Page 35 of Ivy & Bone

Evander, the brother closest to Cyrus, would never do anything to harm the Underworld. Romanos wouldn’t, either. They were both far too reasonable for that.

But the others? With the strength of Aidoneus and the wrath of Vasileios—yes, they certainly could. A force like that could easily tear apart the Underworld.

Prue lowered her hands, her face streaming with tears as she looked at him. “What’s going on? What are your brothers doing?”

Cyrus closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. “They poisoned the river Acheron. It was the one thing linking me to the Underworld. They hope to sever me completely from my home. But . . . in the process, the river of souls is dying.”

Prue’s mouth fell open. “So . . . you can’t get back home?” She took a step back from him. “Have you been lying to me this whole time? We’re here traveling together, and you can’t even get in to the Underworld?”

“No, no,” Cyrus said hastily. “I can still get in, I just . . . may not be able to stay for long. The Book of Eyes must remain in the mortal realm. And with the river poisoned, that book is now the strongest anchor attached to me. I will be pulled to the mortal realm the instant I set foot in the Underworld. But I will fix this, Prue. I will find a way to tether myself to the rivers again.” He shook his head. “I haven’t lied to you. You know I can’t.”

Prue swallowed and drew in a shuddering breath. “All right.” She blinked, awareness crossing her features. She took in his arms, still outstretched as if to grasp her shoulders again. Then she glanced down at herself and took another step back.

Cyrus abruptly dropped his arms, realizing what she had: he had touched her. He had comforted her. Not a drop of animosity between them. What the hell was the matter with him?

Cyrus cleared his throat and rubbed his jaw. “Right. Well. We should go get those supplies, then.”

“Yes,” Prue said quickly. Too quickly. She snatched her dress from the floor and disappeared into the bathing chamber, leaving Cyrus feeling like a damned fool.

Voula City was just as tiresome during the day as it was at night. Even with the morning sun illuminating the rise of buildings around them, it didn’t erase the stink of the passersby or the cramped feeling of walking alongside thousands of people on the street. Gods, Cyrus missed his isolated domain in the Underworld.

Prue kept a swift pace as if hoping to lose him in the crowd. Cyrus got the feeling she was embarrassed by what had happened in their room, though he wasn’t even sure what had happened. They’d shared a bed, but somehow she was more mortified that he had comforted her than anything else. Then again, he couldn’t blame her. He was a monster. Practically a demon in her eyes. Even if he was a prince where he came from, the horns and the overall frightening facade he wore would be enough to make anyone recoil.

It only made him harden his resolve. She might have technically been his wife, but he didn’t care what she thought. Yes, it would have been easier to woo her if she didn’t see him as something revolting, but that was only a minor obstacle. All he needed was one moment of weakness, one night with too much wine and seduction . . . and her power would be his.

Then, he would get back through the gate without issue. He just knew that with her power, he would be unstoppable. Never mind what his father and brothers were doing to his realm. Never mind that he was no longer tethered to Acheron. Nothing would stop him. Nothing.

Not even Vasileios and his petty idea of vengeance. Cyrus could silence him for good, ending him from existence so he would never be a threat again.

Once they reached a men’s clothing shop, Prue pressed several coins into Cyrus’s hands. She snatched his wrist before he walked off.

“I’m not giving you any more than this, all right? Find yourself some decent clothes, but nothing too extravagant.” She raised her eyebrows as if knowing he planned to buy the finest suit he could find.

“You know, I could just frighten the shit out of the shop owner to coerce him into giving me what I want.” He offered a roguish grin.

Prue rolled her eyes. “Be inconspicuous, remember? Do you really want the mortals coming after you?”

“Let them try.”

“Yes, and it will make our journey even slower if the authorities are searching for us.” She fixed a stern gaze on him.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, half his fingers still curled over the coins she gave him. “I’ll be the picture of civility.”

She gave him a doubtful look before turning and leaving for the dress shop across the street. Cyrus watched her for a moment, the way her curls bobbed behind her with each stride. He wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on her departure. After a moment, he shook his head and strode into the shop.

An hour later, he emerged, grumbling at the persistence of the shop attendants trying to squeeze every last coin from him. It was a miracle he escaped with a suit and two tunics without shedding any blood.

He scanned the crowd for Prue. Something tugged within him, and he groaned, clutching at his chest. Ignoring the odd looks of the passersby, he glanced around more urgently. Where was Prue?

The pull inside him yanked more insistently, drawing him forward a few steps. He staggered, and several women in fine dresses gasped loudly at his jerky movements.

Cyrus straightened, alarm pulsing through him. Something was wrong.

Without another thought, he sprinted forward, shoving past the clueless mortals who kept getting in his way. He reached the dress shop, but that unknown thing tugged him onward, past the shop and toward the alley where the two buildings met. He didn’t hesitate; didn’t even question this feeling inside him. He darted into the alley to find a hooded figure slashing daggers at Prue, who wielded vines from her fingers as if spinning string. Her vines wrapped around the man’s ankles, holding him in place while she shoved her elbow into his gut, then stomped on his foot.

Cyrus’s eyebrows lifted. Well, at least she wasn’t completely helpless.

But the man spun, ducking to avoid another one of her jabs. A few of the vines at his feet tore with his movement, and he slid his foot under Prue’s legs, tripping her. She came crashing down, and a pallet of soft grass rose up from the ground to soften her fall. The daggers glinted in the sunlight as the man’s fingers spun with finesse and skill. Regardless of the power of Prue’s magic, she lacked the fighting skills to best him.

---