Cyrus strengthened the enchantments surrounding his throne in the caves of Styx, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, removed his crown of bones and placed it atop the throne. He enveloped the crown in his black flames, whispering a curse upon anyone who dared touch it before his return. He smirked, imagining Vasileios and the look of horror on his face as his flesh melted away from his bones.
Next, he visited Acheron. His father was no longer there, but it didn’t matter. The waters within were still and silent, nothing more than a murky gray pool with lifeless depths. No screams. No souls. Nothing.
A hard lump formed in Cyrus’s throat as he stared at the motionless river. Were the souls gone? Had Aidoneus’s poison already taken effect? Cyrus didn’t feel any different, but perhaps he wouldn’t notice the change until he was yanked from the Underworld.
That sobering thought sent a fresh wave of urgency pulsing through him. He hurried downhill, staying close to the riverbank as he headed south. Gradually, Acheron forked, and he followed the left branch, which became Cocytus. Evander’s realm.
Cyrus didn’t realize how tense he’d become until he found these waters clear and churning, the babbling brook a welcome relief to his ears. So, the poison in Acheron hadn’t spread to Cocytus. Yet.
Cyrus found Evander crouched in front of the river, head bent as he peered into its depths. He didn’t look up at his brother’s approach.
“To what do I owe the honor, Your Majesty?” Evander’s voice sounded bored.
“Help me,” Cyrus pleaded. Evander was the only one of his brothers he could turn to. He had no other options. “I don’t have long now, brother. I need you.”
Evander turned to look at him with guarded eyes, the same expression he always wore around Cyrus these days. Once, long ago, Evander had shared secrets and laughter with him. But now, Cyrus was something to fear.
“You don’t need me,” Evander said quietly. “Or anyone. Not anymore.”
Cyrus blinked. A whirlwind of emotions rose up inside him. Indignation. Anger. Grief. Regret. He had cast Evander aside as soon as he’d gained his power. But he’d justified it as a blessing; he was doing Evander a favor by ignoring him. It was better than the utter torment he inflicted on his other brothers, the ones who deserved it.
Cyrus squashed his impatience and urgency with difficulty. “Father has made a move against me. He’s poisoned Acheron.”
Alarm flared in Evander’s silver eyes. “What?”
“The Book of Eyes has been taken, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m summoned to the mortal realm,” Cyrus went on, hoping he could get through to the only brother he could rely on. Even if he didn’t deserve it. “This realm will be in utter chaos. Even if you don’t wish me to rule, I know you don’t want that.”
Evander’s eyes darkened. “You don’t know what I want.”
“At one point, I did,” Cyrus argued. “You wanted a realm of peace and cooperation. Or has that changed? Have you changed, just as I have?”
Evander shot him a scathing look. “Not at all. I would never.”
The disgust on his face made Cyrus’s chest roar, whether in fury or anguish, he couldn’t tell. The two feelings were so similar. “Evander, we were once close. You were the only one to treat me with a modicum of respect. I know I do not deserve your help, but I am begging you for help now. Please. Watch over Acheron in my absence and do what you can to keep Father and the others at bay. At least until I return.”
Evander arched an eyebrow. “And then? What happens when you return? Will things go back to what they were? Will you resume your persecution of our brothers and father?”
Cyrus sighed, closing his eyes against the stark truth staring him in the face. “No. Enough of that. It—it hasn’t given me any peace.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head as if he could shake off these vulnerable emotions coursing through him. Yes, he had power and authority now, but at what cost? His father and brothers had been plotting against him from the beginning, and now the realm was on the verge of destruction. It had all been for nothing.
Cyrus had been using his power and anger to shield himself from what he truly feared: the mortal realm. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he feared what that place could do to him. How it could change him.
Evander watched him for a long moment before his mouth spread in a smile. “I appreciate you refraining from making false promises of rank and authority. It’s what Father would’ve done.”
Cyrus chuckled. Yes, Aidoneus would have promised a high-ranking position, maybe a seat alongside his own throne. But Cyrus knew Evander well enough to know his older brother didn’t desire such things. Evander was the most level-headed of all the princes of hell. Even Cyrus. Especially Cyrus.
His power had made him blind. To everything and everyone.
And now, the mortal realm was about to claim him. The one thing he thought he could trust—his own magic—was betraying him, just like everyone else had. And it rattled Cyrus. What could he trust? Not himself. Not his brothers. Not his father.
He felt lost. He was drowning in a sea of confusion and fury.
Evander seemed to sense the conflict in his gaze. “I hear you, brother. For the sake of this realm and whatever sliver of your soul is left, I will look after this place as best I can.”
Cyrus glanced up when his brother touched his shoulder. Evander’s eyes were earnest.
“But I am not as powerful as Marcellus or Vasileios,” Evander continued. “So, I cannot promise that I can hold them off for long.”
“Any help you can offer will be appreciated, even if I return to find this whole place in cinders.”