Page 7 of Salt & Blood

He stroked his chin, contemplating his options. Siding with Apollo seemed like a terrible idea… but perhaps he could work it in his favor.

Half an hour later, Cyrus sat in an armchair in the study, sitting across from Apollo. He sipped the wine from his glass, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose from the sharp sweetness that assaulted his tongue. These damned human senses wouldn’t let him tolerate anything. Then again, he recalled the wine from Elysium to be rather unpleasant.

But ever since he had cast the spell to bring Prue back from the dead, he hadn’t felt like himself at all. Not a god. No one powerful. Nothing but this pitiful mere mortal.

He looked over at Apollo, who drank his wine with a contented smile on his face. The mighty sun god and former king of Elysium lounged in a wing-backed chair facing the hearth, within which roared a pleasant fire. If not for the chaos just outside the doors, Cyrus could easily believe this was an ordinary day with the castle staff flitting about and the realm functioning as it should.

The ease on Apollo’s face indicated he was not concerned at all that most of the citizens had been destroyed by the darkness of Pandora’s box.

Cyrus continued to sip the wine, if only to give his body something to do. Inside him, turmoil raged, his mind racing and his heart seizing. He forced an outward calm as he said in a smooth voice, “You do not seem at all bothered by the situation.”

Apollo blinked, his dark eyes flicking to Cyrus with lazy amusement. “The situation?”

Cyrus waved a hand toward the closed doors of the study.

Apollo snorted and took a large gulp of his own wine. “I’ve seen war before, nephew. This is nothing. It will pass.”

Cyrus bristled at the term of endearment. “I’ve told you not to call me that. There is no shared blood between us.”

Apollo arched an eyebrow. “Your father and I shared a special bond. To me, that binds us together far more thanblood.” He spat the word.

Cyrus went perfectly still. Was Apollo speaking of his own parents? His sister? Whoever he was thinking of was someone he loathed, and Cyrus, regrettably, had not properly researched Apollo’s ancestral line to know anything about it.

“Even so,” Cyrus said slowly, “I held little regard for my father and brothers. So you can imagine I would be far less inclined to call youfamily, especially when you’ve stolen into my realm and attempted to claim my throne.”

Apollo swept another gaze over Cyrus, then chuckled. “Face it, boy. You are in no condition to rule this place. And you know it.”

Cyrus decided he loathed being calledboymuch more thannephew.

And this proved Apollo knew something was wrong with Cyrus’s magic. But perhaps he didn’t know the entirety of the situation.

Struggling to rein in his temper, Cyrus said evenly, “Then, why am I here? Why not kill me to make the transition easier?”

“I could,” Apollo mused, his dark eyes glittering. “It would be easy. But I think you’ll be far more useful to me as an ally.”

Cyrus’s nostrils flared. “Why would I align myself with someone trying to steal my throne?”

“Why else?” Apollo sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “Power. Protection. As I said, Icouldkill you. And I will do just that if you get in my way.”

A threat, then. It wasn’t surprising. Cyrus knew the kind of man Apollo was. He was just like Aidoneus.

Thinking of his father made Cyrus pause before answering. He needed to pretend it was Aidoneus before him. How would he manipulate this conversation in his favor, if that were the case?

It was nothing more than a game. A show of strength. And, weak as he was, Cyrus was good at projecting confidence.

He needed to play things differently, though. The absence of his power meant the game had changed.

He needed to tell Apollo the truth. Or at least, part of it.

His chin lifted. “That isn’t much of a threat. I expected to die two days ago when I cast the spell to bring back my wife. In a weak vessel like this”—he gestured to himself with a sneer—“death would be preferable.”

It wasn’t a lie. But repeating those words, when he had thrown them in Prue’s face earlier, made his chest ache. He still didn’t feel fully like himself, and inwardly, he raged at being weak and pathetic. The fury and frustration were still there.

But now they mingled with a remorse so potent it lanced through him like a sharpened blade. The look of hurt and betrayal on Prue’s face. The tears in her eyes. The choked words she flung back at him.

He had shattered something between them. And he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to repair it.

“Your life isn’t the only one I can take,” Apollo said. His tone was low, and the calmness in his expression darkened into something lethal. “I can take that pretty little wife of yours. She’s powerful, yes, but she is nothing against me.”

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