Page 83 of Burning Ice
“Unrest in the outskirts of Zephyr,” Kylix said. “Pretty normal after an Aureate. It’s contained. The search for refugees from the prison break still hasn’t brought any hits.”
“Refugees? Is one of them the man who hurt Cyprian?”
“Yes. His name’s Bekn. He leads a rebel group called Attica. They’re dangerous.”
Another alert flashed. Kylix’s expression shifted. “My uncle’s at the hospital again,” he said, clipped. For all that power, something rough edged his voice, ash where Mirel expected flame. “He thinks Norma moved.”
“He believes she wakes up?”
He nodded slowly. “He believes it every time. Moargan can’t bear to talk about it anymore, so he comes to me. I listen. It’s all I can do.”
He pressed a kiss to Mirel’s forehead. Their noses brushed, lingered. Their hands met at their throats, fingers curling there in quiet recognition.
“Now we sleep,” he said. They lay back on the bed. The Waltr glass breathed frost and light above them.
Mirel closed his eyes. The lights of the capital pulsed faintly through the glass wall. A siren rose somewhere far away, then faded. The house breathed steady around them, two heartbeats caught inside it.
Elsewhere, a transport shuttle landed. Engines whined through the dark. The air there reeked of oil and fear. Floodlights cut the mist as figures were dragged out, shackled, heads forced down. Orders barked, the hum of restraint fields drowning protest.
Something dangerous had arrived on Helion that night, and none of them yet knew it.
22
The gate to the Green Mansion opened. Beyond the arch, the garden lay still. Dark soil, clipped hedges, pale blossoms folding under the late light. Moisture lingered from irrigation, silver tracing the stone paths, and the faint hum of water whispered under the leaves. The afternoon carried a dry warmth. Somewhere, a gate hinge clicked and settled. The guards watched but didn’t speak.
Vandor waited inside the archway. “Afternoon,” he said as they passed.
Mirel stopped in front of him. “How are you doing?”
For a brief second, Vandor seemed surprised. Then his mouth tipped into a brief, rare smile. “Holding steady. You look better than last time I saw you.”
Kylix’s growl rumbled under his breath. “You’ve been looking that close?”
Mirel pulled on his arm. “Kylix.”
Kylix snorted, half a huff, half surrender. “Should’ve known you’d defend him.”
Mirel arched a brow, amused. “Someone has to balance your moods.”
Kylix’s eyes narrowed in mock warning, the corner of his mouth betraying the start of a smile.
Vandor bowed, a flicker of embarrassment softening the precision of his stance. Mirel tugged at Kylix’s sleeve to move him along, but as they passed, Vandor flashed a quick, cheeky wink.
Kylix caught it, a faint darkness crossing his face before it broke into something almost amused. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “He’s braver than I thought,” he added.
“I like him. He’s quiet too. And he protected me that day. I won’t forget that.”
Kylix’s mouth twitched, dark amusement cutting through the possessive edge. “Good. Because I won’t forget it either.”
They followed Vandor through the Green Mansion’s polished halls. The air cooled as they moved deeper inside. Lamps burned in alcoves, their light steady against the marble. Kylix’s boots struck the floor in measured rhythm. Mirel matched his pace, half a step behind.
Inside, the study smelled of paper and polish. Shelves lined the walls, a few lamps burning low. The fire in the hearth gave off a steady warmth, and the city beyond the window blinked with afternoon light. The fire carried the faint scent of resin. Papers lay stacked in perfect lines on Milanov’s desk, a single pen laid across them like a weapon at rest.
Kylix’s parents were already there, standing near the window. His mother, small and dark-haired with deep brown eyes that still carried a glint of mischief, reached for him first, pulling him into a brief hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Congratulations, my Kael,” she said softly, though her smile betrayed pride. His father clasped his shoulder with a firm nod. He carried Kylix’s sharpness aged into authority.
“So this is the man my son has decided on.” He extended a hand.
“N-nice to meet you, sir,” Mirel said, grinning at Kylix’s mortified look.
