Page 65 of Ivy & Bone

Cyrus leaned forward, bracing his arms against his legs. “Do you even feel them? The souls?”

Vasileios stilled, and something unreadable stirred in his eyes. After a moment, he said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, I do. I feel them constantly. I am connected to that realm, brother. Even when I’m here. Even when I don’t want to be. I am bound to protect those souls. As much as I despise that connection, it is there.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression you were connected to the mortal realm, and that was the bond you despised.”

Cyrus closed his eyes for a moment. Gods, he was right. When Cyrus had the right to the throne of the Underworld, he could only complain about his tether to the mortal realm. And now that he was in the mortal realm, he complained about being drawn to the Underworld.

He was never content to be where he was.

That sounded like something Evander would say.

For the briefest moment, Cyrus’s thoughts turned to his kindest brother, wondering how he fared in the Underworld. With Vasileios here, did that make things better or worse in the Underworld? What were Aidoneus and Marcellus doing? Was Evander safe?

Cyrus had never let himself worry about Evander before. It had been too dangerous a thought, far too close to affection and weakness for his liking. But now, he let those thoughts roam free.

“What will happen to . . . the rest of our brothers if I agree to your terms?” Cyrus asked. He wasn’t entertaining the idea; he knew Vasileios to be crafty and didn’t for one moment trust he would honor his side of the agreement. But he was curious as to where he stood regarding their brothers.

Vasileios’s expression went rigid for one brief moment before he said smoothly, “They will be treated with respect. I don’t plan to repeat the mistakes we made with you, Cyrus. We share blood. And that should stand for something.”

Shared blood. Cyrus wanted to scoff at the notion. Blood meant nothing to Vasileios. It didn’t matter to him before, and it certainly didn’t now.

This was a test, and Vasileios failed. Cyrus was never intending to consider this agreement. He just wanted to know how forthcoming his brother would be about his plans.

It was clear Vasileios would reveal nothing.

Now, it was time for Cyrus to plant his own seeds of deception. “I’m assuming Aidoneus will have Styx, then?”

Vasileios’s eyes flashed. “What? Of course not. Styx belongs to me.” His voice was harsh, like shards of glass.

Cyrus dropped his gaze, trying to adopt a conflicted expression. “Oh, right. I just thought . . . Never mind.”

“What? What did you hear?” Panic laced Vasileios’s voice.

“When Aidoneus was poisoning Acheron,” Cyrus said, allowing a bit of venom into his voice that he didn’t have to force, “he mentioned he longed to have control over Styx once more. That it had been too long.”

Vasileios’s jaw twitched. After a moment, he said, “You’re lying.”

Cyrus lifted his hands, palms out, in a sign of surrender. “Must have been my mistake. Surely Aidoneus wouldn’t resume his duties after everything that’s happened. It’s a ridiculous notion.”

Cyrus leaned back against the chaise, draping one arm behind his head in the picture of ease. Across from him, he could feel Vasileios’s rage and confusion rippling.

With a bit too much force, Vasileios slammed the chalice down on the table and stood, adjusting his tunic. “Right. Well. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here. I’ll give you a moment to consider my bargain. When I return, I expect an answer. Otherwise, your little witch is the first to die.”

Cyrus merely lifted his eyebrows. “What ever happened to providing me with a comfortable situation? Threats don’t seem entirely hospitable.”

Vasileios offered a cold smile. “That’s only after you accept our bargain. Consider this”—he gestured to the suite at large—“a show of good faith. But the gesture ends in one hour. After that, your arrangements will be far less pleasant while you consider my offer.” With that, he slammed the doors shut.

In a flash, Cyrus was on his feet, his ear pressed to the door. Once Vasileios’s footsteps faded, Cyrus jiggled the handles. Locked. Of course.

Cursing, Cyrus scanned the vast room, looking for some kind of weapon. Naturally, Vasileios removed anything remotely sharp. But as Cyrus glanced around with more focus, his eyes snagged on the glistening jewels and gems from a vanity table nearby. Frowning, he drew nearer and realized it was jewelry. This must have been a woman’s suite. Cyrus pulled open a drawer only to find piles of necklaces, earrings, bracelets, pendants, and broaches. He uttered a bewildered chuckle before pocketing several of them, knowing he could use them as currency once he got out of here.

Vasileios either must have been foolish or incredibly smug to leave these lying around. In fact, Cyrus wouldn’t have been surprised if his brother had done it on purpose to gloat about his abundant wealth.

What an idiot.

When Cyrus’s pockets were heavy with jewels, he inspected the room once more, hoping to find a tool he could use to pry open the door. His eyes fell on the poker resting by the fireplace. He strode toward it and slid the sharp metal tip into the door’s lock, trying to jiggle it free.

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