I tightened my grip on his hand. "How long have you been here?"
"I don't know. There's no way to judge day from night."
"Have you no window?"
He laughed bitterly at that. "No, Ryssa. I have no window."
I wanted to weep for him.
He released my hand. "You need to go, Princess. You don't belong down here in this place."
"Neither do you." I tried to reach him, but felt nothing save the dirt floor. "Acheron?"
He didn't answer.
"Acheron, please. I just need to hear the sound of your voice. I need to know that you're all right."
Silence answered me.
I lay there for a long time with my hand still in his cell, hoping he would retake it. He didn't. While I waited, I kept talking to him even though he refused to speak to me. Not that I blamed him.
He had every right to be angry and sullen. I couldn't imagine the horror of them dragging him through the streets to lock him in this place.
And for what?
Some imagined slight my father felt? Some need Styxx had to assuage his dignity? It disgusted me.
I didn't leave until a servant brought his dinner. A bowl of thin soup and fetid water. I stared at it in horror.
Tonight Styxx would dine on his favorite foods and eat until he was full and content while nobles would gather to wish him well and dote upon his every whim. Father would heap presents upon him and shower him with love and good wishes.
And here Acheron would sit in a filthy cell. Alone. Hungry. In chains.
My eyes full of tears, I watched the servant close the door and leave us.
"Happy birthday, Acheron," I breathed, knowing he couldn't hear me.
October 22, 9529 BC
For the last few months, I'd been preparing for my union with Apollo. During the morning hours before the palace began stirring with activity, I'd made it a point of visiting with Acheron at his cell. He seldom spoke, but every so often I would get a word or two out of him.
I cherished every one of them.
I only wished he'd participate more in our discussions. Sad to say that at times I was rather curt with him, even angry. I made such an effort, and risked much to see him and bring him tidbits of bread and sweets. The very least he could do was be semi-cordial to me.
But apparently, that was asking too much.
It was afternoon and I'd been meeting with Father, Styxx and the High Priest in Father's study to discuss what I would have to wear for the ceremony that would bind me to Apollo.
Originally the council had wanted to offer me to the god completely naked. Luckily the priest had talked them out of it and now there was much debate over the right gown and jewelry.
As the scribe took notes, Styxx fell suddenly ill. Too weak to stand, he collapsed on the floor where he lay like a small child, trembling. Every heartbeat seemed to make him paler. Weaker.
Terrified, I watched as Father picked him up in his arms and carried him to his room. I followed them, scared of what might have possessed him. Though we fought much, I did in fact love my brother and the last thing I wanted was to see him hurt.
Father laid him on the bed and called for a physician. I moved forward, trying to help, but there was really nothing I could do. Styxx couldn't even speak. He breathed as if his throat was parched and his lungs were damaged. He stared at me, his own eyes filled with terror at what was happening to him.
Praying for him, I took his hand into mine and held him the way I'd often done Acheron. It was rare for Styxx to tolerate my touch which told me just how ill he was.