Page 130 of Burning Ice
“Please,” someone pleaded. “I have a wife and two children.”
Mirel halted before Doctor Serrin. “This is all a misunderstanding,” the man said quickly. “I never released the prisoner Bekn. I worked at the prison, and when Attica found me, there was no way to escape them. I didn’t?—”
Mirel lifted his hand. The Doctor’s mouth clamped shut. “I know.”
He moved on. A ripple of anticipation swept the nobles. He stopped before Theo.
“P-please,” Theo begged.
Mirel touched his cheek. “Why do you let him?”
Theo’s eyes filled. “He’s all I have.”
Mirel’s finger traced the tear that rolled down Theo’s cheek. It turned to ice on the other man’s face, unmoving as it lingered just below his eye.
“Long live Helion!” someone called.
“Long live the dead!”
For a moment it looked as if Theo stayed frozen. Kylix’s hands closed around the stem of his glass until it creaked. Beautiful, he thought. Terrifying.
Aviel stepped forward, parting the crowd as though the air itself obeyed him. The sound of his boots turned every head.
“Careful, frostling,” he said lightly. “If you ruin this one, I’ll be bored all week.”
The words carried an edge of amusement, but his gaze was cold as he lifted a hand and brushed away one of Theo’s frozen tears with his thumb. The motion was slow, theatrical, almost tender, but his tone was pure command. “Not this one.” He turned slightly, addressing the crowd with a half-smile that could have meant anything. “A pity to waste something that pretty. Let him entertain us a while longer.”
The guests laughed, nervous and unsure, but they obeyed the shift in tone.
Mirel lowered his hand, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth as the frost receded like an exhale.
One of the men sneered. “All the food we gave you, and that’s how you thank us in return? You’re one of us. A grave-rat.”
Mirel’s hand lifted. “Do you want to die?”
The second man’s answer was another laugh, cut short when the frost reached his throat. It spread fast and quiet, climbing his body until he stood motionless, light caught in the clear skin of ice.
The second man opened his mouth again. Kylix’s head turned. Fire rose, clean and vertical, wrapping the body in gold. No smoke. No sound.
For a heartbeat frost and flame held the stage together, one still, one burning, before the air broke with applause.
A voice came from farther down the line.
He laughed. “At your hand? You don’t have it in you.”
Another rebel hissed, “You saw him kill those men with ice. Don’t push him.”
But the defiant one only smirked. “You think the Imperials tell you the truth? They make artificial miracles in their labs. You’re just their puppet, a grave-rat pretending to be royal.”
Mirel didn’t answer. He only raised his hand.
Cold rolled out from his palm like a pulse. The first wave of frost touched the prisoner’s boots, thin as breath, then climbed.The grin faltered. Ice caught the man’s ankles, his knees, his chest, layer upon layer spreading with quiet precision. His expression froze halfway between defiance and shock.
“I am not a grave-rat.” Mirel’s voice was calm. “I am Mirel Zephyranth, bonded to Kylix Zephyranth, and you are spreading lies. You insult my family and speak ill of the Imperial line. That is a crime for which you’ll die.”
Kylix watched, unmoving, pride burning through him. The sight of Mirel standing tall, claiming his name and their bond, filled him with fierce hunger and something close to awe. The garden light refracted off the ice, scattering it across the guests’ faces. They didn’t look away. The beauty of it held them still.
The man’s eyes went glassy. The frost reached his throat, his mouth, silencing the last trace of sound. For a heartbeat he stood as a perfect sculpture of himself. Then a single crack broke the stillness, a clean sound that split the air before the body folded inward, collapsing without blood or scream. The air filled with the faint scent of cold stone.
