Chapter 32
“And then the whole damn level just went,” Daven said, hands describing an explosion, voice still rough from smoke. “One second we had them pinned, next the walls were spitting fire. I had to run to get the others out.”
Moargan, half-sprawled over his stool, tipped his beer bottle lazily toward him. “Sure, sure. Real heroic. Especially the part where you carried Ryneth out like a bride.”
That set the room off. Even Cyprian, drawing across his lap, bit back a grin. Daven’s face flamed red, and he reached for a beer that wasn’t there yet. Vandor, still posted against the wall, opened the fridge with one arm and tossed him a bottle. “For your cheeks,” he said.
Mirel watched from the counter, knees drawn up, faint smile tugging at his mouth. Kylix leaned against the opposite doorway, amusement flickering in his eyes as they met Mirel’s for a brief second.
“So what does he look like, this Ryneth?” Moargan asked, mischief lighting his grin.
“Come on, you can’t just leave us guessing,” Cyprian added.
Daven groaned. “He looked half-dead, Moargan. What do you want from me?”
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?”
Helianth shrugged, entirely too pleased. “He worries when I don’t answer.”
“Worries, hm?” Aviel murmured. “That what they’re calling it these days?”
The room warmed again, lighter, hesitant, grateful for the noise. Helianth muttered something under his breath about children and court gossip.
Cyprian rolled his eyes. “Good Light, there they go again.” He reached for the bottle of Kalla sitting open on the counter and poured into two glasses. “These boys and their strength contests. Here. Drink with me, brother. Today, you were a hero.”
“A hero.” Mirel shrugged it off but felt the praise warm his chest. The Kalla was sweet and strong, exactly what he needed.
Cyprian leaned in. “What was it like?”
“In that building?” Mirel shivered. “Awful. Like death. I don’t know why they hate us so much. And then Kylix… and I saved him.”
Cyprian nodded. “Yes, brother. You did.”
Something crackled in the air. Mirel felt his veins cool. He sought refuge in Kylix’s embrace. His amano was talking to Vandor, but his arms tightened instantly, as if feeling Mirel’s need.
Cyprian’s smile felt off, as if he’d been waiting for the right breath.
He lifted the canvas from his knees, thumb dragging a soft line through the charcoal.
The smear darkened the paper, deepening the shadows until the scene looked almost alive.
He rubbed at a corner, smudging the outline of a roof until his thumb came away gray.
The drawing looked both precise and restless, as if the lines had been dragged out of a storm rather than drawn by hand.
“I told you I’d show you when it was finished,” he said quietly. “It’s my blinding light, brother. They’re visions.”
He turned the drawing toward them. Black strokes caught the glow from the stove, a graveyard rendered in smoke and ash, frost curling through every line, helicopters ghosted above like pale insects of light. Even the air on the page seemed to move, snow swirling in stillness.
Mirel’s breath hitched. The image was beautiful but wrong, too exact, too knowing.
It was the building where he had almost lost Kylix, the tunnel of fire and ice reborn in charcoal.
Mirel could almost feel the heat again. The blast, the choking air, the moment Kylix’s voice tore through the flames.
Seeing it through his brother’s eyes made him shiver. The memory carried teeth.
Kylix’s hand found his waist, steady and warm, as if anchoring them both to the present. For a heartbeat the noise of the room vanished, only the pulse of that shared fear between them.
Moargan leaned forward, voice rough with pride. “That’s my lover,” he said.
Mirel’s eyes stayed on the page. “You saw all this… before it happened?”
Cyprian nodded once. “The light shows what needs saving. I only follow.”
Mirel remembered the hospital, his visit to the Imperial Consort. “Norma…”
Cyprian pointed toward another figure that sat on the side of the drawing. It wasn’t more than a few strokes, but drawn with an urgency he immediately recognized. “Ryneth.”
A hand found Mirel, his brother reaching out. He squeezed it.
“Davon-tus.”
The words left his mind on a whisper, and Cyprian’s eyes turned wet as he nodded. He’d heard him. The echo of the word still hummed between them, soft and electric, proof that the bond carried farther than speech. Mirel’s chest tightened at the sound.
“Norma has been restless over the past weeks. Perhaps that’s why Milanov decided to have your Aureate take place in the gardens of the Green Mansion and not in the arena.”
“I thought it was because he likes me.”
Cyprian chuckled, hand still on Mirel’s. “That too. Believe it or not, the Imperial is a good man. He dearly loves his wife. He wants Norma to be present, but won’t risk her health for crowded places.”
Cyprian had managed to portrait everything with uncanny precision despite the blunt grain of his instrument, the charcoal biting deeper where the memory still hurt.
Mirel nodded, tracing the dark grain where memory still hurt.
He traced his finger over the shape of Kylix, ghosting the canvas, then let his gaze take in the presence of Ryneth.
“She found him,” Cyprian said before Mirel could ask.
Mirel raised an eyebrow. “What? Who?”
“Norma. She came to me in my mind. Perhaps she found him before I did.”
Mirel frowned. “He was so fragile. Those animals. Light knows what they did to him.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out. They’ve all been taken to the hospital. Zimeon himself is involved, the old dog,” Helianth said, mingling in.
Kylix’s lips brushed over Mirel’s earlobe, his arm tightening around his waist. “Are you worried, little darae?”
“Look, Kylix. Look what Cyprian made.” Mirel felt Kylix’s dark hair brush past his temple as the Imperial Prince leaned in.
“Hm. Remarkable. Why Ryneth?”
“She felt him…and you.”
They all looked up at Aviel, who stood smug with a plate of hot tiganos in his hand. He offered one to Helianth. “Next time you say that Archer bakes the best ones on Helion, I’ll ban you from this kitchen.”
Moargan whistled. Helianth grinned, mouth full. “Maybe you’ll serve us something edible tomorrow, chef.”
Aviel rolled his eyes as the room broke into laughter once more, then held a tiganos out in front of Cyprian until his brother took a bite. “Rude. But I guess I can’t judge a man who’s just trying to mark his territory.”
Helianth snorted. “If you ban me, who’s going to tell you when you’ve over-salted them again?”
Aviel raised a brow. “I never over-salt. You just have weak taste buds.”
Moargan laughed. “That’s rich, coming from the man who nearly burned the stew last week.”
Aviel tilted his head, unbothered. “And yet you still ate three bowls.”
Helianth tossed him a wink. “Only because Archer wasn’t here to save us.”
“What do you mean, she felt him—and you?” Mirel asked. He was still staring at the drawing, awareness crawling through his spine like frost.
Aviel smirked. “You don’t need the answer to that. Kylix, take your darae home. He looks even paler than usual, the pretty thing.”
Mirel felt Kylix’s anger flare. He placed his palm over the one around his waist. The bond thrummed. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I think I am tired.”
Turning over his shoulder, he found Kylix’s dark eyes already pinned on his, laced with fire and worry.
Helianth grinned from the counter. “Better take him home before he melts on your arm, Kylix. He needs rest before tomorrow’s Aureate party.”
Kylix didn’t laugh. Mirel noticed how his silence thickened the air, quiet authority settling over the room as even the laughter knew to fade. He grabbed their things and guided Mirel out. Two Luminary guards followed as they stepped into the night.
The air outside was clean and sharp. City lights shimmered through the snow. Mirel and Kylix slipped into the car together. The doors shut with a soft hiss, sealing them into warmth.
For a while, they didn’t speak. The hum of the engine was the only sound. The space between them hummed low, charged with heat and restraint.
“I think Aviel was right.” Mirel slid closer until he sat between Kylix’s strong thighs, the prince’s chin resting on his head, arms wrapped tight around him. “I think she felt me. She went through Cyprian, so he could draw our location. She… saved us.”
Gratitude filled his chest, heavy and bright.
“No one ever saved me before,” he whispered. “No one ever thought I was worth it. They used to ignore me.” Tears turned to ice as they frosted mid-face.
“Sshh, little darae.” Kylix’s breath was warm. Mirel shivered, then melted against him.
“It’s been so long.” He gasped when Kylix hauled him up and turned him around, their thighs locking, faces close.
“No one will ever ignore you again,” Kylix said, brushing his hair back and cupping his head. He kissed away the tears at the corner of his mouth.
Mirel’s heart stuttered.
“Was it true?” Kylix’s voice was smooth but edged, irresistible. “About icing my crime scenes. About loving me before I even met you.”
Mirel’s cheeks flushed. “I—”
Kylix chuckled. “Oh, Mirel, my beautiful little ghost. You really think you could stay hidden from me?” His tone dropped, rougher now. “If I asked you to run again, would you let me catch you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Mirel barely had time to breathe before Kylix’s mouth claimed his. The kiss hit hard, all heat and possession. When Kylix drew back, his breath still warmed Mirel’s lips, tongue tracing the edge of a tear that hadn’t fallen yet.
“So Cyprian saved us with those helicopters, and Norma found you and Ryneth.”
“I felt her, in the hospital. Before and after. She truly is remarkable.”
Kylix’s smile softened. “She was. She and Mother were close friends. I remember them sipping tea for what felt like years.”
Mirel smiled, holding tight to Kylix’s shoulders. His insides buzzed from the kiss, from their words, from the deep sense that he was no longer alone.
The car slid through frost-lit streets. Snow thickened while the lights of Helion dimmed behind them, the distant spires fading into soft gold haze until only the hush of snowfall and the quiet purr of the engine remained.
In the window’s reflection they sat close, silhouettes blurred by the city’s glow, the promise of renewal stretching ahead like the road itself. Behind them, the estate windows faded, still glowing with red-cinder light.
The night felt endless.
The light still found a way through the frost.