Page 80 of Burning Ice
“It was cold. L-lonely.”
The nights had teeth. The wind came through the cracks and cut the breath out of him. He used to count the seconds between each gust, just to know he was still alive. No one ever answered back, and that silence became its own prayer.
“Tell me more.”
Mirel rose. “Don’t want to.”
The words came halting, caught in his throat. The stutter wasn’t weakness, it was the sound of walls returning. Every word cost him balance. Every silence rebuilt it. He stayed on his feet, gaze distant. “There was nothing to say,” he murmured. “When you’re alone long enough, words stop meaning anything. The longer I didn’t speak, the less there was to say. It just became quiet inside my head, and I stayed there.”
Kylix watched him, heat shifting under his skin. He tried to imagine a world without sound, without anyone to command or defy. The thought made his chest tighten. He had never known quiet that wasn’t chosen.
A minute passed. Kylix watched him in the quiet. His right eye had frosted. A tear froze on his cheek, sculpted onto pale skin.
“It’s a beautiful gift,” he said at last. “Air. To command nature. To bend it to your will.”
“Hm.” Mirel lay back on the bed, watching the stars and the slow drift of a shuttle high above the night.
“F-fire is your element,” he said softly. Kylix moved through the glass space, heat pulsing off him.
“You are a prince.”
“I am.” Kylix’s gaze tracked the shuttle’s flicker as it lined up to land on Helion.
“What’s it like?” His voice came closer, too close.
Mirel turned. Kylix came over and sank onto the bed as well, reaching for a red-cinder cigarette from the pack. His powersparked into a flare of heat that lit the tip. Mirel watched, wide-eyed, then looked back at him.
“That was…”
“Awesome?” Kylix smirked, pleased by the awe in his gaze. “Fantastic? Or simply?—”
The rest of his words were lost as Mirel pressed his lips to his. Smoke and sweetness filled the air. Teeth met, a moan broke between them. Kylix’s laugh was swallowed when Mirel kissed him harder, unpractised but eager, and he almost thanked the opium for it.
“Whoo, little darae,” Kylix said when Mirel caught his mouth again. He slid his fingers through the pale hair, then pulled him back just to look at him.
Mirel’s mouth stayed open, breath fast. Frost had gathered on his cheek, riming his skin in the faint light. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“Never apologize.” Kylix brushed a knuckle over his flushed skin. “I’m already as much yours as you are mine.”
“Your fire… it was beautiful. When did it start?”
“When I was ten. I was in class and angry with the teacher. He told me to leave the room. I didn’t. So I lashed out.” Kylix smiled at the memory.
The room had smelled of chalk and oil. One blink and the desks were burning. The fire didn’t roar, it whispered, thin and clean, sliding over wood before anyone screamed. He still remembered their eyes, the line between awe and fear.
“You should’ve seen his face. Everyone’s face.”
“W-were you sent out?”
“Oh, yes. Zimeon was never impressed when we used our gifts during class.”
“Zimeon?”
“Milanov’s right hand. He was our tutor. Until sixteen, Dariux children are taught at home. After that, we either go to school or join the Luminary cadets.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Believe it or not, I was a little hothead,” Kylix said, grinning.
