Theo didn't argue further. He gave a sharp, practical nod and reached for his sharpening stone, as if to distract himself.
Then, Alias began to take off his silk robes. He did it with the same quiet simplicity he did everything else, unaware of the unspoken rules of mortal modesty. But as the silks slid off his shoulders, the movement was like a curtain falling away from a masterpiece.
Theo's hand froze mid-stroke on the stone. He felt his breath catch in his throat, a sudden, tight pressure in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat. In the dim, golden-filtered light of the hut, Alias's skin was a revelation.
It was impossibly smooth, lacking the scars, sunspots, or rough patches that marked every other person Theo had ever known. It looked like fine, cool marble that had never known a day of labor—pure, unblemished, and breathtakingly pale.
