Page 87 of Burning Ice
A hush rippled through the room. Frost veined the tiles where he fell, spreading like breath across glass. Every lamp seemed to dim for a heartbeat, as if the bond had drawn the air out of them. The sound that left him wasn’t pain, it was surrender. For a moment every eye in the room caught the shimmer of the mark, still burning where their wrists had touched, before Kylix moved. Kylix’s pulse spiked. Heat snapped through the bond, pulling his breath with it. The frost that spilled from Mirel’s lashes brushed his sleeve before melting to nothing.
The timing was perfect. He swayed, eyes rolling once, and would’ve hit the floor if Kylix hadn’t caught him mid-collapse. A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
“Guess the hero’s spent,” Helianth said, grinning. “Try not to set the house on fire.”
Kylix adjusted his hold, one arm under Mirel’s knees, the other around his back. The black cloak fell around both of them as he lifted him, platinum hair brushing his temple.
“I’ll take you home, little darae,” he said quietly, almost fond, and turned for the door.
The cloak brushed the floor. Frost followed.
The corridor swallowed them. Heat from the binding still clung to their skin, seeping through the cloaks until the air shimmered faintly around them. Guards stepped aside as they passed, eyes down. Condensation gathered on the glass walls, thin trails marking their route.
Vandor moved ahead and opened each door without a word. Lamps flickered in the draft, light bouncing over steel and marble. Mirel’s head rested against Kylix’s shoulder. His breath was shallow, hair damp against his throat. The pulse at his temple beat in time with Kylix’s own.
They crossed the inner bridge where the floor turned transparent. The city glowed below, gold and frost layered over each other like memory and heat. Mirel’s fingers twitched once, brushing Kylix’s wrist. Frost traced the edge of the sleeve in the shape of their new mark. Kylix watched it melt, the skin beneath warming in reply.
The gate opened ahead. Wind met them, sharp and cold. Mist rose between the torches and caught on their cloaks. Kylix shifted Mirel higher in his arms, feeling how light he was. Beneath the fabric, his body radiated chill that sank deep into Kylix’s chest. It steadied him more than it should have.
Vandor stopped at the car. Kylix nodded once and stepped inside. Mirel stirred, voice rough. “Still burning?”
“Still breathing,” Kylix said. “Rest.”
The answer eased him. His body went quiet, head turning until his mouth brushed Kylix’s collar. A faint line of frost kissed the skin there before fading. Kylix drew a slow breath and looked out at the lamps receding through the mist.
The fountain hissed as the doors closed. For a moment the air outside fogged white, then cleared. Kylix let his hand rest over Mirel’s chest, counting each rise of breath until the rhythm steadied. The hum of the engine filled the quiet.
He glanced once at the window. Light flickered across the glass, then dimmed. The night folded around them, and the frost on Kylix’s wrist caught the last trace of it before fading to warmth.
Outside, the Green Mansion’s lamps burned steady against the dusk. Inside, two marks cooled to warmth.
The drive home was quiet, heat still clinging to their wrists. Vandor stayed in the front, saying nothing. Mirel stirred once, half-conscious, a soft
breath leaving him as if his body were still catching up with what it had done.
When they reached the estate, Kylix lifted him, cloak falling loose around them both. The Waltr opened at his touch, its oval glass glinting with the faint light from outside.
He set Mirel down on the bed. For a moment he simply looked at him. Pale hair sat damp at his temple, lashes dark against his skin, mouth parted around a breath that caught and released again. The line of his throat curved softly and defenseless, a place meant for heat. Mirel shifted, the faintest sigh leaving him. His hand twitched once against the sheet, reaching for nothing. Kylix watched the motion, quiet as breath.
“Still fighting,” he murmured to himself. The faint color of frost clung to his wrist where the bond still glowed.
Kylix loosened the clasps of Mirel’s cloak and slid it away. The air in the Waltr shifted temperature to match him.
“It’ll burn less by morning,” he said quietly. “Your body’s learning what it means.”
Mirel made a sound in reply, low and lost between sleep and awareness.
“It won’t hurt,” Kylix added, voice even. “It will answer. It’s what the bond does.”
He brushed his thumb over Mirel’s wrist, tracing the shimmer of the new mark where heat met cold.
“It’s you now,” Kylix said. “You’re essential. The moment it sealed, the world felt it. You’ll feel me the same way, through air, through distance. No one can unmake that.”
He paused, still looking at him. Mirel’s lashes fluttered once, then stilled.
Mirel’s lips moved, shaping no words, only a sound that might have been his name.
“Sleep,” Kylix murmured. “You’ve earned that.”
