Page 56 of Burning Ice
He pulled away, taken aback by the meaning of those words.
“She may have called you light,” he murmured, “but darkness keeps you warm now. Come on, let’s get you some sleep.”
He opened the door with a hand at the small of Mirel’s back. The gesture was gentle, but the pressure said mine more than any word could.
Mirel followed him up the stairs and to the bedroom. The hall lights dimmed as they moved, soft amber shadows pacing their steps. In the room, Kylix set the lights to low dusk and drew open a chest at the foot of the bed. He took out a clean shirt, folded soft, and handed it to Mirel before undoing his own collar. Boots off, belt set aside. Everything methodical. Mirel hesitated, watching him, then began to undress as well, slower, uncertain. Kylix moved behind him, undoing the last clasp himself. “If you stall, I’ll finish it for you,” he said quietly. His fingers brushed warm against cold skin, not cruel, but deliberate. Even in gentleness, there was the weight of command. Kylix crossed behind him, fingers brushing over his shoulder, steadying without words. The air smelled faintly of smoke and linen. It felt quieter than before.
“I keep seeing him,” Mirel murmured. The words were barely air.
“Good,” Kylix said. “Memory keeps you sharp. Forgetting is for the dead.”
They lay side by side, staring upward through the transparent roof. Kylix shifted closer, one arm sliding beneath Mirel’s shoulders. It wasn’t comfort; it was instinct, the need to keep what was his to take. The glass stretched above them, alive with gold reflections from the towers. Frost shimmered from Mirel’s fingers again, sketching faint rings that pulsed with his breathing. The shapes grew, circles within circles, then slow arcs that curved into wings. They spread wide, fragile, luminous.
Kylix watched, mesmerized. “What are you making?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter. At least you’re no longer trying to run.”
Kylix turned toward him, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“No,” he whispered. “Not trying to leave anymore. Learning to stay.”
He let the room give an inch. Enough for thin rings to take hold on the glass above, no more.
The wings dimmed, their glow softening until it matched their breathing. Kylix’s hand stayed over Mirel’s heart, feeling each slow beat settle under his palm. Outside, the city lights flickered, reflections gliding over the frost’s curved wings. He bent and kissed Mirel’s temple, the words unspoken but clear.
Mine. Safe.Home.
Kylix watched him in the low light, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He could feel how easily Mirel’s stillness answered his own. Possession wasn’t a word he liked, but it fit. Every breath Mirel took seemed to pass through his keeping first.
For a long while, the quiet held. The hum of the house matched his pulse, the walls still attuned to the temperature of their bodies. Kylix let his eyes drift upward. The frost shimmered faintly, like a held breath, and he exhaled. He’s learning to stay, he thought. And I’m learning to keep him.
It was a scary thought.
He told himself it was discipline that kept him still, not devotion. But the quiet in the room felt like something sacred, and he wasn’t sure who was worshipping whom.
He smoothed a hand through Mirel’s hair, whispering against it. “Sleep now. Tomorrow, the world will see what I already know.”
Kylix did not sleep at once. He lay listening to the house match their breathing. A faint ring of frost gathered where his palm covered Mirel’s heart, thin as a bracelet. It pulsed with each beat, then faded when he eased his hand higher to the collarbone. The skin there was cool. He smoothed the sheet up to Mirel’s throat and tucked it in with quiet care. Inside, frostfeathered the glass, holding the shape of wings until the light dimmed and the house fell still.
16
Zephyr was already awake by the time they left home. Neon banners blinked against the pale sky as trams hissed through the lower lanes and food vendors shouted over the din of traffic. The car slipped into the city’s veins, tinted glass catching reflections of flickering towers and the blue pulse of holo-signs. Inside, it rode a pocket of quiet through the noise, the windows throwing the city back at itself in clean, broken slices.
Kylix drove hard, Luminary guards flanking in formation, engines rising and falling in a controlled rhythm. Towers of glass climbed toward the clouds, every window flashing coded light, alive with the pulse of Helion’s high wards. The steering column warmed beneath his palms, the thrum of the engine syncing with his pulse. Lanes cleared ahead on command. The guards held position, tight, precise. A taste of metal lingered in the air, static brushing along his senses like an old warning.
The dashboard lights shuddered once, faint interference running through the feed as the Helion Academy spires came into view. A wide park spread before them, green and quiet, the last buffer between the city and its scholars.
“That’s Umber Park. It sits right next to the Art Building, where Cyprian studies.” Kylix pointed to where students had already gathered, enjoying breakfast and chatter in the cold morning hours.
Next to him, he felt Mirel shift in the passenger seat, his fear deliciously palpable. His gaze stayed on the grass. He didn’t look at the towers. His uniform was gray with a white brooch pinned just below the collar, marking him as a freshman. He didn’t speak. Kylix hadn’t expected him to.
“Over there is the daily control checkpoint. We’ll go through together so the guards know you.” He parked at the main entrance.
“Kylix…”
“Yeah?” Kylix’s voice came out rougher than he meant. He didn’t think Mirel had ever called him by his first name before. Not like this. Like he was begging for him. Begging for something he wouldn’t give him.
