Chapter 6
Mirel had fallen asleep.
In the faint light of the sky, lit by a few stars and nearby planets, he looked breakable.
Or perhaps not.
Kylix grinned as he took in the scene. The chain was taut where his little ghost had tried to reach the food and water. He must have fallen asleep trying.
He circled him, watching from every angle the glass returned.
The reflections multiplied him. In one panel he was calm.
In another, ruthless. Between them lay something almost human.
Kylix studied each image as soldiers study a weapon, searching for fault, admiring the cut.
The Waltr threw back every version, each one lit by a separate shard of glow.
He wondered which one Mirel would see on waking, the savior, the captor, or the fire that had chased him here.
He touched the glass. Steam marked his palm before it cooled. The air smelled of copper and apple, of night held still.
Six reflections watched him. Six versions of a ruined angel locked in hunger. Blond hair spread across the floor, features fine enough to cut. A jaw shaped by famine.
That would change.
Kylix stood longer than he meant to, letting the silence build. The Waltr was made for this. Every scrape of breath came back louder. He heard Mirel’s pulse before he saw it, beating at the hollow of his throat, small and fast. Kylix’s own heartbeat answered, slower, heavier.
Between beats, the Waltr seemed to breathe.
Heat drew outward, then folded back, a slow inhale that made the glass hum.
Every shift of Mirel’s body rippled through the reflections.
Kylix listened for it the way priests listen for prayer.
The silence waited to be filled, and he found himself speaking into it without sound, a confession made through pulse alone.
Mirel murmured in his sleep. His lips stayed parted.
Heat gathered low in Kylix’s body. The sight of it, that unguarded mouth, helpless and open, struck deeper than any word.
He imagined pressing a finger there to see if he would swallow even in dreams. He imagined holding fruit to that mouth until instinct forced him to take it.
He imagined biting him awake, jeweled teeth at his throat until his eyes opened wide.
“Even asleep you fight me.” Kylix crouched low. His hand hovered a breath above Mirel’s throat, not touching. Heat alone made the skin damp. “Good. I’ll wake you hungry. We’re only done when I say so.”
He bit into the apple. The sound was sharp, wet. Juice ran down his hand. The noise made Mirel stir. His eyes opened, gold dulled by exhaustion, brightening when they found Kylix waiting.
“Open, Mirel.”
Mirel’s jaw locked. He shook his head once.
Kylix pressed the apple to his mouth. Juice ran over his lips. He kept them shut, breath sharp through his nose.
He could have forced him. The thought came easy. Command lived in his bones. He waited instead. Power was quieter when it fed on patience. Watched the small tremor move through his little ghost’s shoulders and felt the echo answer in his own hands.
The want was not hunger. It was precision, the need to see how long stillness could last before it broke.
He almost laughed at himself. Almost.
The air stayed tight between them. He could hear the chain shift with every breath Mirel took. The small sound drew him closer than he meant to be. He let it hold him there, the distance narrow enough to taste the salt of exhaustion, to see how defiance lived even in sleep-creased skin.
Kylix smiled. He leaned in and caught the trail with his tongue. The jewel on his tooth caught light. He bit from the same fruit, lips brushing skin. The act was slow, obscene in its patience.
He chewed with purpose, the sound wet and close. “Sweet.” His voice stayed low. “You want some?”
Mirel shook his head.
“I saw Cyprian today. Do you know him?”
Another shake.
Kylix clicked his tongue. “One truth. Say it and you eat.”
Mirel turned his face away. His jaw stayed locked.
“Stubborn.” Kylix’s gaze held. “And afraid. But your body will speak first.”
Juice streaked his cheek. Kylix caught it with his thumb and pressed to his lips. He pushed until the slick passed into his mouth.
Mirel’s tongue met his fingers, soft and wet. His breath hitched.
Kylix’s voice dropped. “That’s it.”
Mirel tried to pull back, but the chain fixed him. The cuffs held. His pulse fluttered against Kylix’s hand.
Movement stirred beyond the glass. Vandor stood outside, posture exact, eyes lowered.
He had heard enough to understand and pretended not to.
Reflections cut him into pieces, one face turned toward them, one turned away.
Kylix let him stay. Punishment carried further when witnessed.
“You want more fruit?”
A shake of the head.
“How do you know Cyprian?” Kylix asked. “Or was it Moargan? Helianth?” He lifted another piece of fruit. “You saved the Prince. By chance?”
He pressed the prune to Mirel’s lips. “Or design?”
Juice slid down his chin. Kylix followed it with two fingers, slow. He pushed those fingers to his mouth.
“Lick,” he said. “Clean me.”
Mirel gagged, sputtered, liquid spilling from the corner of his mouth. Kylix’s hand caught his jaw and held it open.
“Swallow. Let me hear it.”
Mirel obeyed. His throat clicked.
Kylix laughed once. “Good. Even silence obeys me. What else will you learn to swallow?”
He caught a fistful of hair and pulled his head back. His knee pressed in, thigh against thigh. The jewel grazed the skin near his ear. Kylix felt the jump of pulse there and smiled into it.
“Look at me.”
Gold eyes met his. Bright. Furious.
“You will stay here until you tell the truth. I don’t care how long it takes.”
Mirel made a low sound. It vibrated against Kylix’s fingers.
Mine.
“You are mine now. Your lies, your stillness. All of it. I decide if you live or die. Do you understand?”
Mirel nodded. His eyes glazed with exhaustion. Sweat gathered at his throat.
“The better you are, the kinder I can be. Now, the ice. When did you first feel it?”
Mirel lifted a shoulder.
Kylix drew his fingers back and licked them clean. Mirel’s eyes widened.
“You taste good, little ghost. Tell me something else. Why the graveyard?”
Silence stretched until it hurt. Then a rasp, “…Always cold.”
Kylix hadn’t expected an answer. He took it anyway.
The apple gleamed in his hand. “What does someone dream of who lives with the dead?” he asked. “Someone finding you? Someone like me?”
Color touched Mirel’s face. “…No dreams.”
Kylix smiled. “Why Cyprian?”
“…Pulled. When I saw him.”
Kylix’s gaze sharpened. He leaned close, mouth near his cheek. “Pulled? You mean recognition?”
Mirel lifted one shoulder.
Kylix poured water into a glass. Clear drops formed at the rim. Mirel’s eyes followed, hungry. His tongue tried to wet his lips.
“One word. Earn it. Recognition?”
Mirel said nothing.
Kylix tipped the glass. Water spilled to the floor and hissed on the metal. “Then stay thirsty.”
He held out the apple again, pressing until juice marked his mouth. Then he pulled it back and bit into it himself. “Every word you starve, I’ll take from you instead. Until nothing’s left but silence.”
Mirel’s throat moved. A swallow he hadn’t meant.
Kylix’s pupils darkened.
“Lick,” he said. “Show me you understand.”
Mirel’s gaze lowered to his mouth. He licked his lips. Slowly he leaned forward.
Their lips met. Kylix growled into the contact, teeth grazing soft skin. Mirel flinched but could not move. The sound he made cut through Kylix’s control. He took one slow swipe of his tongue, tasting fruit and something deeper. Fire moved through his chest.
He pulled back. “What are you?”
Mirel stared, flushed. “…Wrong.”
“No, little ghost. Not wrong.” Kylix’s voice came low. “Mine.”
The word echoed between them. Kylix hated the sound of it, the truth of it. He didn’t know why he’d chased him to the graveyard, why the need had begun before sight.
Now Mirel sat in his Waltr, chained and trembling, yet hunger lived under his skin. Kylix could feel it, the same pull that had drawn Cyprian.
He would guard him himself. Let no one near.
Mirel sagged against the wall, eyes half closed. Too thin. Too tired. Tomorrow he would feed him.
Kylix lifted him easily and set him on the bed. The chain locked to the side. He watched until Mirel’s eyes closed.
He weighed nothing. All bone and frost and quiet defiance. Hunger had a beauty of its own when it refused to beg.
His rest came uneven, body twitching once. A sound caught in his throat.
“What haunts you even in sleep?”
No answer came. Only breath, shallow and cold. Leaving the same white pull in the air, something Kylix could feel but not name.
“Why so peaceful, little one?” Kylix’s fingers traced jaw, throat, collarbone. Mirel sighed.
“I could have destroyed you. You give me no truths, and you kiss me instead.”
The heat eased but did not fade. It lingered like a name spoken too soft.
Kylix sat on the bed’s edge, watching breath mist faintly between them.
The frost that once threatened the glass now circled the chain, a thin white halo that pulsed with his heartbeat.
He brushed it once and felt the pulse answer through metal.
For the first time that night, he wasn’t sure which one of them was caged.
The chain gave a faint ring. A breath of frost crept from Mirel’s wrist, thin as a vein, cold against his palm. A warning, not a wound.
He almost smiled. Even half-asleep, his little ghost still resisted.
The sound of the lock settling filled the room again. Beyond the glass, night pressed in heavy and still. He stood a moment longer, waiting for the pulse under the metal to fade. It did not. The rhythm stayed, quiet and steady, marking him as much as the chain marked its captive.
He checked the locks, the heat, the lights. Then turned back once more.
“You’ll dream of me tonight. I will know.”
He paused at the seam of the door, the chain’s tremor still in the air. “And when I return, you’ll beg for what I deny.”
The glass held their reflections side by side, shapes blurred by frost. One stood. One slept.
For a moment they breathed together, the same mist hanging between them.
Kylix lifted a hand but did not touch. A print appeared anyway, faint and white, as if the Waltr remembered him before he left.
The words hung there, the last thing he left behind.