Page 5 of Ivy & Bone

Sybil laid a hand on Polina’s shoulder. “Stop and pay attention, love.” She gestured to the rosebushes next to Prue.

Oh. Oh. Roses had been Mona’s favorite flower. When she’d been alive, her grace, or magical specialty, had been conjuring roses. For years Prue had been desperate to mimic this gift. But she hadn’t succeeded . . . until Mona had died, her magic funneling into Prue.

Prue would’ve given up all her magic if it meant Mona could still be here. No amount of power in the world would change that.

Seizing her opportunity, Prue sniffed and cast her gaze downward. “I’m sorry.” She pitched her voice a bit higher than normal as if she’d been crying. “I just—I keep thinking I might see her tonight. This is the first Samhain since . . .”

Polina drew in a sharp breath, her eyes shuddering.

Sybil squeezed Polina’s shoulder. “I know, sweet. It’s hard for us, too.”

Prue didn’t doubt this. Sybil had been like a second mother to her and Mona. Though the twin sisters weren’t technically her flesh and blood, it had still been as painful as losing her own child. Watching Sybil and Polina grieve together had been proof enough for Prue to realize how much this hurt them, too.

All the more reason for me to go through with this plan, she thought firmly. Bringing Mona back will help everyone.

Sybil glanced at Polina. “Surely, the elders can wait? We’ve asked so much of her this week.”

Damn right, Prue thought bitterly, but she bit her tongue. It would be just like her to start an argument with Polina when she was trying to win her over. Instead, Prue blinked rapidly as if warding off incoming tears. She stuck out her lower lip until it trembled slightly.

Polina deflated, her frame sagging visibly as if she had no more strength left to keep up appearances. Prue knew that feeling well. “All right.” Grief and frustration mingled in Polina’s eyes, and Prue could tell her mother was torn between mourning her lost child and attending to her duties as Mother of the coven.

“I’m sorry,” Prue said, and she meant it. The last thing she wanted to do was put more stress on her mother. They had never been particularly close—it always seemed Polina disapproved of everything Prue did—but they’d suffered the same loss. Prue felt a kinship with her mother because of that alone.

“Don’t be sorry, Prudence,” Polina said softly, her eyes distant, as if she, too, were reflecting on her broken family.

Prue flinched at her given name. Polina was the only person in the damned village who insisted on calling her that.

Polina smoothed her hands along her skirts and huffed a sigh. “I will hold them off, but they are growing impatient. We’ll need your magic to begin the ceremony, so . . . so try not to take too long.” Her eyes glistened as she nodded stiffly and turned away, no doubt to hide her imminent tears.

That was one of the many, many ways Polina differed from Prue. The Mother pressed on with her duties because she felt it was her responsibility, despite her emotions. But Prue didn’t give a damn. She didn’t care who saw her grief because the pain was hers and hers alone. No one else mattered, and she processed her feelings her own way.

“Thank you,” Prue said, and the tremor in her voice was genuine. If this didn’t work, this might be the last time she’d ever see her mother again. “Mama?”

Polina halted but didn’t turn around. Her shoulders were squared, and Prue knew without a doubt her mother was crying.

“You are strong,” Prue said. “Don’t let yourself think otherwise.”

Polina’s shoulders shook, and a rattled gasp echoed around them. But Prue’s mother said nothing as she left the gardens.

Sybil lingered a moment longer, her gentle gaze fixed on Prue. Sybil never cried, but she bore all her emotions for the world to see. Prue respected her for that. Right now, for instance, Sybil’s eyes shone with a raw devastation so potent that Prue couldn’t meet her gaze. If she did, it would break her.

“You’re strong, too, Prue.” Sybil’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. She pressed two fingers to her lips, which was a symbol for love in their coven.

A hard lump formed in Prue’s throat as she watched the other woman leave. Goddess, it was so hard lying to the people she loved.

This is the last time, she promised herself. Everything will change after today.

Without delay, she grabbed a fresh pomegranate, shoved it in her bag, and rushed out of the garden, eager to proceed with the plan and finally get her sister back.

PLEA

CYRUS

After receiving his father’s warning—or rather, his threat—Cyrus had snapped into action, knowing his time was limited. Every year in the mortal realm was a mere blink in the Underworld, and if the Book of Eyes had indeed been apprehended by witches, then Cyrus perhaps had seconds left until he would be snatched up by their realm.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny the truth: the mortal realm called to him. Ever since he’d been marked by the Book of Eyes and imparted his soul to that grimoire, he’d felt the pull of the mortal realm calling him back. He’d always shoved it aside, relying instead on the power flowing through him—the reason he bound himself to the Book of Eyes in the first place. It had all been worth it.

But now, he was questioning everything. Had it been worth it, if this one weakness of his would be the very thing that dragged him away from his home?

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