Page 60 of Ivy & Bone

So, how did these Thanassian soldiers know? How did they obtain witch dust? The only thing Prue could think of was that there must be a witch among their court, searching for them.

But why?

Her frustration mounted, and she gritted her teeth. Each step sent a jolt of icy pain through her body. She’d been numb before, so close to unconsciousness that she’d felt nothing. Now she felt it all. The biting wind. The snow crunching against her boots. The frigid air chilling her entire body.

This didn’t feel like an improvement. Despite her knowing full well that collapsing on one of the soldiers wouldn’t have been a wise idea, either.

Gradually, the mighty turrets of the palace drew nearer, and Prue had to crane her neck to take in the full view. The towers pierced the sky like jagged knives, and the image made Prue want to shudder. This didn’t look like the fairy tale castles she’d read about as a child.

This looked more like a prison.

She shot a glance at Cyrus, who glared up at the castle with all the might of his fury, as if he could send it crumbling with a look. Prue wouldn’t be surprised if he could.

She couldn’t shake the image of that man’s head tumbling from his body . . . And he had done that with his hands. What else was he capable of?

A loud, metallic grating sound split the air as the portcullis was raised for them. Prue followed the soldiers as they emerged into a courtyard within the castle. The heavy metal gate slammed shut behind them, and Prue flinched.

They were sealed inside.

Prue expected to be led straight to the dungeon or prison cells or wherever they kept their enemies. But instead, the soldiers dismounted their horses, sending them off to stable hands, and led Prue and Cyrus up a narrow set of steps. Heavy oak doors were thrown open, and Prue exhaled in relief as warmth surrounded her, a blissful reprieve from the chill outside. Torches lined the hallway, along with elaborate paintings of mountain landscapes. Prue recognized the Emdale Mountains in several of them, and her insides wriggled nervously at the reminder of what she’d shared with Cyrus in that cave the night before. Goddess, that felt like ages ago . . .

The soldiers escorted them down the hallway until they reached another set of double doors, this one flanked by four men wearing identical blue jackets as the men with Prue. The soldiers nodded at each other before the doors swung open. Prue held her breath as she followed the line of men inside.

They stepped into a massive throne room. Already, a crowd stood before them, parted to form a small aisle before the two thrones atop a small dais. In one throne stood a figure Prue recognized immediately. Cyrus’s brother, Vaileios. He smirked at them, a gold crown gleaming atop his black hair.

Well, that explained a lot.

But as her gaze shifted to the woman standing beside him, all thoughts fled from her mind. Her body went still as ice crept into her veins, freezing her completely. Someone nudged her in the back to urge her forward, but she couldn’t move even if she wanted to. All she saw—all she felt—was the sheer impossibility of the woman standing alongside Vasileios.

It was Mona.

CHALLENGE

CYRUS

Cyrus’s chest swelled with the absence of his power, a cold emptiness that slithered through him at the sight of his brother. And that crown atop his head . . .

Rage bled through Cyrus’s vision. With a snarl, he strode forward, intent on ripping Vasileios’s head off. But in a flash, several soldiers stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Vasileios laughed. “What will you do, brother? You have no magic.”

“I don’t need magic to tear out your throat,” Cyrus growled.

Vasileios’s eyes glinted. “With what weapons? For once in your pitiful existence, learn to shut your mouth and bow to someone else’s authority, Cyrus.”

Cyrus’s nostrils flared. Part of him yearned to lunge at his older brother, regardless of the mass of soldiers standing between them. He didn’t care if they gutted him, if they bled him dry. As long as he had his hands around Vasileios’s throat.

But something pulled his gaze from the two thrones: Prue. Slowly, his eyes shifted to her, finding her face bone-white, her wide eyes fixed on the girl standing beside Vasileios.

Cyrus’s heart dropped to his stomach. Oh, gods, no . . . Following Prue’s gaze, he scrutinized the young woman with the matching gold crown. She stood, poised and erect, the perfect picture of elegance and grace. Her wavy black hair was styled in an elaborate knot, her sweeping purple gown complimenting her dark bronze skin. Her eyes were a luminescent light green, standing out starkly against her dark skin and hair. Though her skin was darker and her eyes a different shade, her nose and mouth were the same shape as Prue’s. They shared the same defiant chin, the same high cheekbones.

This was Mona. Prue’s sister.

Mona stared down at them with cold apathy, her expression void of any emotion. It was bizarre for Cyrus to gaze upon this face—almost a mirror image of the one he knew so well—without any semblance of humor or anger.

She was like a statue, rigid and merciless.

Cyrus’s eyes cut to Vasileios, who looked quite pleased with himself. In a low voice, Cyrus uttered a single word: “How.” He bit it out like a demand rather than a question.

---