Page 125 of Burning Ice
Vandor, dry as stone, “He’s exaggerating. Daven had his hands all over him.”
The noise rolled back again, louder than before. Even Aviel, tending the pan, smirked as he flipped something in the pan. “You lot sound like schoolboys.”
Moargan tipped his head, grin widening. “Schoolboys don’t carry half-dead men out of fire. They just dream about it.”
Daven threw a napkin at him. “Shut up.” Laughter followed, louder than before.
The laughter hadn’t even settled when Aviel moved behind the stove, the scent of spice and smoke curling through the warm air.
Moargan tipped his head, grin widening. “Where’s your little shadow tonight, Aviel? Don’t tell me you’ve finally punished him into silence.”
Helianth grinned over the rim of his glass. “Probably chained him to the bed. That’s where you keep the pretty ones, isn’t it?”
Moargan groaned theatrically. “Spare us the imagery, please.” The noise rolled back again, loud and harmless, almost cruel. Even Vandor’s mouth twitched.
Aviel didn’t laugh. He scraped the pan once, a clean metallic sound that sliced through the noise.
A hesitant voice came from near the wall. “They say the Luminary took him in.”
The laughter fell away. They all knew what those words meant.
Cyprian looked up from his brush. “Theo?”
The guard nodded, uncertain. “That’s what they said. Some kind of technical hack. No one knows how he pulled it off.”
Aviel’s head tilted slightly, expression unreadable as he watched the stove flame. “A clever trick,” he said at last, tone mild but edged in something that made the room colder. He adjusted the flame beneath the pan, every motion too controlled.
“I still can’t believe I didn’t see that coming.” Yure cracked the last bottle of beer. Yure was unpleased, his brow furrowed as he leaned back on the counter. “Little shit sure knows how to break systems,” he muttered, half admiring despite himself. “I just don’t understand why. Bekn’s his brother. The guy abused him. Why release him?”
Vandor’s voice came low, almost to himself. “No one understood why he’d done it. But men don’t open cages like that unless something worse waits outside.”
“Has Theo said anything?”
“Not yet. They brought him in less than an hour ago, when you were still catching bad guys.”
“And pretty boys,” Helianth winked at Daven. The laughter that followed felt forced.
“Good Light, Theo.” Cyprian shook his head. “I thought I’d done him a favour by releasing him.”
“But he never really was free, was he?” Moargan tipped his head toward Aviel. “Wicked boy here had his hands on him.”
“Also orders from the Imperial,” Aviel said, his voice low, each word measured as though he were forcing himself not to flinch. Perhaps guilt rippled beneath the calm, and for a heartbeat the air felt too thin.
No one moved. No one said out loud what that meant. Milanov had been keeping secrets from them. Moargan’s eyes flicked toward Kylix, a sharp, silent exchange. Aviel’s hand tightened briefly on the pan handle, metal creaking under his grip before he released it.
Moargan cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, forcing a half-smile, “here’s to mercy, then.”
Helianth raised his glass, eyes glinting. “Justice is with Mirel now. Theo will be paraded during the celebration, a prey to be chosen for the Aureate.”
The words landed heavy. Aviel turned his head and fixed Mirel with a look only he felt, sharp and private, like a blade pressed against his thoughts. Frost crept up Mirel’s wrist as if his body sensed danger before his mind did. Aviel’s eyes darkened, the smolder in them unreadable but unmistakable. “Careful what warmth you borrow,” he murmured, voice low enough for only Mirel to hear. “It burns when it leaves you.”
“That’s enough.” Kylix banged on the kitchen table, the edge in his voice leaving no room for argument. Mirel hadn’t heard him approach, but he was here now, slinging a strong arm around his waist and pulling him against his chest.
Aviel looked away first, and breath returned to the room.
The lingering silence broke when Helianth’s multi-slate chimed. He glanced down, the corner of his mouth lifting into a self-satisfied smile.
Moargan arched a brow. “Oh dear. Archer calling you now?”
