Page 44 of Burning Ice
“My boy.” Her eyes filled with tears, her hand lifting slightly from the sheet. “My sweet one. My light.”
Mirel swallowed hard, his smile shaking. “I missed you every day,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her fingers before she reached toward him again.
Celia smiled. “I know. Because I felt you before I saw you.” She reached. Cyprian drew Mirel close enough for her hand to find his cheek. Cool skin. Small tremor. The frost stilled.
Mirel’s words cluttered in his throat. “So long,” he managed, the whisper breaking apart. “So long, I have waited for you.” His voice cracked, and he pointed toward the window, where the graveyard lay beyond the glass. “There. I stayed there, all these years. Close, so you wouldn’t be alone.”
Her eyes widened, tears spilling as her hand trembled on his cheek. Mirel’s throat worked, a sound catching that wasn’t quite a sob. Her hand was cool against his skin, a kindness so gentle it hurt. He felt Kylix watching him from the doorway, and for a breath, he didn’t know if the heat in his chest came from love or fear.
“You came,” she said, wonder in the thin voice. “You both came.”
“Yes, Mama,” Cyprian said. “We’re here.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re home now,” she whispered.
Silence held. Three heartbeats measuring the room. Lavender ghosted the air. Mirel pressed his forehead to her hand and let the warmth break him open. He did not try to stop it. For a long while he only listened, to her breathing, to Cyprian’s quiet sniff beside him, to the low hum of machines. The air carried the faint sweetness of lavender and heat. He had never known silence could hold so much life.
When she drifted back to sleep, Cyprian kissed her brow. Mirel could not move for a moment.
Home. The word home followed them out like light.
Kylix and Moargan waited at the door, their voices low in quiet banter that faded the moment Mirel and Cyprian stepped out. Moargan gave a small nod, the trace of a smile lingering before he took Cyprian’s hand in his and kissed his palm. Kylix’s gaze found Mirel’s. He reached out briefly, his fingers brushing Mirel’s hand in a silent question, a fleeting softness. Mirel clung to it, words cluttering in his throat.
Part of him wanted to be grateful for this moment. He wouldn’t have had it had he still been in the graveyard. Mirel lingered by the doorway, the hum of the machines still caught in his ears. The scent of lavender and metal clung to his clothes. He tried to hold onto the feeling of his mother’s hand, the weight of her voice, but memory already began to thin around the edges.He turned once toward the window where frost had started to melt down the glass, each line slowing into a heartbeat of light.
For years he had watched this building from the graveyard and believed it unreachable, a world that belonged to others. Now he had been inside, and it frightened him how small it was. He pressed a palm to his chest, as if he could still feel her touch there, and the warmth that shouldn’t have been his.
But then Kylix withdrew and turned back to his cruel self. “We go now. The Imperial grows impatient.”
Mirel glanced up at him, the words scraping out. “Yes.”
As they stepped into the hall, Kylix’s hand brushed the small of Mirel’s back, barely there but enough to remind him who held the leash now. The touch was brief, claiming, a promise wrapped in heat. Mirel’s breath stuttered before he caught it again.
Outside, the day waited bright and cold.
The brightness hurt his eyes after the still white of the ward. The air smelled of metal and dust. A faint breeze carried the trace of lavender from the open door, fading as they walked. He told himself not to look back, but his body did anyway, drawn by instinct. The hospital’s walls gleamed in sunlight, distant and unchanging, while the world inside him shifted slowly toward something that almost felt like belonging.
13
The Green Mansion rose before them like a cathedral of glass and steel. Light shifted under its skin, veins of heat running through the ribs.
Mirel stopped beside him, breath catching, eyes wide. He had seen this place before, in nightmares where beauty cut like a blade. The symmetry was too exact, the shine too clean. It was what the empire wanted its people to believe in. Power made flesh, fear polished into art.
“Steady,” Kylix said, his voice low. His fingers brushed Mirel’s wrist once, a signal more than comfort. “He’s waiting.”
The air outside the mansion hummed, steady and mechanical. Warmth rose from the vents along the stairs, carrying the dry scent of metal and resin. As they climbed, Mirel caught his reflection on every pane of glass. It flashed beside Kylix, doubling them in endless motion. Guards straightened as they passed. The stone beneath his boots was so polished it almost held his face. Sound carried clean, no echo wasted. Even their breath felt measured, held by the air itself.
He kept moving because Kylix didn’t stop.
Imperial Milanov Zephyra stood at the top of the marble steps, white cloak trailing across the polished stone. TwoLuminary guards flanked him, their armor burning faintly gold beneath the filtered sun. His hair gleamed pale as ash, and his amethyst gaze fixed immediately on Mirel. The resemblance to Moargan and Helianth was uncanny, the same sculpted calm, the same quiet threat that came from being born obeyed.
Mirel froze under that gaze. His throat locked; the air tasted of iron. Kylix tightened his grip and guided him forward.
"Uncle," Kylix greeted.
Milanov’s lips curved, amusement flickering like heat across his face as he clasped his nephew’s arm. "Kylix. My favorite nephew returns with frost on his heels." His eyes slid to Mirel. "And this must be your ghost."
Mirel managed a stiff bow. "Imperial," he rasped. "S-sir."
