Page 6 of The Amber Sunburst

Not his best work.

It’s enough for Caeneus, though, because he winks and stage-whispers, “Yeah, all right, be humble. You don’t need to tell me what you did. I’ll be rooting for you in the Trials anyways.”

“Thanks,” Alexander responds, and despite the fact that his whole body hurts and he’s exhausted and he wants to go home, he manages to sound kind of excited.

He hears an electronic buzz again and comes to the unhappy conclusion that his ears must have been damaged by seawater.

“So, what’s your name, then?” Caeneus asks him.

“What do you think it is?” Alexander asks, flirty, considering that Caeneus over here might not be expecting such a normal name as Alexander.

Caeneus mirrors his teasing energy, putting on a big show of scanning him up and down to assess. Alexander almost wants to tell him to be more subtle—in the HAE two men would be arrested for such salacious glances—but none of the passersby seem perturbed by their flirting. It makes him miss home and hate it at the same time.

“Alexander,” Caeneus guesses, with a laugh, like it means nothing.

And, look, he hasn’t been exemplifying it very well today, what with his several emotional breakdowns, but Alexander is quick on his feet. Ready for anything. Flirty to a fault and charisma personified. But nothing in him expected his actual name to be Caeneus’ first guess.

He wishes he were suave enough to go with that flow. He is not.

“How?”

“No way! Am I actually right?”

Alexander slaps on a smirk that probably looks more pained than coy. “And if you were?”

“Well, it’s probably the most common name in this city, so I can’t say I’d be surprised.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Is it not that way in the countryside?”

“I guess my town is too small for me to really know?”

“I see. Well, here? Alexander is as popular as Odysseus or Socrates. I serve at least one a day at the cafe, though mostly they go by Alex.”

“Right,” Alexander replies with barely hidden scorn. He hates when people call him Alex. It’s not his name! He wonders if the other Alexanders here have the same problem.

Which pulls him back to reality.

Alexander? Odysseus? Socrates?

He doesn’t have to squint to see the pattern there.

“You look like an Alexander,” Caeneus explains, biting his lip slightly. “I just mean, your bronze skin, blue-green eyes. Your—” he gesticulates a bit wildly at Alexander’s whole body “—build.”

Alexander shoots him a sheepish grin.

Yes, compliments. An area he is very familiar with.

“You got me,” he says. “Though I also appreciate your—” he mirrors Caeneus’ hand gestures “—build.”

Caeneus grins, tilting his head up to peek at the sun.

“I can close early if you want to get lunch and keep talking. Maybe even some drinks after? On me, of course.”

Information, free food, and the company of a cute boy? Looks like he’s finally on a lucky streak.

But, of course, when is he ever? Because just before he can give an enthusiastic yes, a man who looks to be in his late thirties grabs him by the arm and says, “Alexander?” and everything sort of stops.