Page 6 of Salt & Blood

“Evander,” Mona groaned. “You have to move your legs. Please.”

Farah—who watched them with interest—gave Mona a puzzled look. “Aren’t you a witch? Use your magic.”

Mona gaped at her, then shook her head. Of course. She was not only an earth witch, but the daughter of a goddess. She carefully eased Evander back to the ground, where he moaned and trembled. Closing her eyes, she summoned her powers, stretching her arms wide and calling forth her magic from the earth at her feet. The ground quivered, and pebbles and dust rained down from the cavern ceiling. Cracks split beneath her, and thorny vines sprang forth at her beckoning.

Frowning, Mona flicked her wrist, and the thorns were replaced by vines of ivy, achingly reminding her of her sister, Prue. The vines wove together, crisscrossing until they formed a thick net of foliage. With the strength of her magic, she gathered her vines around Evander’s body, then lifted him onto the bed of leaves.

Farah nodded her approval and turned toward the tunnel she’d come through. Mona urged her magic onward, and Evander’s cocoon of ivy shifted, sliding on the rocky ground with a strange hiss.

Satisfied with this, Mona glanced at Pandora, and the two of them followed Evander’s motionless form, making their way through the tunnel after Farah.

TERMS

CYRUS

Cyrus left the throne room,the sight of Prue’s devastated face imprinted on his brain forever. He stormed to his rooms, letting the doors slam shut behind him. With a roar, he flung a vase across the room until it shattered, leaving broken shards all over the floor.

It subsided his rage but not by much.

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands until his skull throbbed. He didn’t want to destroy his furnishings; he wanted to destroy this weak mortal body. This frail, pathetic vessel was what he loathed the most.

Apollo was here.

Prue was alive.

Cyrus was human.

His pitiful mind couldn’t keep up with it all. Thoughts and questions raced, too quickly for him to take stock of everything.

He collapsed onto the bed, covering his face with a pillow and bellowing into it as loudly as he could, so intensely his throat burned. He screamed, on and on, letting the sound rip through him.

When he was finished and gasping for breath, he dropped the pillow, then glared at the ceiling.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there. All he knew was he had nothing left to do. No purpose. Nothing to fight for.

All he had was this horrible empty void, waiting to devour him. Waiting for his short human life to end.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Go away, Prue!” he barked. The last thing he wanted to see was the pity on her face, the eyes full of despair as she tried to fix what had broken between them.

There was no fixing this. It was irreparable. Nothing could be done.

The tapping sounded again, more timid this time. Then a feeble voice said, “I have a message for you, Your Highness.”

Frowning, Cyrus climbed off the bed and opened the door. Before him stood a demon woman with two sets of short horns on her head. Her skin was charcoal and a long, barbed tail flicked behind her. Her eyes darted up to Cyrus’s, then dropped, her head bowing in submission. Wordlessly, she extended her hands, revealing a roll of parchment.

Cyrus took it, then waved his hand, dismissing the servant. She seemed glad to depart, her hastened steps echoing down the hall as she vanished.

As Cyrus opened it, dread coiled in his chest. It was from Apollo.

The Sun God requests your presence in the study for friendly negotiations.

Cyrus snorted. What kind of bastard referred to himself in the third person? Andfriendly negotiationssounded anything but. Apollo was here for his throne. There was nothing friendly about that.

He was already moving to toss the parchment out the window when he faltered. If he refused, it would mean he was choosing a side. ChoosingPrue’sside.

It meant he would need to battle Apollo. If the sun god foughthimduring the challenge, Cyrus could not win.

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