs. "Hm, well, ah, Bloodstone style gambling is either when the game is played backwards, or… um, the loser of a round… takes off their…" He hesitated, and instantly regretted it when he looked at Kirvi. She was practically grinning at his humiliation and blushing, something she didn't likely witness since all Aurorans seemed to possess dark skin. "Clothes," he finished stupidly.

A little giggle bubbled from her lips, and he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling in embarrassment. "Oh. Well. I hope Ben does not convince Opal to play that. As beautiful a man as he is, he is still much older than she. Her father would not approve."

Christopher bit the inside of his lip. Beside her, Logie whined and covered his snout with his paws. "Uh…"

Kirvi did grin this time; her teeth were startlingly white against her dark face, and the smile was almost too wide for her slim features. "Come on, Christopher. I want to show you the demon door."