Page 42 of Ivy & Bone

PRUE

It was slow work, climbing the mountain pass. Thankfully, it was so well-traveled that the path was evident, even in the snow, but the climb was slippery and perilous.

When the path grew rockier and more unsteady, Prue’s pulse raced, her anxiety spiking. She glanced down at her boots, suddenly regretting purchasing them in a dress shop. If she’d only bought men’s boots like Cyrus had, she would’ve felt more confident in her steps.

But these dainty, heeled contraptions around her feet would do no good. Especially since Prue was uncomfortable enough wearing any kind of shoe. She was out of practice and woefully unqualified to make this climb. Not to mention her toes were throbbing, the shoes merciless as they pinched, biting into her flesh. She would surely have blisters by the time they reached the end of the mountain pass. How did women wear these torturous things? Were they just accustomed to suffering, or was Prue doing it wrong? Maybe she bought them in the wrong size.

“What’s wrong?” Cyrus asked from a few paces ahead of her.

Prue’s wide eyes were fixed on the rocky path before her. “Um. Nothing.” She shivered, wishing that ridiculous shop had sold thicker material than the shawl she’d purchased. It had seemed like a warm, thick fabric when she’d put it on, but now it was feeble compared to the blistering cold around her.

She took a step and found the ground so slick with ice that she nearly fell. Her arms spun about wildly as she struggled to keep her balance.

Goddess above, I’m going to die here. She gulped, glancing over the cliff’s edge. It was only steps away from her. One tumble was all it would take to send her crashing to her death.

“Don’t look at it,” Cyrus said, his voice firm and demanding.

Unwittingly, Prue’s gaze snapped to his. His fierce tone jolted her, shaking loose some of the lingering fear.

“Remember why you’re here,” Cyrus said. “You’re here for Mona.”

Mona. Prue pictured her sister’s face and nodded, taking a shaky breath. She tried to move forward, but her gaze snagged on the ice beneath her, and she froze again.

“Ignore the cliff,” Cyrus went on. “Just look at me.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Prue snapped.

For some reason, Cyrus’s mouth twitched. As if her insults amused him. “Because I am a god, Prue. Now take another step.”

Irritation burned in her chest, and she huffed as she took a step, her legs wobbling. But she didn’t fall. “There it is again,” she muttered. “The I’m a god speech.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t need a speech if you showed me some respect. Take another step.”

Prue gritted her teeth, continuing onward. Her boots slid slightly, and her heart hammered in her chest again.

“Here.” Cyrus stretched his hand out to her.

Prue’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t for one second trust him. But . . . she trusted him more than she trusted the slick, icy path underneath her. She lunged forward, reaching for his outstretched hand . . .

Only to slip on another patch of ice. The ground shifted, and with her body already leaning halfway over to reach for Cyrus, she didn’t have time to right herself. Her knees crashed to the ground. Rocks bit into her kneecaps, and she cried out. But the mountain wasn’t finished with her yet. She kept tumbling, her shoulder hitting something sharp and pointy. The ground wouldn’t stop rolling. A scream built up her throat. She was falling, falling, falling . . .

Firm hands latched onto her, gripping her by the arm. Prue’s head was spinning, her entire body weightless as if she had, indeed, fallen off the cliff.

“Prue!” Cyrus shouted. “Hold on to me!”

Prue blinked, trying to see past the dark spots dancing across her vision. Her knees and shoulder throbbed, the pain pounding through her skull.

As her head cleared, she realized why she felt so weightless. She was dangling off the cliff’s edge.

A petrified gasp burned in her throat, stealing her breath. Raw and brutal terror gripped her, freezing her completely. If it weren’t for Cyrus’s firm grip on her arm, she would already be plummeting to her death.

“Dammit, Prue!” Cyrus bellowed. “Take my hand!”

His command pierced through the haze of her fear, and she blinked up at him. His expression was strained, his teeth bared and his face red with exertion. Something about the sight of him struggling to hold on to her jolted her into action. With great effort, she swung her other arm up to meet his, gripping his gloved fingers tightly. He grunted, hefting her upward. Her legs were still dangling over nothingness, but she tried not to think about it, remembering Cyrus’s words: Ignore the cliff. Just look at me.

Her eyes locked onto his, pulled in by the silver gleam that often entranced her. This time, she let it. She welcomed it. She needed the distraction. As he pulled her upward, she fell into the depth and intensity of his eyes, finding herself wondering what the silver meant. Silver hair, silver eyes, silver blood . . . Was it significant? Or was it random, in the same way that human blood was red? Did different gods and goddesses bleed different colors? She made a mental note to pepper Cyrus with questions when they got through this.

If they got through this.

---