Ivy and bone, p.1
Ivy & Bone, page 1
IVY & BONE
Copyright © 2022 R.L. Perez
All rights reserved.
Published by Willow Haven Press 2022
United States of America
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.
Cover Art by Blue Raven Book Covers
ISBN: 978-1-955035-15-6
www.rlperez.com
CONTENTS
Mutiny
Haunted
Plea
Samhain
Bound
Truth
Ghosts
Banishment
Flee
Seafarers
Murane
Lovers
Hunt
Fears
Laughter
Climb
Heat
Denial
Altered
Trapped
Trust
Empire
Challenge
Imposter
Blood
Games
Sealed
One
Gate
Goddess
Gaia
Destroy
Consumed
Underworld
Epilogue
Thorn & Ash
Note to the reader
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by R.L. Perez
For my Tuesday Tribe. Thanks for listening to me rant.
* * *
And for my family. I love you. You are my rock.
But please never read this book. Trust me when I say it’s way too steamy for you.
“. . . a chasm opened in the earth and out of it coal-black horses sprang, drawing a chariot and driven by one who had a look of dark splendor, majestic and beautiful and terrible. He caught her to him and held her close. The next moment she was being borne away from the radiance of earth in springtime to the world of the dead by the king who rules it.”
* * *
Edith Hamilton, Mythology
MUTINY
CYRUS
With a brush of his power, Cyrus felt the air change.
It wasn’t alarming or explosive; in fact, if he’d been otherwise preoccupied, he might have missed the subtle shift of the wind, the whispers that lingered as Cyrus walked past the rivers of the Underworld.
Something was growing. Waiting. Watching.
Though his magic made no outward appearance, it still burned in his bones, an ever-present entity that fed him information and heightened his senses.
Cyrus kept his head held high, the crown of bones settled comfortably atop his silver hair marking him as the ruler of this domain. The cool babble of the river Styx soothed him, reminding him of all he possessed. He peered into its silver depths, finding the wispy souls floating from within. An echo of their sorrow nagged at his mind, tugging at something deep inside that he’d tried to squash for so long.
Loneliness.
Yes, he was powerful. But he was also utterly and completely alone.
This was a necessity, though. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Trust led to vulnerability and betrayal. But that didn’t mean he had to like his isolated lifestyle. Constantly monitoring his brothers, overseeing the rivers, trusting nothing and no one but himself and his own magic. . . The burden weighed heavily on him, and sometimes a tiny part of his mind wished there was someone else to help him carry it.
Cyrus continued patrolling the rivers, ensuring all the assigned guardians were in place. His older brother, Romanos, surveyed the river Styx, nodding grimly to Cyrus as he passed. Romanos learned long ago not to test Cyrus, and he was one of the few princes who quickly adapted. As such, Cyrus had no reason to torment him like he did the others.
Romanos was obedient. He followed orders.
The others were not so wise.
Even though Cyrus was the youngest of six princes of Hell, he possessed enough power to rule over the realm and force his older brothers—and his father—into submission.
But his power came with a price. He was bound to the mortal realm. He thought of the enchanted grimoire that bound him, and he ground his teeth. That book served as a gate between the Underworld and mortal realm, hidden somewhere in the land of the living. His one weakness.
It was a fair trade, Cyrus thought. Yes, he was connected to that wretched world of humans, but if it meant more power? He would’ve made the trade all over again.
Even if it meant spending an eternity alone. Yes, it was worth it.
But as often as Cyrus thought the words, he believed it less and less. Is it worth it? Truly?
Cyrus pushed aside these feelings of unease, along with the warning in his magic, because he presumed that it was just that miserable mortal realm calling to him as it always did. He could ignore it once more. The incessant beckoning, the whispers in his mind, the way his thoughts often turned to that tiny village he’d sheltered in so long ago. . . He was accustomed to shoving those promptings aside.
But it felt different this time. It wasn’t just the thoughts and memories nagging at his mind. This strange new feeling was something else. Something colder. Like a swell of ice in his chest that made it difficult to breathe.
As Cyrus continued past the gaping abyss of Tartarus, he reached the edge of the dead forest that lined Acheron. The foul stench of sorrow and suffering stung his nostrils. Despite the bleak surroundings, he smiled. Every time he set foot in Acheron, his former domain, he was reminded of the humiliating and grueling life he’d left behind.
Now, his older brother, Leonidas, was tasked with overseeing the river of pain and torment.
When Cyrus reached the riverbank, he frowned. Instead of finding his brother, haggard and worn from his time surrounded by devastation and pain, he found his father, Aidoneus. The once mighty god of the Underworld stood facing the river, wielding his hands together to summon tendrils of black flame that speared into the water’s depths. With each stroke, the already murky stream darkened until it resembled liquid ash.
Cyrus halted, his magic swelling inside him with alarm and distrust. “What are you doing here?”
Aidoneus didn’t answer at first. He continued summoning magic as if he hadn’t heard his son.
Anger boiled within Cyrus, and he raised his hand, prepared to conjure his own dark flames, even if it meant wounding his father. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Before he could, Aidoneus turned to face him. Something about his father’s face struck a bolt of uncertainty through Cyrus’s chest. There was a calm assuredness in Aidoneus’s expression that unsettled him. His father had always regarded him with wary apprehension and veiled disgust. It was clear Cyrus’s immense power frightened his father.
But today, something was different. And it made Cyrus’s already restless magic churn uncontrollably.
The air is wrong today, Cyrus thought. My magic can feel it.
And, judging by the look on his face, Aidoneus knew it, too.
“You know, don’t you?” Aidoneus asked.
“Know what?” Cyrus’s eyebrows lifted, and he raised his hands in exasperation. “Where Leonidas is? No. Please enlighten me. If he’s abandoned his post again, he’ll be soundly punished for it.”
Aidoneus smirked as if he could see right through Cyrus’s bravado. “Leonidas is with Marcellus and Vasileios. The three of them felt it, too.”
Marcellus and Vasileios. The former was a warrior that Cyrus had humiliated upon gaining his power. The latter was the previous heir to the throne, whose crown Cyrus had taken by force.
If the three brothers who loathed Cyrus the most were convening, that couldn’t be good.
“Your magic is hiding the truth from you.” Aidoneus’s eyes turned serious. “Be careful of that.”
“Like I would believe anything you say,” Cyrus sneered. “When did you ever give a damn about me and my magic?”
Sorrow stirred in Aidoneus’s gaze, and for a moment, Cyrus caught a glimpse of regret. But it was gone in an instant.
“Consider this a warning.” Aidoneus drew closer. He still dwarfed Cyrus, but the feeble amount of power emanating from his father made him seem pathetic and small. How had this pitiful god ever possessed enough power to rule?
“Mutiny is upon you, my son,” Aidoneus murmured, his eyes flashing. “And you best be ready for it when it arrives. Your brothers have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to usurp you.”
“And that’s now?” Cyrus asked coldly, his eyes narrowing. Even if his brothers were uniting against him, there was no way they could match his power. They had tried before—and failed.
In the Underworld, Cyrus was the only being with enough magic to wound another god. None other had such power.
He could kill them all. And they knew it. For so long, that threat had kept order i n the Underworld.
“Seek the answers you need from your magic,” Aidoneus said. “You are still bound to the mortal realm, Cyrus. And things are changing up there.”
“How do you know this?” A surge of fear welled up inside Cyrus. What if his father spoke the truth?
“I did not make the same fatal bargain you did. I still have a leash on my magic. But you—you gave up your soul for more power. That comes with a price. You are the one on a leash. Have a care before it pulls you in a direction you do not want to go.”
Cyrus’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare lecture me as if you have some great wisdom to impart on me, Aidoneus. You were never a father to me. And you never will be.”
That same strange sorrow flickered in Aidoneus’s eyes once more. “I know.”
Cyrus blinked. He hadn’t expected that response. He clenched his teeth, his gaze dropping to the foggy contents of the river. “What are you doing to Acheron?”
Aidoneus smiled, but it lacked warmth. It was a sharp curve of his mouth and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “This will always be your domain, my son. Even if you have claimed the throne of Styx, your essence is tethered to this river because it is your origin. Your connection here is the only thing keeping you in the Underworld. Otherwise, that cursed book would yank you to the land of the living, trapping you there permanently.”
Cyrus’s brows lowered. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Aidoneus looked positively smug now. “I am poisoning it.”
Anger and alarm burned in Cyrus’s chest until he couldn’t breathe. In an explosion of flames, Cyrus struck his father down. Aidoneus raised his hands to deflect the blow, but Cyrus’s magic was stronger. Far stronger. Aidoneus groaned and sank to one knee, his wispy black smoke pitiful compared to Cyrus’s all-consuming fire.
Cyrus pushed harder, prepared to shove his father into the poisoned river just to see how he fared. But he faltered when he realized Aidoneus was laughing.
“You’re too late,” Aidoneus said hoarsely. Sweat poured down his face, and his arms quivered from the effort of holding Cyrus’s power at bay. Even so, amusement danced in his eyes, and it only infuriated Cyrus further.
“Why?” Cyrus bit out, baring his teeth.
“When the poison takes effect,” Aidoneus said, “This river will dry up. The souls will be destroyed. And the anchor binding you to the Underworld will deteriorate. You’ll have nowhere left to go except the mortal realm.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth so tightly his head throbbed. With a swift movement, he slashed his hands through the air, cutting off his flames. Aidoneus crumpled, clutching at the gash Cyrus had carved in his gut. Silver blood oozed, pooling onto the grass and mingling with the souls in the river.
“You’re lying,” Cyrus growled.
“I’m not. And you know it.” Despite his labored breathing, Aidoneus’s mouth stretched into a lethal grin. “This realm will descend into chaos. And you won’t be here to maintain control.”
Cyrus drew closer to his father, shaking with fury. “You think you can get rid of me so easily?”
“The Book of Eyes has been opened,” Aidoneus hissed. “That grimoire that’s bound to your soul? It’s in the hands of witches. And they own you now. You’re bound for the mortal realm, boy. It’s only a matter of time before they summon you, and when they do . . . you won’t have a home to come back to.”
HAUNTED
PRUE
“You’re sulking again,” Mona whispered.
Prue crossed her arms, facing the rippling waves of the ocean as she tried to drown out her sister’s taunting voice.
“Isn’t there something more productive you could be doing?” Mona went on. “Something less . . . broody?”
Prue rolled her eyes. “I am not brooding.”
“Really? Then tell me why you’re out here, completely alone, with that grumpy look on your face.”
“I am . . . going over the plan in my head,” Prue said softly. “I need to be alone so the others in the coven won’t be suspicious.” Her mother, Polina, could always read her like an open book. And, as the Maiden of their coven, Prue was constantly called upon to use her magic to strengthen the village. It was exhausting. Every time Prue was summoned for it, she had to bite back a snarl of anger and resentment.
She didn’t want this. She’d never wanted this.
Mona was always supposed to be the Maiden. It should have been her.
If Prue didn’t come out here to glare at the horizon on a regular basis, she would probably end up cursing the entire coven into oblivion.
“So, the plan is in motion then?” Mona asked.
Prue nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the slowly setting sun. Not long now, she thought. Today was Samhain, marking the end of the harvest season and the start of winter. This was when the veil between worlds was the thinnest.
This was the only night Prue could break open the gates of the Underworld. She had waited for this for more than six months. If she failed, she would have to wait another year.
She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She would rather die than spend another year in the service of her coven, when Mona . . .
“It’ll work,” Mona reassured her. “You’re strong, Prue. You’ve studied this for months now. You will succeed.”
Prue finally turned to face her sister. She didn’t often look Mona in the eye because she knew what she would see.
An apparition. A transparent fog. A whisper compared to who Mona had been when she was alive. The ghostly form resembled Mona in so many ways—the same dark wavy hair that was much smoother and less wild than Prue’s; the proud chin, delicate nose, and full lips that Prue shared; and even the darker skin tone, making her ghost appear smoky gray instead of pearly white.
But the spirit lacked Mona’s vibrancy, the luminescent glow of her sea-foam-colored eyes, the laughter gleaming in her gaze. This spirit was only a shadow. A constant reminder that Prue had already failed once before. She had failed to keep her sister alive.
She would not fail again.
“And you will play your part?” Prue asked, eyebrows raised.
Mona smiled, but it lacked the energy and spark that Prue knew so well. Her sister had been bright and cunning, always eager to find new avenues to use her magic. This smile was feeble by comparison. It was a mockery.
“Of course,” Mona said. “I’ve saved myself for this moment. For when it will matter most.”
Prue nodded again, though uncertainty bubbled within her. Her curls billowed around her with the fierce ocean breeze, and she impatiently tucked the loose strands behind her ear. Prue had a feeling she was the only one who could see Mona. None of the other villagers mentioned seeing Mona’s ghost, and the apparition always vanished when others approached.
But it made perfect sense. Prue deserved this. Mona had sacrificed herself to save the village—to save Prue—from unholy destruction at the hands of the undead souls of the Underworld. Prue had been prepared to pay the price, but Mona had stepped in first.
This was Prue’s punishment: to always be haunted by her sister’s ghost. It was so fitting that Prue doubted whether Mona could play her part. What if no one else in the coven could see her? They hadn’t seen her yet, so why would that change now?
“The veil is thin tonight,” Mona said. “Even those who refuse to see will have no other choice. I will be the first one through. I promise.”
Prue had been attending Samhain ceremonies since she was a toddler. She knew what to expect. Once the spell was cast and the spirits were summoned, the coven would wait to see who wished to commune with them, to impart the wisdom of the dead to the land of the living.
