Page 85 of Burning Ice
“Sure?” Mirel asked, voice small. His face had gone pale, breath unsteady.
“What’s wrong, little darae?”
He shook his head once, eyes wide, the frost already starting at the corner of his lashes.
Kylix leaned closer, keeping their joined hands steady. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s too much,” Mirel whispered.
“No,” Kylix said. “It’s right.”
Fire lit in his veins when he understood what Mirel meant to say. Grabbing his chin with his free hand, Kylix forced him to look down to where the lace was still curling around their flesh. “Look at it. It’s choosing for us.”
Heat trembled through their joined hands. For a second, everything narrowed to breath and pulse.
Ice erupted from Mirel’s hand, a frosted ribbon that coiled around their wrists. For a moment the lace stopped moving, then continued, pressing closer until their palms were entirely sealed together.
The lace caught the firelight.
For a breath the room held still. Heat pressed through the lace. The air tasted of resin.
Helianth’s tools clicked once against the tray. He did not speak. Milanov’s gaze stayed on their wrists, eyes sharp as a blade catching light.
Vandor shifted closer, quiet in his corner. Not intruding. Witness enough.
The lace tightened. The knot learned their pulse and drew it into one line.
Kylix’s throat worked. He did not look away. Mirel’s breath stuttered once, then settled under his.
“Hold,” Milanov said. Only that.
Opium hung. The fire ticked in the grate. Outside, a gull cut the high air and was gone.
The mark drank heat and answered with cold. Frost printed itself on the glass of the bookcase in a faint circle, then faded. The room seemed to remember it.
Kylix lifted their joined hands a fraction. “Inside,” he said, low.
Mirel did not flinch. The blue at his lashes cooled to pale. His fingers tightened, not from fear. From decision.
Light ran thin along the lace. Not flame. Not ice. A seam of both.
Moargan leaned forward, smile quick and wrong for ceremony, then stopped. Even he knew not to interrupt that seam stitching shut.
Reina pressed two fingers to her lips. Pride softened her face. Kylix’s father stood straighter, chin set, approval kept behind his teeth like any good soldier.
“Witness,” Helianth said, voice softer than his grin. He set the tray aside.
Milanov stepped in. He placed two fingers above the knot, not touching the skin. The air pulsed. A small, distinct click – the sort of sound that locks make when doors learn their owners.
“It is bound,” he said.
Vandor inclined his head. “Seen.”
The word moved cleaner than a cheer. Better than applause. The guards at the door lowered their eyes as if the room had ordered it.
Heat rippled once through the study and went still. The frost at the corner of the window breathed and cleared. Somewhere beneath them a pipe sang and settled. The mansion adjusted to the weight.
Mirel looked up. Kylix met him and did not smile. He did not have to.
