Page 38 of Ivy & Bone

“Remarkable,” Cyrus murmured.

Prue blinked and turned to him. She’d completely forgotten he was there. He watched the last of the vines slither away with a look of awe on his face.

Prue didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen him look like that before. Power-hungry, yes. Smug and satisfied, yes. Enraged, yes. But never . . . awestruck.

He turned to look at her, fixing that strange new emotion on her face. She resisted the urge to fidget under his gaze.

“Your magic is incredible,” Cyrus said. “You know that, right?”

Prue felt even more uncomfortable. “I suppose.” Truth be told, she’d never liked her magic, even when Mona was alive. The constant presence of vines was an irritant, completely unhelpful in every way. And then, after Mona’s death, the sudden appearance of roses seemed like a mockery, announcing to the world that Mona was gone and Prue had stolen her magic.

She couldn’t stand any of it.

“I’ve never seen a witch perform a healing spell so effortlessly,” Cyrus said, staring at her ankle as if expecting it to suddenly start spasming.

Prue frowned. “You can’t have met many witches, then.”

Cyrus scoffed. “How would you know? I’ve been around plenty. Many of them had to rely on other coven members to perform that kind of healing.” He gestured to her foot.

Prue shrugged without meeting his gaze. “My mother does it all the time.”

“Does she?”

Prue looked at him. Cyrus had a single eyebrow arched in obvious doubt.

She crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just think it’s strange that you and your mother possess this great source of power, but no one finds it odd. Your coven simply goes along with it as if it’s ordinary.”

“I’m the Maiden and she’s the Mother,” Prue said as if this explained everything.

“Yes, yes, the Triple Goddess, I know.” Cyrus sounded exasperated. “But she wasn’t always the Mother, right? And you weren’t always the Maiden.”

Prue’s frown deepened. Cyrus didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t know anything about her coven.

And yet . . . Prue remembered the previous Mother of the coven, before Polina had been blessed with the title. Polina definitely possessed more power than her predecessor. Even as a child, Prue witnessed grand acts of magic, before Polina stepped into her role as Mother. Once, Prue had fallen out of a tree and broken her leg. Instead of sending for the healer, Polina had acted quickly, summoning her own magic to bind and mend the wound, setting the bones back into place. At the time, Prue had been so consumed by pain that she hadn’t paid much attention. But Mona had gushed all night about Polina’s ingenuity and powerful magic, making the event impossible to forget.

Prue hadn’t thought of that incident in years. And yet, Polina hadn’t gathered any herbs or used any grimoire spell to heal the broken bones. So . . . how had she done it? Polina didn’t even have an affinity for healing. It should have been impossible.

Prue shut her eyes and shook off thoughts of Polina. She didn’t want to think about her right now. Instead, she dropped her gaze, fixing her attention on her foot. She rolled her ankle one way, then the other. No pain. Thank the Goddess.

“Are you afraid?” Cyrus asked suddenly.

“Of what?” Prue didn’t break her gaze from her foot, worried he would bring up Polina again.

“The wraith. My brothers. Whoever’s coming after you.”

Thank the Goddess he changed the subject. Prue considered his words. She took a steadying breath as she sat up, assessing her emotions. To her surprise, she didn’t find any fear—at least, not for her own well-being. Mona, yes. But not herself. “No,” she said at last. “Some of it may be a bit frightening. But this mission—bringing back my sister, sending the ghosts back to the Underworld—is more important.”

She sensed him watching her, but she refused to meet his gaze, afraid his eyes would capture hers again.

He asked, “Then what do you fear?”

Prue chuckled. “You won’t trick me into giving away my secrets, Cyrus.”

“No trick. I’ll share mine if you share yours.”

Now, she did look at him, if only to assess his sincerity. His eyes were solemn, but half his mouth quirked upward in that familiar teasing manner that frustrated her to no end.

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