Page 72 of Burning Ice
Archer raised a brow. “Already? I haven’t heard anything about that.”
“Apparently a cousin’s turning twenty,” Cyprian said. “His first victory.”
Archer’s mouth tightened. “Poor bastard who ends up in that arena.”
Cyprian didn’t reply, only met Mirel’s eyes. The look said enough.
When they reached the Academy steps, Cyprian pulled him into a brief hug. “It was good having you with us, brother. We need to do that more often.”
“Thank you,” Mirel said.
Cyprian released him and stepped back, watching as he entered the tall glass doors. His professor stood waiting by the desk.
“Good morning, Mirel,” Professor Kiba said. “Let’s start.”
By the end of class, Mirel’s ears were buzzing. He packed his things, slipped the slate into his bag, and left the building. The campus was still busy, students moving in clusters, their voices blending with the low hum of transports beyond the gates. He kept his head down and ignored the glances that followed as he crossed the courtyard.
The classroom lights had been bright and steady, but he hadn’t been able to focus. The words on the screen blurred, yet he copied them anyway, his handwriting smaller than usual. Every few lines he caught himself glancing at the door, half expecting Kylix to walk through it. When the teacher paused to adjust the board, Mirel traced the faint mark still visible on his wrist. The skin there was lighter and smooth where the chain had been. He covered it with his sleeve before anyone could notice and kept writing until the bell sounded.
The hallways echoed with footsteps and the steady hum of vents. Outside, the air was warmer, thick with fuel and rain. A black car waited by the curb, lights steady, engine low. Mirel slowed when he saw Kylix behind the wheel, profile turned toward the window.
“You’re late,” Kylix said.
“Class ran long.”
“Then you’re learning something.” His tone softened, but only slightly. “Get in.”
Mirel obeyed and closed the door behind him. He sat carefully, not letting their shoulders touch. The silence was sharp enough to feel.
“Did you eat?” Kylix asked.
“With Cyprian and Archer.”
“I heard. You liked it?”
“It was good.”
Kylix’s hand moved, resting on Mirel’s thigh, his thumb tracing a slow line that stole his breath. “Good,” he said. “You should laugh more.” He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Mirel’s neck, just below the ear. The kiss was soft but carried warning. “But not for them.”
Mirel’s breath caught. “I wasn’t.”
“I know.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Still, I like to remind you.”
The car pulled into the main road, the city sliding past in lines of light. Kylix drove one-handed, the other resting close enough that Mirel could feel the heat of it through his trousers. The world outside blurred to streaks of glass and gold, but it was Kylix’s stillness that caught him, as if every turn of the wheel was for him alone.
The roar found them in waves. It didn’t sound like joy. It sounded like a mouth opening. Blue pennants thrashed along the concourse. Vendors hawked light sticks that pulsed to the stadium rhythm. Mirel watched the beat climb the walls and felt the old instinct return, the one that counts exits without turning the head. Kylix’s knuckles flexed once on the wheel, the motion small and precise as a promise.
A voice rolled through the city speakers:
“Citizens of Helion, be advised. An unscheduled Aureate will commence at dusk.”
Mirel turned toward him. “So the rumours are true. But unscheduled?”
Kylix’s mouth curved. “Everything’s scheduled until the Imperior changes his mind. Someone wants a show.”
“Who’s performing?”
“Daven,” Kylix said. “My cousin.”
