Visitors
VISITORS
CYRUS
Cyrus did not appreciate being summoned.
So when a servant appeared with a letter ordering Cyrus to meet Apollo at the entrance to Tartarus, he swore loudly before ripping the paper to shreds, vowing to ignore Apollo until he had the decency to speak to him like an equal.
After his temper faded, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that to get information from Apollo and earn his trust, Cyrus would need to play along.
And that included responding to his summons.
But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
Cyrus took his time. He took the longer route through the palace, and, without realizing it, he found himself standing just outside Prue’s bedchamber.
He froze, his heart stilling in his chest as he stared at the door handle. He knew what would happen if he went in.
She would look up, expecting a maid. When she saw him, her entire face would light up with the hope that he had decided to return to her.
His heart wrenched painfully at the thought. Gods, he wouldn’t be able to bear seeing that look in her eyes—the look of eager relief—only for it to be smashed later.
He was weak and powerless and about to lose his throne. And even if Apollo weren’t here threatening his reign, he had nothing to offer this kingdom. He was a human now, a pathetic mortal who wouldn’t even last another fifty years of life.
Prue would outlive him. And the devastation of that loss would almost break her. It was better for her to endure it now, when she was young and healthy and strong, when Gaia was here to help her through it.
You should let her have a say in how she wants to live her life, he thought. She had told him she would be waiting for him, that she would gladly accept him as her husband. But did she truly realize what that meant? She would constantly have to help him, heal him, protect him… It would be as miserable for her as it would be for him.
And Cyrus would resent her for it. Right now, with his hand hovering over the door handle, he yearned to be with his wife more than anything, to wrap her in his arms and feel her skin against his. He wanted to pin her body to the bed and elicit those intoxicating moans from her, to hear her come undone as he thrust inside her.
He wanted it so much that his hands began to shake.
But… he also knew it would not last. Sooner or later, the anger and fury at his new form would overcome him again. He wasn’t strong enough to resist the powerful pull of these human emotions. And he would hurt her. Again. And again.
It would keep happening until he broke her completely. One day, there would be no coming back.
A knot of despair filled his throat as he withdrew his hand and forced himself to keep walking down the hall. Every piece of him ached to turn around, to storm into those bedchambers and claim his wife once more.
But he knew this was better. Once he helped Apollo, he would get his powers back. Then, he and Prue could properly challenge the sun god together, as a united front. They would win, and they could rule together.
Everything would be fine after that.
He rehearsed this plan in his mind over and over again until he almost believed it. His steps were automatic as he made his way down the winding staircase, through the castle doors, and toward the crumbled caves that had led to Tartarus.
The air chilled, and a heavy mist surrounded Cyrus, clinging to him with tendrils of smoke and power. He shuddered, rubbing his arms against the cold. It was so unnerving, stepping outside the palace walls and seeing how empty and ghost-like his kingdom was. Only the palace remained intact—everything else had been swallowed by the mist.
He could still make out the broken rocks of the cavern up ahead. When the jagged chunks of debris met his gaze, he faltered, his blood running cold. Within the pile of rocks, he saw the lifeless face of his wife, heard her screams as she shred herself apart to keep the cave walls from crushing them both.
Nausea roiled in Cyrus’s gut, and he bent over, hands on his knees as he struggled to inhale properly. His breaths turned into sharp wheezes, and his vision blurred, then darkened.
Gods, he couldn’t breathe. Everything was suffocating around him, pressing in on him.
Too much, too much.
Prue, dead in his arms. His soul, broken by the loss.
“Prue is alive,” he whispered. “She is here. She is alive and healthy and powerful.” He repeated the words until his vision cleared and his breathing leveled out.
After what felt like an eternity, he straightened, taking several steadying breaths before he continued onward.
It didn’t take long to find the sun god. Bursts of light bled through the mist, guiding Cyrus’s way until he stood before Apollo. Streams of celestial golden light glided along his fingertips, gathering together until they formed a massive ball of power. Apollo flung the magic forward, but it crashed against a large boulder, dissolving into the mist.
“Dammit,” Apollo grumbled before turning to face Cyrus. His eyebrows lifted. “Ah, there you are. I need your help. How can I access the gates to Tartarus?”
Cyrus frowned, scanning the surroundings. Only then did he realize the giant boulder rested atop what had once been the very pit he and Prue had jumped into together.
This was Tartarus. And it was currently blocked by rocks and debris.
Cyrus swallowed, his throat dry as he tried not to remember the horrifying visions this place had tormented him with. His voice was slightly strained as he demanded, “Why?”
“I need to access it in order for my plan to work,” Apollo said, his expression wary. He still didn’t trust Cyrus, but that was to be expected.
“Without my magic, there isn’t much I can do.” Cyrus spread his hands as if in apology.
“Someone else, perhaps?” Apollo asked hopefully.
Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. “If I knew why , I could be more helpful. For instance, there are several demons who might be able to move the rubble, but if you want the matter kept private, that limits our options.”
Apollo considered this, his lips thinning as he gazed absently at the boulder. After a moment, he said, “We will be expecting visitors in this realm very soon. Allies of mine who will ensure I win the crown.”
Cyrus’s heart lodged itself in his throat. “… from Tartarus?”
“Yes.”
No, no, no, no… “That is not a good idea,” he growled.
“What could you possibly be afraid of that hasn’t already happened?” Apollo spread his arms wide, indicating the broken mess before them. “There is no realm to destroy, no people to slaughter.”
“There are people,” Cyrus argued. “There’s a palace and…” And Prue, he thought. Prue could be in danger.
But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he said, “What good would this place be if you didn’t have subjects to rule?”
“My allies will take care of that,” Apollo said vaguely.
Cyrus’s insides twisted with unease. Allies? From Tartarus? How could he possibly go along with this?
When Cyrus didn’t respond, Apollo turned to face him fully, his eyes flashing with irritation. “I was under the impression you wanted your powers back. Or am I mistaken?”
Still, Cyrus hesitated. He could say he changed his mind. He could turn away and refuse to unleash whatever hellish monstrosity Apollo sought from Tartarus.
But Apollo would find a way. He was powerful and persuasive, and even without Cyrus’s help, he would make this happen. And Cyrus would learn nothing of his plans if he refused.
At long last, Cyrus said slowly, “I know the demon overseers who were last in charge of Tartarus. If I fetch them, they should be able to clear this.”
Apollo grinned and clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Send for them, if you will.”
Cyrus turned, then paused. “Give me your word they will not be harmed after they’ve completed this task.”
Apollo blinked at him in confusion. “You think me so callous?”
“Yes,” Cyrus said at once. “It’s what I would do.” Or rather, what I would have done before. He was stunned to find that the idea of losing his subjects tormented him almost as much as the idea of losing Prue. How had that happened? And when had this change occurred?
Apollo sighed. “Yes, yes, I swear it,” he said impatiently. “Now, please fetch them. The sooner, the better.”
Without waiting for a reply, Apollo turned away from him, shooting more of his sun magic at the boulder in his fruitless attempts to blast it free.
Cyrus watched the sun god for a long moment before turning back toward the palace, wondering if he was making a grave error in helping Apollo.