Page 1 of Ivy & Bone

MUTINY

CYRUS

With a brush of his power, Cyrus felt the air change.

It wasn’t alarming or explosive; in fact, if he’d been otherwise preoccupied, he might have missed the subtle shift of the wind, the whispers that lingered as Cyrus walked past the rivers of the Underworld.

Something was growing. Waiting. Watching.

Though his magic made no outward appearance, it still burned in his bones, an ever-present entity that fed him information and heightened his senses.

Cyrus kept his head held high, the crown of bones settled comfortably atop his silver hair marking him as the ruler of this domain. The cool babble of the river Styx soothed him, reminding him of all he possessed. He peered into its silver depths, finding the wispy souls floating from within. An echo of their sorrow nagged at his mind, tugging at something deep inside that he’d tried to squash for so long.

Loneliness.

Yes, he was powerful. But he was also utterly and completely alone.

This was a necessity, though. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Trust led to vulnerability and betrayal. But that didn’t mean he had to like his isolated lifestyle. Constantly monitoring his brothers, overseeing the rivers, trusting nothing and no one but himself and his own magic. . . The burden weighed heavily on him, and sometimes a tiny part of his mind wished there was someone else to help him carry it.

Cyrus continued patrolling the rivers, ensuring all the assigned guardians were in place. His older brother, Romanos, surveyed the river Styx, nodding grimly to Cyrus as he passed. Romanos learned long ago not to test Cyrus, and he was one of the few princes who quickly adapted. As such, Cyrus had no reason to torment him like he did the others.

Romanos was obedient. He followed orders.

The others were not so wise.

Even though Cyrus was the youngest of six princes of Hell, he possessed enough power to rule over the realm and force his older brothers—and his father—into submission.

But his power came with a price. He was bound to the mortal realm. He thought of the enchanted grimoire that bound him, and he ground his teeth. That book served as a gate between the Underworld and mortal realm, hidden somewhere in the land of the living. His one weakness.

It was a fair trade, Cyrus thought. Yes, he was connected to that wretched world of humans, but if it meant more power? He would’ve made the trade all over again.

Even if it meant spending an eternity alone. Yes, it was worth it.

But as often as Cyrus thought the words, he believed it less and less. Is it worth it? Truly?

Cyrus pushed aside these feelings of unease, along with the warning in his magic, because he presumed that it was just that miserable mortal realm calling to him as it always did. He could ignore it once more. The incessant beckoning, the whispers in his mind, the way his thoughts often turned to that tiny village he’d sheltered in so long ago. . . He was accustomed to shoving those promptings aside.

But it felt different this time. It wasn’t just the thoughts and memories nagging at his mind. This strange new feeling was something else. Something colder. Like a swell of ice in his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

As Cyrus continued past the gaping abyss of Tartarus, he reached the edge of the dead forest that lined Acheron. The foul stench of sorrow and suffering stung his nostrils. Despite the bleak surroundings, he smiled. Every time he set foot in Acheron, his former domain, he was reminded of the humiliating and grueling life he’d left behind.

Now, his older brother, Leonidas, was tasked with overseeing the river of pain and torment.

When Cyrus reached the riverbank, he frowned. Instead of finding his brother, haggard and worn from his time surrounded by devastation and pain, he found his father, Aidoneus. The once mighty god of the Underworld stood facing the river, wielding his hands together to summon tendrils of black flame that speared into the water’s depths. With each stroke, the already murky stream darkened until it resembled liquid ash.

Cyrus halted, his magic swelling inside him with alarm and distrust. “What are you doing here?”

Aidoneus didn’t answer at first. He continued summoning magic as if he hadn’t heard his son.

Anger boiled within Cyrus, and he raised his hand, prepared to conjure his own dark flames, even if it meant wounding his father. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Before he could, Aidoneus turned to face him. Something about his father’s face struck a bolt of uncertainty through Cyrus’s chest. There was a calm assuredness in Aidoneus’s expression that unsettled him. His father had always regarded him with wary apprehension and veiled disgust. It was clear Cyrus’s immense power frightened his father.

But today, something was different. And it made Cyrus’s already restless magic churn uncontrollably.

The air is wrong today, Cyrus thought. My magic can feel it.

And, judging by the look on his face, Aidoneus knew it, too.

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