Page 31 of Ivy & Bone

An hour later, after Prue had bathed and washed her tangled mess of curls, she emerged from the bathing chamber in nothing but her underdress, only to find Cyrus stretched out on the bed.

Completely naked.

Of course. Had she really expected anything different? This man, this god, believed he owned everyone and everything. Why should he have to worry about anything like decency or respect or chivalry?

Prue should have balked at his nudity and all the parts she did not wish to see—particularly the lengthy breadth of his manhood, which was far bigger than she thought possible for anyone, god or no. But instead, she strode right up to the bed and reclined alongside him. To her immense satisfaction, Cyrus stiffened beside her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to sleep.” Prue nestled herself into the sheets, her body turned away from him as she sighed against the softness of the pillows beneath her. At least the bed was large enough for them not to touch. Even so, she could feel his warmth emanating from the other side.

When Cyrus didn’t answer, Prue added, “Did you expect me to lie down on the floor? Or perhaps spend the night in the bathing chamber?”

Cyrus grumbled something unintelligible. The bed shifted as he turned, no doubt to face away from her like she was. Without another word, Prue lifted her head to blow out the candle on the table beside her. Cyrus’s, however, remained lit. But that was fine. Prue could easily sleep even with the light gleaming from the other side of the room.

As Prue’s breaths fell into a steadier rhythm, she buried her face deeper into the pillow, wishing more than anything to block out the image of her sister’s vacant and lifeless expression. It haunted her daily. A never-ending reminder of her failure.

“How did you know?” Prue whispered, unable to stop herself.

Cyrus didn’t answer for so long that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep, despite his claim that gods didn’t sleep. But after a long moment, he murmured, “Know what?”

“That I’m responsible for her death. I never told you that.”

Cyrus exhaled a long, slow breath before responding. “I can smell her death on you. You keep it shrouded over yourself like a cloak. Like you don’t know who you are without it.”

Prue’s chest hollowed out at his words. His voice was so soft, almost tender, that it didn’t sound like him at all. As if the arrogant ass she’d been stuck with for the past day had vanished, to be replaced by this all-knowing and yet gentle being beside her. She wasn’t sure what to say. For one thing, she had underestimated his power, despite how often he reminded her of it. He perceived more than she realized.

Because he was right. Prue kept her grief close because she needed it. It was the only thing keeping her going. Keeping her alive.

Prue sniffed, her eyes feeling hot. “I thought you didn’t sleep.” Her voice was thick, and she swallowed hard.

“I don’t. But it doesn’t mean I don’t desire rest every now and then.”

Prue nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She crammed her eyes shut, willing her mind to be silenced so she could sleep. Though her body was weary down to her bones, her mind was a chaotic swirl of emotion and thought.

“You were right,” Cyrus said suddenly.

Prue cleared her throat. “About what?”

“I do live a sad life. An isolated life. And I do envy you humans in that regard. You . . . are never alone. I wish I could have that, too.”

Prue’s mouth opened, her heart jolting in surprise at his words. It was the most earnest thing he had ever said to her. And the spell that bound them together told her he wasn’t lying. She was absolutely dumbfounded that he would expose this side of himself.

Before he could lash out upon discovering he’d made himself too vulnerable, Prue said, “Sometimes we are alone. Even when we’re surrounded by other people, we can still be utterly and completely alone.” She paused, then went on, “Like my mother. We both lost Mona. You’d think that would bring us together, but it only drove us farther apart.”

“How so?” Cyrus seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Mama and I never got along. She always accused me of not taking my gifts or my responsibilities seriously. I know in her heart she wishes I’d died instead of Mona. She’s never said so, but somehow I can feel her resentment and disappointment in the daughter I’ve become. That presence stretches between us, growing more every day. We had a strained relationship before, but now it’s . . . intolerable.”

“Hmm.” The sound was a low rumble in Cyrus’s throat. “I know a thing or two about insufferable relatives.”

“Your brothers?” Against her better judgment, Prue found herself shifting so she lay on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She didn’t dare turn her head to look at Cyrus, though he seemed much closer than he had been before.

“Yes. And my father.”

Prue waited for him to go on, but he said nothing.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, “to be vulnerable once in a while. I won’t judge you for it.”

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