Styxx shrugged. "I wouldn't have been hurt over this." At least not physically-those beatings were reserved for other offenses. Though there were times when he'd prefer being hit to listening to them call him worthless or other names.
Glad he'd helped his brother, Styxx watched as Acheron tore into the bread. Since they'd sent them both to bed with no supper, Acheron was starving. But as usual, Styxx had been unable to sleep and so once the palace quieted down, he'd snuck to the pantry.
"What did you eat?" Acheron asked.
"Bread ... with your honey." He grinned wide with his guilt.
Acheron laughed. "That was wrong of you."
Styxx indicated the small bag. "I thought you'd rather have the figs."
"You could have given me the choice."
"And I would have had my belly not been cramping. It smelled so good, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to eat some on my way here. Sorry."
"Then I shall forgive you." Acheron held the bread out. "Would you like more?"
He shook his head, declining it. Even though he was still hungry, he knew Acheron was even more so.
Frowning while he ate, Acheron cocked his head. "Can you not sleep again?"
"I tried." Morpheus held a grudge against him for reasons only the gods knew. No matter how hard Styxx tried, sleep forever eluded him.
Acheron scooted back on his pallet, making more room.
Grateful beyond measure, Styxx accepted his unspoken invitation and lay down by Acheron's side.
Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep. Acheron finished his food then tucked the bag into Styxx's chiton. Licking the last of the sugar from his fingers, he curled up behind Styxx, back to back, and placed the bottoms of his feet flush to his brother's. As far back as he could remember, they had slept like this whenever they could. Neither of them liked to be alone or apart, and yet their family seemed determined for them to be so. It was something neither of them understood.
How they both wished they could be left alone together.
And Styxx was the one he loved best.
His brother was the only one who treated him like he was normal. Styxx didn't hate him like their parents did, nor dote on him like he was a god incarnate as Ryssa was prone to do.
They were brothers. They played. They laughed. And they fought for everything they were worth. But whenever the fighting was done, they would dust off and be friends again.
Always and forever.
Closing his eyes, Acheron heard the voices that were continually in his head. Styxx heard them, too. But while Acheron only heard those of the gods, Styxx heard those and many, many more. It was one of the reasons his brother had such difficulty sleeping. Whenever they were together, the voices in Styxx's head stopped shouting at him and left him free to rest. Styxx could only hear Acheron's thoughts then, and Acheron was very careful of them.
But the moment they were apart, the voices returned to Styxx with a vengeance. The constant lack of sleep made his twin irritable most days and gave him terrible headaches. Headaches so ferocious that at times his nose bled from them, and he was often sick to his stomach.
No one else understood that. They accused Styxx of faking the pain. And both of them were terrified of telling others what they heard. Everyone but Styxx hated him enough already. Acheron had no desire to give them another cause.
When Styxx had tried to tell others about the voices, he'd been ridiculed and punished for lying. Even Ryssa had accused him of making it up for attention. So both of them had learned to keep the secret and tell no one. Ever.
There were many secrets the two of them shared.
And they had promised each other that one day, when they were grown and no one could stop them, they would leave this place and go somewhere else where people didn't treat them so badly.
Like his twin brother, Acheron couldn't wait for that day to come.
May 9, 9542 BC
"Sit up straight! You slouch like a fishmonger's son."
Styxx flinched at his father's angry tone and straightened himself immediately in his uncomfortable gold chair where his legs had gone numb from dangling over the edge of it. But if he folded them under him, it would anger his father even more than his slouching. While his father often doted on him, especially whenever they were in public, there were other times when his father would be so cross that nothing he did pleased him. Times when his father seemed to begrudge him every breath he took.