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CYRUS

Cyrus clings to Mezor the closer they get to the King’s hideout. He’s determined to see their bond through—but more than that, he craves closeness every waking moment, a need so strong it hurts. It’s nothing to do with his vergis. It’s just plain heartache.

Mezor says nothing, letting Cyrus stay glued to his side. He’s indulgent, gentle, and somehow it makes Cyrus feel worse.

While they walk, Mezor tells Cyrus about Hell, painting a vivid image of how it used to be. Moody and beautiful, lit up from within, and full of quiet joys. When Cyrus lies down to sleep, he imagines it perfectly intact like that. And when he dreams, his dreams are of light running out in all directions across Hell like veins, bringing new life to the darkness.

Sometimes, Mezor leaves him alone while he scouts ahead. Cyrus hates these moments.

“Shouldn’t I come?” he asks after the first few times suffering through this. “What if we’re separated?”

Of course it won’t happen. They’re alone out here. He hates how Mezor’s gaze darkens with sympathy—it’s a small comfort that he feels Mezor’s echoing unease.

“The wilds aren’t what they once were. Sometimes the path wanders into dangerous territory. I won’t be long.”

Cyrus blows out a sigh. “It’s fine,” he says unconvincingly.

“Keep this with you.” Mezor takes his bow off and hands it to Cyrus, along with the quiver of white arrows.

When Mezor is gone, he forces himself to strap on the quiver. A rustle in the tree above startles him and he lets out a muffled yelp. But it’s only Ekko, who lands on a log next to him with immense precision for a creature of his size. He greets Cyrus by bobbing his head until Cyrus scratches him.

Soon after, he takes off again, landing soundlessly at the top of the tree.

The meaning is clear: I’ll protect you—better than your useless mate .

He clinches the strap on the bow and sits down to wait. When Mezor finally returns, Ekko takes flight with an accusing cry, leaving them alone.

Mezor’s amusement rings through the bond. Underneath is a tacit approval that makes Cyrus warm with embarrassment—he shouldn’t need to be protected, damn it. But his annoyance is tempered by the urge to rub himself all over his mate like an animal.

He might not need Mezor’s protectiveness, but he wants it. His vergis practically purrs under the attention.

Mezor’s eyes gleam. “The bog is dry. We can go straight through.”

Cyrus gets up. “How far to the hideout?”

“Not long.”

Not long . The words cast a pallor over their journey. Mezor goes on ahead several more times, and each time Ekko faithfully comes down to watch over Cyrus. But soon he stops, because there are no unforeseen detours or enemies. It’s as if fate ushers them along.

They fly straight and true as an arrow across the wilds. Too soon, they turn in toward the pit.

Cyrus begins to dream vividly of something new. In his dreams, Mezor falls to his knees in the King’s lair. His hand curls over the place just below his ribs, his fingers wet with blood.

Tell me it isn’t true, he wants to demand of Mezor. But he can’t open his mouth to say the words.

The King’s hideout lies in the middle of the pit, hidden among massive shards of shale that rise like jagged scales. He knows they’re close long before they reach the site itself—the long shadow of the King’s presence seems to cast a pall over their company of three. Words fall away. Even Ekko is silenced. A chill settles into his bones the nearer they draw as his soul reacts to the presence of hollows, and a permanent frown splits Mezor’s face, growing deeper every hour.

The landscape of the pit is treacherous, the shale shifting and snapping underfoot and deep ravines opening without warning. Cyrus’s thoughts are stolen by the troubled air surrounding his mate and he almost walks over the edge of one such cliff—only Mezor’s hand stops him.

“Careful,” Mezor growls, scooping him up with ease.

“I’ll pay attention,” Cyrus insists, but something else catches his attention. “Put me down.”

Mezor sets him on his feet back from the crack in the earth, stiffening when Cyrus steps up to the edge. Pebbles clatter down the rock face. He looks down and his stomach turns to ice.

“Hollows.”

The canyon is filled with hollows—hundreds of them, a dark, seething mass. He’s never seen so many at once. In fact, since the King left the Court he’s barely seen more than a handful in its halls. Is this where they’ve been?

“They’re waiting,” Mezor says grimly.

“What for?”

His voice echoes down the canyon and he winces. A few of the hollows break away, drifting closer with alarming speed. Cyrus steps back from the edge. A sudden shriek from above announces Ekko’s presence loudly, and without warning he lands in front of them, stirring up dust and sending the hollows scattering with the gust of his downstroke.

“They’re waiting on the King’s summons.” Mezor’s reply is dark. “Don’t worry. They won’t touch us.”

Like Ekko, Cyrus isn’t convinced.

“We have to go down there?”

“The entrance is there.” Mezor points at the far side of the canyon. It’s hidden by the hollows, but a shiver passes through Cyrus anyway.

He turns back. “Then it’s time.”

Mezor looks between him and Ekko. “I’ll give you space.”

Cyrus wishes he’d stay. But he’s right—this goodbye should be private. As Mezor steps away he draws closer to Ekko, taking comfort in his clear-eyed gaze and the way his crest has been ruffled by the wind. His friend no longer looks sickly, but sleek and fed.

Ekko butts his shoulder with his massive beak, as if sensing Cyrus’s distress.

“You’re free now,” Cyrus tells him, stroking his crown. His heart aches, but it’s a good ache. “I want you to soar on the updrafts and forget your life in the cage. Go anywhere. Do anything. Even find your own mate and make a family. Don’t you dare follow me, okay?”

“ Crah! ” Ekko cries, tossing his head.

“I mean it. You’re wild, Ekko—you need others like you.” Cyrus smiles through the stone in his throat. “We both have to find our own path.”

The look of disdain in Ekko’s eye tells Cyrus what he thinks of that. But it’s the truth. He refuses to drag Ekko wherever his journey takes him next to spend his life watching over a silly demon who can’t stop getting into trouble.

“Go on,” Cyrus tells him, stepping back. “Fly free.”

Another cry bursts from Ekko’s beak. His wings erupt outward. With powerful strokes, he takes off into the dark skies. Cyrus watches him go, his heart conflicted.

Mezor’s hand lands on his shoulder. “He’s a clever bird. He’ll have no trouble.”

“I know.” He sighs and pushes his face into Mezor’s chest, taking a moment of comfort in his scent. “I wish I was sure he understood.”

“You have a special bond with him. He understands a lot when it comes from you.”

“ Had ,” Cyrus manages, turning away. “I had a special bond with him.”