Page 45 of Burning Ice
Milanov’s laughter was low, edged with amusement. "No need for that. I prefer equals who can stand."
Mirel straightened, unsteady. Kylix’s voice dropped, a warning purr. "You only kneel for me, little ghost."
The Imperial’s grin deepened but he said nothing. He turned toward the massive doors. "Come in. You’ll find Helion’s heart still beating."
They entered a corridor built of polished stone and black glass. Heat shifted along the walls, the air vibrating with quiet pressure. Every surface caught their movement, scattering it in uneven flashes. The Green Mansion pulsed with faint energy, as if the building itself was waiting. Servants moved like shadows, offering crystal cups of clear liquor and thin gold cigarettes scented with spice and opium. The air softened as the puffers released their vapor, sweet and numbing. Mirel swayed slightly, his fear melting into disoriented awe. Kylix steadied him with a hand at his spine, feeling the tremor beneath his touch.
Inside the audience chamber, the scene was unexpectedly casual. Moargan and Cyprian lounged on low couches, half-finished glasses of amber liquor glinting beside them. Helianthstood by the fire, deep in conversation with an older man who laughed at something only he could hear. The sound of music drifted faintly from another room, soft enough to blur the edges of their voices. They all looked up when Milanov entered with Kylix and Mirel at his side. A few smirks, a lifted glass, the scrape of a chair pushed back, the effortless acknowledgment of power arriving.
Mirel felt their eyes on him. He shuddered, feeling frost war with sweat in his palms while his gaze frantically searched for his brother. Cyprian smiled at him, and Mirel could breathe again. He returned a shaky grin of his own, praying this wouldn’t be the last time he saw Cyprian alive. No one seemed alarmed, so it appeared he was safe. But appearances were lies.
"My, my, look at you." The older man broke away from his place by the fire and joined Milanov, a glass in hand. "Let me take a look at you."
Mirel panicked when the man tilted his head and looked him right in the eye.
"You’re scaring him," Kylix barked, and a heavy hand landed on Mirel’s hip.
"You are magnificent. Yellow eyes." The old man ignored Kylix and kept peering into Mirel’s face. "Let me guess. They turn blue when you create ice?"
Mirel flushed, shame creeping up his throat. He didn’t even know why he felt embarrassed, but it filled his chest, constricting it, making his stance rigid.
"He’s not practiced well yet." Kylix’s fingers had found a way under Mirel’s waistband, and hot fingers traced lazy circles on his skin. Mirel blinked, confused and aroused, grinding his jaw when the older man tilted his head left and right, humming in approval.
"This is Zimeon, Mirel," Milanov explained. "He will soon tell you more about why you’re here." Then he clapped his hands. "Now. Let’s welcome our new member in style."
Around him, everyone sat down on couches. Vandor and two other guards stayed posted by the door.
"Let me get this straight. You found this boy, who was named Mirel, and decided to keep him for yourself," Milanov said to Kylix. The room quieted. "And why was that?"
"When I found my brother, he was chained to Kylix," Cyprian bristled. "He’d kept him to himself. He?—"
Milanov raised his hand. Cyprian’s mouth fell shut.
Mirel felt Kylix straightening next to him. "He has the fire element," he said. "We chased him down because he’d stolen a loaf of bread, and when I tried to arrest him, he used his ice on me."
"You chased him down because he’d stolen a loaf of bread?" Milanov’s eyes twinkled. Next to him, Zimeon chuckled. "No, my dear nephew. That was not the reason."
The silence that followed felt heavy. Air filled with secrets. Mirel moved restless, wishing this meeting would end already.
"Have you ever heard of fated mates, Mirel?" Milanov asked.
Mirel shook his head. It wasn’t entirely true. He’d heard of it, like everyone else had. Fated mates were a myth.
"It appears very rarely that two people are made for one another. It starts with the meeting. Then, after that, your stomach tightens every time you see that other person. Your heart pounds, you feel restless, in your case, frost might appear, unwanted. Recognize that?"
Mirel hesitated. Didn’t dare look up at Kylix. Did he recognize that? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps. He shrugged.
Milanov smiled. "You are a very special young man, Mirel. You are what we call a Dariux. We all are." He spread his arms. "So you have returned back to your roots."
Cyprian’s hand tightened on his glass. His jaw clenched hard, the muscle twitching. The liquor inside the glass rippled once, catching the light from the fire. Moargan saw it but said nothing. Cyprian’s eyes flicked briefly toward Kylix, then toward his brother. He looked proud and horrified at the same time. For a second the room felt split between what was said aloud and what all of them understood. Mirel saw it too, the shock behind the calm, the restraint it cost to keep his mouth closed. The heat from the fire made the air thick. He looked down again, grateful Kylix’s hand was steady at his back.
His roots. Mirel didn’t know what to think. His leg started bouncing, only quieting when Kylix placed a heavy hand on it. "Dariux?" he finally managed.
"Zimeon, please explain our new member how special he is."
The doctor cleared his throat. "Helions consider their rulers to be immortal, favorites of our nature. They believe they are wise in spirit and generous in life. Perhaps you have heard of the tales. Of how Imperials can fly, shoot fire from their eyes, create visions in their mind, create ice with the tips of their fingers, and so on. After our life, we get to rest under the trees we were gifted by birth. That way, we can dedicate our afterlife to breathing through those trees."
"D-do I have one?" Mirel clamped his mouth shut, surprised the words had come out in one flow.
