“Do you need my sword?” Evander extended his arm, offering his blood-soaked blade.
Cyrus was about to snap something at him when he noticed the blade was glowing. It was white and gleaming, just like the souls still floating through the air. “Where did you get that?”
Evander’s smile had a hint of smugness. “From Typhon. It won’t last long, but it should help you if another harpy tries to drag you through the mud.”
Cyrus shoved at his brother, who laughed. “What do you mean,it won’t last long?”
“The Wild Spirits can only make certain things corporealfor a certain amount of time. Typhon’s blade is different because he shared so much energy with me. I think that’s why he’s still out there.” Evander gestured toward the sky where a winged creature streaked past. “The others don’t have the energy to keep fighting as long as he can.”
Cyrus’s blood chilled. “So… they’re leaving?”
“They have to, otherwise their souls will disintegrate. They’ve fought a long time to find peace, and I’m not going to rob them of it.”
Cyrus swallowed hard. He, too, had promised freedom to the Wild Spirits. He didn’t blame Evander for letting them go. They were lucky the spirits had fought for them this long.
But with the harpies and hellhounds emerging, it was the worst time for them to lose their allies.
“I wouldn’t think less of you if you retreated,” Evander said, his silver eyes solemn. “You have a kingdom to rule. Your people need you alive so you can look after them.”
Cyrus scowled. “I’m not leaving. Not when Prue is out there fighting.”
“But you are mortal.”
“So are you!” Cyrus snapped. Then, he faltered, noting Evander’s silvery eyes.Washe mortal?
Evander shrugged, as if he didn’t quite know the answer to this, either. “Romanos siphoned my death magic from me, but Typhon’s ghost lingered. I released Typhon to the Wild Spirits, which freed them before they could drain me of my immortal blood. I don’t possess magic, but… I am not as weak as a mortal.” His eyes glinted, and Cyrus imagined he was about to say,Not as weak asyou.
A roar interrupted them as a hellhound leapt from thedarkness. With one brutal strike of his lightning, Cyrus ignited the creature, setting its body ablaze. When the light faded, it fell to the ground, unmoving.
“So, what you’re saying is,” Cyrus said, “you’re a mutant, and no one is quite surewhatyou are.”
Evander chuckled. “Yes. Precisely that.”
A deafeningboomshook the ground. Cracks splintered along the earth. Chunks of hard rock crashed around them as the very ground at their feet began to break apart.
“Shit,” Cyrus hissed, backing away to avoid getting sucked into a crevice. But the ground was splitting too quickly. He broke into a sprint, Evander at his side as they tried to outrun the earthquake.
“I really wish… I still had Typhon’s… wings right about now!” Evander panted.
Cyrus was too winded to respond, his body straining and throbbing with each frantic stride. Gods, he was so weak. He wouldn’t make it.
A burst of gold and silver light ignited in the distance, lighting up the sky. For a moment, Cyrus was so transfixed by it that he almost lost his footing.
“It’s Prue and Mona,” he gasped, recognizing the beam of Prue’s gold magic.
The distraction cost him. His foot connected with something hard, something he couldn’t see, and he went sprawling. His arms flew out to break his fall, but he slammed sideways, his head crashing into rocks and debris. Darkness clouded his vision, and he went utterly still.
Muffled voices echoed around him. The worldseemed hazy and foggy. He couldn’t make out distinct shapes or sounds. Was he dead? It certainly felt like it.
Smack.Cyrus’s head swiveled as Evander slapped him hard across the face.
“Wake up, dammit!” Evander bellowed. The ground continued to rumble around them.
Cyrus gasped, the sound wet and rattling. Blood dribbled from his mouth. He still couldn’t clear his damn head. Everything was blurred.
“How many times are you going to trip and fall like an idiot?” Evander asked in exasperation. “Gods, at this rate, you’ll be lucky to survive another five minutes.”
He was trying to goad Cyrus. Cyrus yearned to respond, to taunt him with his own barb, but only a mangled jumble of sounds escaped him. More blood bubbled from his lips.
