Page 3 of Burning Ice
The leader of the Luminary came first, wearing black as if it had been made only for him.
Imperial Prince Zephyranth.
Mirel stared at him, and nothing else mattered.
The prince wore a fitted coat with gold piping framed his shoulders, a dark cape swung heavy behind him. His hair was dark, swept back from his forehead, his skin bronze under the firelight. His eyes, ember-gold, banked fire, moved like weapons across the tiers. When he bared his incisors, jewels flashed, sharp as a promise. Beautiful enough to be worshipped. Cruel enough to be feared.
Kylix.
The name left the crowd like a sigh, and in Mirel’s chest it echoed fierce and heavy, an adoration that felt desperate, an impossible love he could never claim.
He had watched the Imperial Prince for years, from gutters and galleries and shadows. No one owned a space the way Kylix did. No one looked at a crowd the way he did. The sight of him hollowed Mirel with longing, a sharp ache he despised.
The Imperial Prince Helianth Zephyranth followed in white, blond hair catching the light, his mouth curved in a smile too smooth to trust. His pale eyes glimmered, and the silver on his incisors flashed when he laughed. Beside him strode his elder brother, Crown Prince Moargan Zephyranth, as he walked back into the heart of the arena, where chaos had broken out.
Mirel could not breathe. Below, chaos rolled through the pit. Moargan seized Cyprian’s arm, dragging him back from the cages as Luminary guards surged in every direction, their black and gold a tide cutting down the rioting prisoners. The crowd screamed and shoved, half in terror, half in glee, voices clashing with the horns and drums until the whole arena shook. Mirel’s gaze clung to his brother, watching him pulled away, aching with a longing so fierce it hollowed him, knowing he could not follow.
From his perch Mirel swayed, exhausted. He should leave. The frost had drained him. Sweat ran down his neck. Hunger hollowed him. He wanted to throw himself down from the rafters. He wanted to vanish into stone. He wanted both.Instead, he bent to grab a crust fallen near his boot and bit down hard, the dry bread stinging his throat.
Around him the crowd shoved and shouted. A knot of chaos broke loose in his section, drinks spilling, fists swinging as people surged toward the railing. Someone threw a cup. Another shouted a name. Guards forced their way through the aisles, but the noise only grew. A chair went over. A flare of panic rippled through the row.
The air thickened with heat and sound.
The Imperial Prince lifted his face. Maybe it was the shouting, maybe the shift in the crowd, but his gaze turned upward. It swept the tiers, sharp at first, then narrowing, searching as though the disturbance itself had called to him. For a fraction their eyes caught, the air holding still between them.
Heat rolled down Mirel’s spine like a hand. Awe flared, bright as pain. He loved that face like a knife. He feared it like a sentence.
Below, the Imperial Prince’s gaze shifted. Kylix raised one hand, a small motion, precise. A few of the black-cloaked Luminary broke from formation, moving toward the upper tiers.
Mirel’s breath caught. The crowd’s roar swallowed the sound of boots striking metal. Around him, people shoved for the exits, shouting over one another, eyes wide with sudden fear. Someone tripped, another climbed the railing to get clear. He didn’t wait to see how many followed. He turned and ran.
The last thing he saw was the glint of gold insignia climbing after him.
He should have left.
Now they were coming for him.
1
“Halt! Luminary coming through.”
Gasps broke the air as Kylix led his team through the arena and into downtown Zephyr. Parents pulled children into doorways. Heads lowered, but eyes still clung to the shimmer of black uniforms trimmed in gold. Fear and awe spread through the street, then stopped as if the city itself had exhaled.
Someone spoke Kylix’s name. Another voice cursed it. The silence deepened when his shadow crossed the cobbles.
“Eyes down,” he barked, voice cut clean. No one disobeyed.
The guards moved through the street in measured ranks, shields raised, visors lowered. Boots struck the cobbles in unison, the sound rolling like distant thunder. Steam rose from grates as they passed. Lights flickered. Windows snapped shut. Curtains rippled as faces vanished behind them. Old men pressed foreheads to doors. He watched the motion and thought of how small surrender could look. It was not only fear that held them. It was fascination, that silent pause when power walked by.
“What are we looking for, sir?” Vandor asked to his right.
Kylix grimaced. He wasn’t sure. Something. His chest tightened in reply. Yes, there was something out there that wanted to be chased.
“A thief. He stole a loaf of bread.”
He felt Vandor’s surprise beside him. He ignored it. “This way,” he said, and moved.
The river quarter reeked of nets and blood. Plasma globes swung on iron hooks, sputtering in the wind. Stalls shut one by one. Drones swept red beams across the walls. The alleys narrowed as though the city were folding inward. Every turn of their formation cleared another stretch of road before him.
