Chapter 23
Mirel woke alone. The sheets still held Kylix’s warmth, faint and electric.
His hand found the hollow still warm from him.
The bond stirred, quiet and insistent, climbing from palm to chest until breath came short.
Need curled low – heat without touch, hunger without command.
He pressed his palm to his heart, trying to calm the pulse that refused to slow.
He sat for a moment, staring at the faint gold text still hovering above the nightstand. Kylix’s message from before dawn shimmered once before fading:
Work early. Might be with Moargan later. Don’t wait up.
The letters dissolved into light. Mirel read them twice anyway. A small ache followed their disappearance.
He showered and dressed, then sat by the open window for a while, the city heat pressing faintly against the glass. A soft track played through the wall speakers, slow and instrumental – something Kylix once left in the queue. It filled the quiet without demanding anything from him.
A knock came. One of the guards stood in the doorway, carrying a tray. “Breakfast, sir. Imperial Kylix requested that you eat.”
Mirel blinked. “He did, did he?”
“Yes, sir. He said, properly.”
Mirel sighed, a small smile tugging his mouth. “Tell him I’m obeying under protest.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard withdrew.
He ate slowly, half out of obedience, half out of habit. Between bites, the bond flared now and then, a pulse under the skin like shared breath. He reached for his multi-slate and typed:
Mirel: What time will you be home?
Kylix: Go to Cyprian’s. I’m with Moargan. I’ll meet you there.
Mirel: Okay.
He closed the multi-slate. The hum stayed. It throbbed through him, half hunger, half comfort. He crossed to the window and watched the frost curl faintly across the glass where his fingers rested. The frost thickened for a moment, catching the light in a way that seemed almost deliberate.
A man’s face appeared within it. He looked young, his hair glinting faintly as if lit from inside.
His eyes were pale grey, steady, as if he could see Mirel through the glass.
For a breath they looked at each other. The man smiled, and Mirel found himself smiling back.
He had never seen anyone so clearly within the frost – not a ghost or reflection but someone alive, caught mid-breath.
Then warmth reclaimed the surface and the image melted away.
He wasn’t afraid. He only wondered who the stranger was, and why the frost had chosen to remember him.
Cyprian’s visions seemed to burn paths through air, whereas Mirel’s frost etched memory into matter.
The thought stayed with him like a quiet weight. The day slipped by in unhurried rhythm, the bond’s pulse steady under his skin.
He set the cup aside and pulled his multi-slate closer.
A few of Kylix’s files still lay on the desk, stacked in a perfect line.
He opened one at random. The text filled the screen in small, dense letters, sections of policy, court orders, laws that once meant nothing to him.
Now they read clean, each word fitting where it should.
To follow the sentences without stumbling felt like power.
The rules of other men, and he could read them.
The thought steadied him. He tapped the screen once, then closed the file before the feeling could fade.
He searched the drawers and found a pack of red-cinders tucked beside a stack of receipts.
The paper felt dry, almost brittle, as if it had been waiting.
He took one out, lit it, and watched the smoke rise thin and pale.
The taste bit at his tongue. He hadn’t smoked alone before.
The habit belonged to Kylix, but something in it made the room feel less empty.
The scent mixed with the faint metal of the air system and lingered in his sleeve.
The frost on the window had thinned to a faint cloud. He touched it and waited, but no image came. The glass cleared and only his own reflection looked back, bright eyes, damp hair at the ends, a mark faintly glowing at his wrist. He studied it until the light dulled.
Reaching for a notebook from the shelf, he opened it to a blank page and began copying words from the file’s summary.
His handwriting still looked like a child’s, uneven, too large, letters wandering from the line.
He tried to keep them straight but they leaned anyway.
The effort made him smile. Kylix would tease him if he saw it.
The bond hummed once, soft and warm under his skin. It wasn’t a command, just presence. He pressed his palm to his chest, answering without sound. The warmth settled, quiet again.
The last of the smoke burned down. He stubbed the filter into the dish and sat back, listening to the slow hum of the wall vents.
The silence was different now, less empty, more like the pause before something began.
He looked at the faint ash on the rim of the dish, then left the pack where he’d found it.
On impulse, he lifted the multi-slate again and wrote a single line under his notes: To understand is enough. The letters came shaky, uneven, but they stayed.
The light outside shifted toward blue. The desk clock blinked once. Time to leave. He straightened the files the way Kylix always did, checked the lock, and took one last look at the faint frost on the glass before heading to the door.
“Ready, sir?” a voice called from the hall.
“Coming!”
He slipped the multi-slate into his coat pocket and stepped into the corridor. The scent of smoke and frost followed him out.
By the time he left, the sky had cooled to pale steel.
The guards waited by the gate, their breath visible in the chill air.
A hovercar idled beside them, lights glowing faintly against the mist. Mirel climbed in.
The ride was short. Zephyr unfolded below in bands of glass and shadow, the lights of the upper districts flickering through thin clouds.
When they reached Moargan’s quarter, the guards exited first, scanning the street before nodding for him to follow.
Mirel crossed the short path to the door. Two guards stood waiting, opening it as he approached. One guided him through the hall, past a dark corridor lined with canvases, until warm light spilled ahead from the kitchen.
Cyprian was there, half bent into the refrigerator, jars clinking as he searched.
Paint streaked his cheek and fingers, blue and gold smudged together.
He looked up. “Hey, there you are. I was just about to get our drinks ready.” He grinned, wiping his hand on a rag.
“I don’t know where everybody is, and honestly, I don’t care. It’s just us.”
Mirel’s eyes flicked toward the covered easel in the corner. “Are you ready to show me the artwork of the graveyard yet?”
Cyprian paused, the bottle still in his hand. A small smile curved his mouth. “Soon, brother. It’s not finished. It keeps changing.”
He set two glasses on the counter, filling them halfway. “Now… drinks.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The kitchen hummed with soft light and the low hiss of the vents. Mirel’s gaze drifted toward the stove, the place where Aviel always seemed to linger, silent and watching. The thought made him smile. “He’s a strange guy.”
“Aviel? Yeah.” Cyprian kicked the fridge closed with one boot, still shaking his head, then came back with the bottle of pink drink. “He’s been busy with his pet lately,” he said, wry. “Theo’s on his holo feeds, buried in code again.”
“Busy… what, with him?”
Cyprian chuckled uneasily, the sound void of real humor.
“Yeah. When I walked past his quarters this morning, I heard things I wish I hadn’t.
” He shook his head. “Poor Theo. He’s got no way out.
” Cyprian sighed, then glanced toward the door.
“Moargan’s been tense all week. His father barely sleeps.
Still waiting for signs from his wife, Norma. It’s wearing him down.”
“That’s why I’ve been drawing at night,” he added quietly. “I can feel her sometimes. She’s restless, like she’s trying to reach out.”
Mirel groaned. “Good Light.”
“Yes. I mean, his brother is the source of evil on this planet, but I didn’t save Theo just for him to end up with Aviel. When I tried talking to Moargan about it, he waved it off, saying it was an order given by his father. These Dariux – they’re crazy.”
They looked at each other and both burst out laughing. The sound loosened something in Mirel’s chest. Unexpected, breath-stealing warmth climbed through him, the kind of laugh that left him amazed that happiness could still fit inside him.
Cyprian set down the bottle. “Alright. Back to things we can change. The content of this bottle.”
“What is that?” Mirel eyed it suspiciously, the faint fizz tickling his nose with a sugary scent that made him wrinkle it.
“This is Kalla. Never heard of it? It’s delicious. Sweet. And there’s alcohol in it.”
“Alcohol?”
Cyprian frowned. “You’ve never drunk alcohol before?”
Mirel slowly shook his head.
“Well, then you’re about to experience something special. It’s a specialty from Tulniri, where I was raised.” Cyprian opened the cupboard, standing on the tips of his toes to reach two large flutes. He knocked one over, then swore when the rest came tumbling down.
Mirel’s hand shot out before he could think twice. Ice rose to the cupboard, holding the tumbling glasses in place. The reaction startled him more than the noise itself.
Cyprian turned over his shoulder. “Um, thank you? That’s incredible.”
Mirel flushed. Heat crept up his neck, a trace of the bond with Kylix still thrumming faintly under his skin. He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re amazing, Mirel. Just look at it. Shooting ice. You may have been hidden all those years, but since your arrival you’re all those cousins chat about in the Green Mansion.”
Really? Mirel wanted to ask, but he didn’t. Unease tightened his chest. Words locked up in his throat.