of the kingdom, it lacks sights like the beautiful gardens of Arida, the volcanos and hot springs in Valuka, or the lavish glam of Mornute. It’s Visidia’s smallest island, and without any natural draw, it’s never been a stopping place for travelers. But as we round the hill toward Vice, it becomes increasingly clear that Kerost is far from the island it once was.
“What in the gods’ names…” Ferrick’s surprise mirrors my own as we’re forced to group tightly together, not wanting to get lost in the crowd that packs the streets. For the sake of keeping a low profile and experiencing Kerost without drawing attention to myself, I pull my cloak tight—enchanted to be Ker amethyst rather than sapphire, thanks to Shanty—and raise my hood.
“BILLIARDS AND BLACKJACK!” yells a woman clad in a skintight amethyst dress. It’s cut so low in the front that my skin heats, never having seen anyone daring enough to wear something like that. The rest of the crew stares too, shameless, and I clear my throat as the woman yells again, “Come test your luck at billiards and blackjack!”
Another woman stands at a newly erected structure across from her, calling out to the crowd with matching enthusiasm, “Ladies, we’ve got the most beautiful gentlemen in the entire kingdom waiting to serve you.” She slings her arm around one of two young women who take pause, and lures her toward the entrance with well-practiced charm. “That’s right, come on in. Right this way.”
Farther down the street, patrons lift their ale to the skies before splashing mugs together with rowdy laughter. Their skin is flushed and their eyes bloodshot as they yell bets on what sounds like some kind of race.
While many of the patrons roaming the streets of Kerost wear the striking amethyst shade that marks them as a Ker—someone who once would only have specialized in time magic—dozens of other patrons fill the streets, as well. From the lavish styles they wear, it’s easy to make out that the majority are from Ikae. It appears today’s Ikaean fashion trend is clouds, which all try their best to resemble by wearing shades of pinks, lavenders, soft blues, and cream. Most look like puff pastries, but one cleverly styled patron has dressed like a raging storm. An occasional bolt of lightning strikes through his navy suit every few minutes, turning it a startling shade of yellow. Another Ikaean woman has dressed in all gray tulle; she must practice Valukan magic now as well, for she’s created her own personal rain cloud above her head. Though it drips a steady stream of rain upon her, she never gets wet.
There are many Valukans as well, and even some Aridians weaving in and out of the gray stone buildings. Some stumble, intoxicated, while others yell about how their money was stolen and how all the games are rigged.
On one corner, a young man is taking his chance at conversing with a small group of women. On the opposite corner, a child sells stacks of moving parchments.
“Queen Amora is looking for a husband! Just a single piece of sea glass to read! That’s right, folks, step right up for your copy…”
All the activity happening on these streets is so disorienting that Casem draws a protective step closer to me.
“Seem like they’ve turned themselves into a giant gambling den.” There’s no malice or judgment in Bastian’s words. If anything, he sounds impressed. I follow his focus when he points ahead, to the sign that reads VICE. It’s been painted since we were last here at Blarthe’s old place, now boasting a flashy silver background with bold amethyst letters. Women who venture into the establishment wear short dresses or shimmering suits beneath the coats they leave at the door, while the men don their finest. Everything is flashy in a way I’ve never before seen; it’s overwhelming, loud, and with this much alcohol and money floating around, it’s certainly not safe.
“Everyone keep close,” Casem demands, hands flexing to the pommel of his sword. “This place is dangerous.”
“This place is incredible,” I argue.
“It’s remarkable,” Shanty echoes, lifting her hood and dipping her face so that others in the crowd don’t notice the enchantment leeching over her skin as she presses two fingertips against her cheeks. She softens her eyes and makes her hair longer and her lips pouty and full, transforming herself into someone with the kind of sweet innocence too many men like to take advantage of. The dress that’s taking form