Page 50 of Ivy & Bone

After all, Prue wasn’t capable of loving anyone more than she loved her sister. There was just no room in her heart for more.

And even if there was, Prue had lost Mona. She couldn’t survive a heartbreak like that again. So why risk it? Why risk another earth-shattering loss?

It was better to seal herself off from all attachments now. Before it was too late.

Prue turned and continued down the mountain pass, feeling his presence behind her. Their journey resumed with a chill between them that had nothing to do with the weather. In fact, Prue welcomed the biting cold, the sting of snow and ice. It distracted her from the pain inside.

This is the right thing to do, she reminded herself. For Mona.

But a tiny voice inside her insisted Mona would want her to be happy, too.

I can’t be happy with the god of the dead. He doesn’t belong here. He’s dangerous and power-hungry and deceitful. It can’t happen.

She repeated these words to herself the entire way, scaling up rocky peaks and easing down slippery slopes. Like before, Prue and Cyrus had to rely on each other, grasping hands and arms to keep from falling. But the way he dropped her hand immediately after—as if it were on fire—only made her feel worse.

Hunger gnawed at her body the entire way, bringing on the fatigue and soreness much faster than the day before. Her bones were tired and weary, and each step sent aches shooting up her legs. They stopped to rest much more frequently, and Prue summoned a patch of small berries for them to munch on, though it nearly drained her of what little energy she had left. Conjuring fruit-bearing plants tended to do that to her, which was why she didn’t do it often. Vines were one thing—they were useless and irritating, so of course, they required little effort.

At long last, they glimpsed the castle turrets of the Thanassian Empire below. Spurred on by hope, Prue quickened her pace, ignoring the stiffness in her limbs and the clumsy stumbling that made her teeter.

“Prue,” Cyrus said behind her, a warning in his voice.

Too late. Her foot came down hard on a patch of ice, and the ground slid out from underneath her. With a yelp, Prue went down, slipping and tumbling, her arms and legs crashing against rocks and snow. Pain lanced through her, sharp and cutting. Darkness seeped into her vision, blocking out the jagged rocks waiting to pierce her at the base of the mountain.

A burst of warmth surrounded her, stalling her descent. Though her entire body radiated with agony, the fresh scrapes leaking blood all over her new dress, she welcomed the relief. She seemed frozen, suspended in mid-air. Her eyes were closed, succumbing to the darkness. Perhaps she’d blacked out already. Or maybe she was dead. Either way, she didn’t care. This was preferable to the biting pain.

Then, hands were on her, gentle and desperate, sending a surge of warmth through her. A familiar scent of cedar and ash filled her nose, and she knew immediately it was Cyrus. She never realized he smelled like that . . . Perhaps she’d grown too accustomed to notice.

“Prue,” Cyrus said, his voice tinged with panic. “Can you hear me?” His fingers brushed the hair out of her face, and he swore. She flinched as his hands met a sticky gash on her forehead.

“Still alive,” she grumbled, her voice a croak. “Just barely.”

“I can heal you,” Cyrus said. “But my power’s run out. You need to give me more.”

Prue almost sobbed at the thought. She had nothing left. No strength, no energy, no will . . . Nothing.

“Please,” Cyrus begged. “Just say the words, Prue, and I’ll take the pain away.”

The promise almost seemed deadly, like he would hasten her journey to death. To the Underworld. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. It was where she was headed, after all.

Tasting blood in her mouth, Prue mumbled, “I grant you power. Take it, Cyrus. Take what you need.”

She wasn’t sure if it was enough, but when Cyrus exhaled loudly in relief, she knew it had worked. A strange, fuzzy warmth filled her head, and she gladly fell into it, drifting away to a hazy sleep.

ALTERED

CYRUS

Cyrus didn’t think. His mind receded so far into himself that nothing occupied his brain; it was only action.

After Prue had fallen down the mountainside, he hadn’t hesitated; he’d used his magic to slow her fall. The sight of her, battered and bruised, covered in blood and wounds, her arm jutting out at an unnatural angle . . . It was too much for him.

When she’d granted him access, his dark power surged forward. But he cast it aside, worried that strange and unfamiliar rage would cloud his mind and slow him down. He needed his other power. The power of the gods.

He didn’t use it often.

But what other choice did he have?

You could have let her die, said a voice in his head. But he pushed it away, focusing on action instead.

---