Page 12 of Burning Ice
His body didn’t know how to be still without choice. The tremor shamed him. For a moment he thought of Cyprian. Was his brother somewhere inside this same building? Would he know him like this, kneeling under glass? What would he think, seeing him chained?
Mirel tried to reach for him, the way he sometimes could. Nothing answered. The link stayed blind without sight. It only opened when he saw his brother’s face.
“You fought well,” Kylix said, tone almost conversational. “Fear made you quick. Clever. Beautiful.”
Mirel’s jaw locked. He said nothing.
Kylix’s mouth curved, slow. The jewels on his teeth caught the lamplight, small sparks in the dark.
“I know you can speak. Bodies speak even when mouths refuse.” His gaze moved down and back, unhurried. Mirel felt it crawl his skin. His wrists throbbed where the cuffs rubbed. His shoulders ached from hunger. His eyes burned with exhaustion.
Kylix drew in a long breath, the sound low, almost pleasure. “Yours shouts,” he murmured. “And I have so many questions.”
Mirel snarled. Heat flared, sharp as a match. Kylix’s gaze lingered at the hollow of his throat, the tremor in his knees, the damp shirt clinging to his ribs. Each detail studied like property.
Mirel lifted his chin. Hate and shame burned together. The chain rattled as he shifted, fury alive in each movement. His silence stayed his only defiance, though his breath betrayed him, rough and uneven. The cuffs cut deeper. Blood slicked his wrists, each pull louder than any word.
Kylix’s brows rose. Surprise flickered, then curved into smug delight. “So stubborn,” he said, tasting the word. His tongue brushed the jewel on his tooth, slow, like he was learning patience. Hunger lived behind his gaze.
He touched the multi-slate on his wrist. “Bring food. Roast, bread, and wine.”
A guard left through the glass door. Vandor stayed, silent. Kylix’s gaze lingered on Mirel’s mouth, then dropped to his throat. “You look starved,” he said, voice low enough to scrape. “When it arrives, you’ll learn what it means to want.”
A guard returned and set a tray on the low table.
“Leave,” Kylix said. “Vandor, you stay.”
Bread and fruit steamed in the glow. Slices of roasted meat shone beside them, the scent rich and heavy. Mirel’s stomach knotted so hard his throat closed. He tried to stay still, but his body bent toward the food.
“An answer, and you eat from my hand,” Kylix said. “Your name, little ghost. Or silence, and you starve.”
He tore the bread in half and held it just out of reach.
Mirel’s mouth watered. He hated the want. He forced his head aside, but his gaze betrayed him, drawn back to the food again and again. Silence was all he had left, but his body ached with need.
Kylix smiled and set the bread within reach. “Then prove me wrong. Don’t touch it.”
Minutes dragged. Heat breathed through the glass. The chain bit. Mirel’s stomach growled loud enough to shame him. He lasted longer than he thought he could, snarling once, jerking against the chain until dizziness blurred the walls. His hands shook too hard to stay fisted. A low sound broke from his throat, raw and feral.
The scent thickened until it became the air itself. Mirel closed his eyes and tried to think of cold things. Rainwater, stone, the pond after frost.
Warmth pressed closer. He heard Kylix breathing, slow and even. Each breath too loud. His own matched it before he noticed, a small betrayal of rhythm. When he caught it, shame rose hot in his throat. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood and held the pain as proof he still belonged to himself.
Kylix watched, unmoving, then lowered the bread a fraction. “One simple truth,” he said. “Do you live in the Wastelands?”
Mirel’s mouth twitched. His throat worked, but no sound came. Hunger carved him hollow, saliva thick on his tongue. His eyes burned as he glared at the food, every muscle drawn tight in denial. He refused to reach for it, though his body begged. Silence turned to torment.
Kylix’s teeth caught the light when he spoke. “So stubborn,” he said. “You’ll break, and I’ll be here when you do. I have all the time in the world.”
Desperation burned through Mirel’s skin. He pressed his forehead to his knees. Tears gathered, the first in years. The cold would have held them back. The heat unmade him.
The food stayed untouched, a cruel offering he could neither accept nor forget. He hated himself for wanting it, hated Kylix more for watching. Rumours said the walls remembered screams. Now he wondered if he looked like one. His stomach cramped, the pain doubling him.
Kylix did not gloat. His silence worked deeper, patient, watching what would crack next. The chain bit. The glass held its heat. Mirel curled smaller on the stone, hunger hollowing him until he trembled at the edge of collapse.
He lasted until his strength was gone. His forehead fell to the floor, a small, final motion, as if hunger had dragged him down.
Kylix watched him fold in on himself. Power liked silence. It gathered there, slow and certain. He told himself this was control. Nothing more.
