Page 8 of Burning Ice
“Stop.”
The word struck like metal on bone, cutting through thought, cutting through air. Mirel flinched as if the sound had hit him. His body jerked, eyes snapping toward it, disbelief locking his lungs.
Geron stepped from the shadow, the firelight catching his ruined eye. His voice carried steady, older than fear. “You’ve got no right, Imperial Kylix. No claim. Not on him. Not here.”
Mirel’s heart slammed once, hard enough to hurt. For an instant he forgot the soldiers, the fire, even his own breath. Someone had stood for him.
The silence that followed was total.
3
“No right? Noclaim?” The Imperial Prince’s gaze slid to Geron, amusement cut quick. His smirk deepened as he gestured toward the boy who had forced himself upright among the stones. “Then why does he stand?”
Up close, Imperial Kylix was unbearable to look at, beauty turned to menace, broad shoulders wrapped in a black cape, heat shimmering. Golden eyes burned, smile too perfect, jeweled teeth flashing. The sight hit something raw in Mirel’s chest and he hated it.
The Luminary soldiers chuckled, laughter rippling harsh around the grave walls. Their mirth pressed in, hard. Kylix’s gaze turned from Geron to Mirel, fixing on him with cruel delight. Their eyes met. The air thickened. The graveyard went still. Mirel’s knees buckled, chest tightening until he could not draw air, yet pride forced his chin aloft. Sweat ran at his nape, thighs trembling, breath shuddering toward collapse, and still he stared at him.
Geron’s voice broke through again, harsher now. “He was just hungry. We all are. He’s innocent.” His courage from moments before faltered under the heat, the plea breaking rough against the stone.
Kylix did not look away from Mirel. His eyes stayed fixed, cruel amusement flickering there. “Do you think he trembles from fear, or because he wants my hand at his throat? Worry less for his hunger, old man, and more for mine.”
“Please,” Geron said, voice shaking. “He’s harmless. He doesn’t hurt anyone. He’s just a boy.”
Kylix lifted one hand, silencing him. “You waste your breath. He doesn’t need you to speak for him.” His smirk deepened. “Right, little one? You will speak to me for yourself?”
A few residents stirred, half rising in shaky solidarity for Mirel, but fear kept them rooted. A sharp intake of breath. Someone whispered a prayer. The guards jeered, shoving them back.
“Grave rats,” one sneered.
“Wasteland scraps.” The sound rattled against the stones.
Mirel forced out one thin syllable. “No.”
The word changed the air. Silence settled. Kylix tilted his head, voice low with menace. “No. You rise against me and now you deny me. Are you looking for trouble?”
Geron shouted. “No. He doesn’t want to fight you. You misunderstood. We apologize, sir. We are nothing.”
The guards’ laughter died, tension clamping down as even they sensed the turn. Kylix’s smirk spread, cruel and delighted. He crooked a finger at Mirel. “I think you do want to fight me. Come on then.”
Mirel stepped back. How often had he not dreamed of this moment? From up close, the Imperial Prince was breathtaking. Tall, strong, and handsome. Terrifying. But in his dreams, he didn’t die. Mirel fisted his hands, wondering how he had managed to end up in this mess, if there was going to be a way out alive.
Kylix tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “You will fight me, little ghost. You will lose. And then I’ll drag you where thestone sweats and the roof eats the light. Let you rot until no one remembers your name. Or perhaps I’ll keep you close after all. Taste every shiver. Learn the scent of your fear until it clings to me. Strip you down to tremors and breath until you have nothing left but me.” His jeweled incisor caught the torchlight.
No, he wanted to say. I don’t want to fight you. Never you. But words didn’t come. There was only fear.
When Kylix took one step forward, Mirel panicked. His ribs locked. His breath burned sharp. Frost broke through his palms before thought could stop it. Ice snapped from his fingers, jagged and wild, the strike aimed straight at Kylix.
The sound hushed the graveyard.
For a heartbeat he thought no one would move. Then the silence turned on him. Every face he could not see felt fixed on his skin, as if the whole graveyard had eyes. The frost at his palms brightened, betraying him. He wanted to hide them, to sink back into stone, but the heat of Kylix’s gaze held him. He knew what came next. The fire, the chains, the end of the quiet life he had stolen.
Residents drew sharp breaths, some stumbling back, others whispering as though a miracle or curse had just erupted. Even the guards stilled.
For a heartbeat Mirel thought he saw Kylix falter. His golden eyes widened, catching the light of the planets, and Mirel’s chest lurched with the thought that even he could unsettle the Imperial Prince.
Then Kylix’s smirk returned. He licked the edge of a jeweled incisor, eyes locked on Mirel as though drinking him in. “Well,” he murmured, “you’re not what you pretend to be.”
“I … I …” Mirel’s throat closed. Terror surged. He spun, boots scraping stone. He managed only a step before the guards closed in, shields flashing, hemming him into the circle. His breath stuttered, terror pressing harder. Beneath it, his heartthrummed faster, something hot and alien pulsing in his chest, as though it answered Kylix without his will.
