Page 27 of Salt & Blood (Ivy & Bone #4)

SIPHON

CYRUS

At the sight of his people rallying to support him, Cyrus’s chest was in knots, his thoughts cloudy with shame and guilt. He did not deserve this. He wasn’t worthy of their loyalty. And they shouldn’t have come to this place to watch his defeat.

But now, at the sight of those eleven Titans alongside Apollo, Cyrus’s stomach roiled, and panic flared within him.

“I should thank your lovely wife,” Apollo taunted, his expression full of glee. “Were it not for her, I never would have found the Book of Eyes. The power within it proved strong enough to allow the remaining Titans access to the Underworld.”

No, Cyrus thought, numb with disbelief. This couldn’t be true. Surely, this was only a nightmare, and he would wake at any moment to find Prue next to him in bed and the Titans still safely locked in Tartarus.

But no. The Titans were here. He was too late. Even if he could defeat Apollo in the challenge, how could he possibly send all eleven Titans back to Tartarus?

Dread and despair filled him, dragging his heart down to his stomach. He couldn’t do this. It was futile. Why should he even bother? Apollo had won either way.

“Cyrus!” Prue called, jolting him from his thoughts.

With weary eyes, he looked at his wife, who still stood several paces away. She looked at him, and her lavender eyes flared wide. Fear shone there, but also a resolute determination that he envied. He had always admired that about her. She was relentless. And she never faltered.

She nodded at him, then pressed her hand to her chest. He remembered her words from that night: No matter who you are, or what you are… I am yours, Cyrus. Always.

Cyrus’s eyes burned with emotion as he stared at her, inclining his head to show he understood. His gaze shifted behind her, to the crowd that had come to support their king.

They had come for him. Prue was here for him.

He wasn’t alone. And he wasn’t just fighting for his own life; he was fighting for theirs, too. For his kingdom. For the future of his people.

For the woman he loved more than his own soul.

Slowly, Cyrus turned to face Apollo once more, resolve coursing through him. Apollo’s smug expression only fueled Cyrus’s motivation to win, to wipe that slimy grin off the sun god’s face.

Apollo spread his hands, eyebrows raised. “Shall we choose our weapons?” He snapped his fingers at one of the Titans behind him, but before they could bring forth an arsenal, Cyrus spoke.

“No weapons.”

Apollo froze, eyes narrowed as he looked at Cyrus with suspicion.

“No weapons,” Cyrus repeated, his voice loud and firm. He wanted to choke the life out of Apollo with his bare hands.

Apollo smirked, then chuckled. “Very well, then. Suit yourself. I can easily kill you with my magic alone.”

Cyrus said nothing. Let Apollo believe he had the advantage. Perhaps he’d forgotten what Cyrus had done to him before. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed that Cyrus had channeled his own magic in front of him.

“Are you ready?” Apollo asked.

Cyrus nodded.

From behind the sun god, Hyperion bellowed, “Let the challenge commence!”

Cyrus immediately broke into a sprint, lunging for Apollo before he could summon his sun magic. He needed to close the distance between them as quickly as possible. His siphoning powers wouldn’t work unless he could touch Apollo.

His opponent reacted quickly. In seconds, Apollo was wielding a brilliant gold orb between his fingers. He flung it toward Cyrus, who dived out of the way, rolling in the dirt to avoid getting struck. He was on his feet once more, gasping for breath, his shoulder burning from the impact.

But he couldn’t let his mortal body slow him down. The fate of his kingdom depended on this.

More light soared toward him. Cyrus ducked, then dived again. This time, the magic seared into his right arm, and he roared in fury. The smell of scorched flesh reached his nose, and he lost all feeling in his upper arm.

He didn’t dare look at the wound. He knew it was bad. If he looked, it would distract him from his task.

Take him down. Then assess your injuries.

Breathing sharply through his teeth, Cyrus moved again. There were only a few steps between them now, but Apollo was circling him, keeping that distance. He knew. He knew what Cyrus was trying to do.

Apollo’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile, and Cyrus knew he was doomed. All Apollo needed to do was keep striking Cyrus from afar until he was too winded to continue. And Cyrus would never get close enough to touch him.

Despair threatened to take over once again, but Cyrus refused to give up. He scanned his surroundings, searching for something he could use to his advantage.

“Regretting not choosing a weapon, nephew?” Apollo taunted.

Cyrus ignored him. A long, jagged stick rested on the ground nearby. He snatched it up, then slashed it in the air directly in front of Apollo. As expected, Apollo reared back to avoid getting hit. Cyrus swung the stick again and again, forcing Apollo backward. The eleven Titans formed a wall behind him; Apollo wouldn’t get far, not without colliding with someone.

Apollo glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, realizing he was running out of space. The Titans shifted, inching backward to give Apollo more room, but Cyrus could tell the sun god was uncomfortable being this close to them. Sunlight burned between Apollo’s palms, and he unleashed his power.

Cyrus dropped, falling flat on his stomach, keeping low to the ground as the power blasted right above him, singeing the top of his hair. Sweat poured down his face as he rose to his feet. He swung his stick wide, arcing to the left. Apollo fell for the bait, shifting to the right. Cyrus let the stick fall, leaping for Apollo and managing to tackle him to the ground.

Before the sun god could retaliate, Cyrus’s hands were on his throat, pressing hard. He bared his teeth and growled, “Your reign ends now, oh great one.”

All the anger and power he felt from before flooded through him. He pictured Prue, her face tear-stained and her neck bruised after Hyperion’s attack. In his mind, he saw Apollo’s apathetic expression, completely unaffected by the fact that his daughter had been assaulted.

Heat burned between Cyrus’s hands, the power growing until his fingers began to quiver with intensity. The air thrummed, and Apollo’s eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe.

A heavy force collided with Cyrus, knocking him backward. He groaned, his arms scraping against the ground as he struggled to rise.

Hyperion’s dark eyes were fixed on him, one arm lifted as dark shadows spilled from his fingers.

Cyrus glared at the Titan. In an ordinary challenge, this was grounds for disqualification. But with the Titans unleashed, anything was possible. Cyrus didn’t want to risk igniting a civil war. If the Titans decided to attack, his people would be the first to die.

From the ground, Apollo climbed to his feet, massaging his neck. He nodded at Hyperion, who dropped his arms and withdrew to the line of Titans.

Cyrus’s breath seized within him. Dammit. As long as the Titans were backing Apollo, Cyrus would never win.

Power simmered in his veins, eager to be unleashed. But Cyrus had to save it for the right moment. He likely only had one shot. Apollo wouldn’t be foolish enough to let Cyrus touch him again. And now that Hyperion had seen firsthand what Cyrus could do, he wouldn’t let it happen, either.

Strike him straight through the heart, Cyrus told himself. A single strike of a god’s power at full blast would be enough to kill him. But it had to hit him directly in the heart.

Cyrus brought his hands together, and a pulsing vibration quaked through his fingers.

Apollo staggered back a step, his face paling, as he realized what Cyrus was about to do. His gaze flicked behind Cyrus as if searching for a way out. He brought his own hands together, no doubt to summon power to deflect Cyrus’s blow.

Cyrus unleashed the full strength of his sun magic, just as Apollo did the same… but his hands weren’t pointed at Cyrus.

Time seemed to freeze as someone shouted from behind him. Cyrus’s heart constricted in his chest as he heard Prue scream.

“No!” Cyrus roared, turning to see Prue fall to the ground. Lagos caught her by the shoulders before she collapsed. Her eyes were still open, but a searing black mark stained her shoulder.

Her shoulder. Not her chest. She wasn’t dead.

“Finish her!” Apollo bellowed.

Cyrus faced the sun god once more, finding him on the ground, clutching his bleeding arm.

Cyrus had missed.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on this. Hyperion strode forward, his venomous gaze fixed on Prue. He wielded his hands together, conjuring shadows, then blasted them straight at Prue.

Cyrus didn’t think. All he knew was he couldn’t let this vile beast destroy his wife. He dived, catching the Titan’s magic straight through his chest, absorbing the impact before he crashed to the ground. Screams echoed around him, and the smell of burning flesh stung his nostrils. Pain—blistering and unbearable—rocketed through him. He faintly heard Prue shouting his name before he succumbed to darkness.