Page 67 of Ivy & Bone

“Goddess, Cyrus! You didn’t have to do that.” Prue shot a horrified look at him. “He’s innocent. Your brother is controlling him!”

Cyrus stared coldly at the man, who was choking on his own blood. “Would you have preferred I let him live and sound the alarm? It was either him . . . or us.” He leveled a sharp look at Prue, whose face had drained of color. Judgment emanated from her gaze, along with disgust and loathing and shock.

He was a monster. She said as much to him in the cave. And for a moment, it seemed she’d forgotten.

Good, he thought with savage satisfaction. She needs to be reminded.

And so do I.

“Come on.” Cyrus strode forward, not bothering to glance back to ensure she followed. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

GAMES

PRUE

Prue was fading. All the magic she’d used, with no rest or food . . . She was lucky she wasn’t unconscious.

But it was only a matter of time.

Cyrus seemed to sense how weak she was. He guided her by the elbow, half hauling her as they raced down the staircase toward the servants’ quarters. Cyrus insisted his brother wouldn’t frequent this side of the castle.

“He’ll be quite busy right now anyway,” Prue said, her voice a bit raspy.

“Why?” Cyrus asked. “What did you do?”

“I painted a rune on the ground, then summoned a dozen guards to my cell. My magic dislodged their souls from their bodies.”

Cyrus halted, jerking her to a stop with his surprise. “You—What?” A slow smile spread across his face. “That’s delightfully wicked, Prue.”

She really shouldn’t feel pleased by his pride. He’d just murdered an innocent man in front of her. Even so, she couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through her chest as she smiled back. “To be fair, it was Mona’s idea.”

When they reached the servants’ hall, they paused and listened, waiting to see if any soldiers pursued them. But all that met Prue’s ears were the bustling sounds of staff working in the kitchens. She and Cyrus crept onward, sneaking down the narrow hallway. All it would take was one servant to shout in alarm, and a whole squadron of soldiers would come running.

“Shit,” Cyrus hissed as hurried footsteps drew nearer. Without preamble, he snatched Prue’s wrist and dragged her into a closet, easing the door shut behind them.

Prue’s heart thundered in her ears as darkness swallowed them. The space was cramped and smelled of mildew. Cyrus’s chest was pressed up against her, the tiny space far too small for one person, let alone two. His arms were around her, his cedar-and-ash scent enveloping her. Prue closed her eyes, trying not to focus on the heat of him, the strength of his arms, the muscles of his chest as her fingertips drifted across his shirt . . .

The footsteps rushed past them, shoes clacking as if someone was in a hurry. Prue’s breath caught in her throat as she realized she’d fisted the fabric of Cyrus’s tunic. Slowly, she released him, but he didn’t move. She could still feel his breath against her, the rise and fall of his chest. She tried to look up, to meet his gaze, but it was too dark. Her nose brushed his, and she went perfectly still, realizing how close their faces were. All she had to do was angle her head slightly, and their lips would meet.

Light spilled into the small space as Cyrus opened the door and backed away from her. Startled, Prue blinked against the brightness, trying to steady her racing heart. She looked at Cyrus, whose silver eyes were wild and blazing, but she couldn’t read the emotion there. Was it anger? Fear? Had she upset him by being so close?

“Come on,” he said quietly, helping her out of the closet. Without another word, they darted down the hallway and burst out the back door.

Prue expected a mass of soldiers to be waiting for them, but to her surprise, the snowy expanse before them was completely empty. Flurries swirled around her, and she swayed as the chilled air made her head spin.

“Prue.” Cyrus’s arms were around her again, but this time, she was too consumed by darkness to notice. With a groan, she slumped over and lost consciousness.

A light jostling awoke her. The ground beneath her rocked with a rhythmic movement, and her eyes slowly opened.

Darkness surrounded her, and Prue squinted as her eyes adjusted. A hand brushed her arm, and she stiffened.

“Shh,” said the voice. “Easy. It’s me.”

Cyrus. Thank the Goddess. Prue deflated and tried to sit up, but Cyrus grasped her shoulders to keep her down.

“We’re in the back of a merchant’s wagon,” Cyrus whispered. “I paid him to smuggle us out of the city.”

Prue stared at him. “With what money?”

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