location-that would only invite his anger toward me, and learn me nothing I didn't already know, so I resorted to bribing the palace guards.
Even that was easier said than done since most of them knew nothing at all and those who did were too afraid of my father's wrath to speak of it.
But at last, I had the answer. My brother had been taken to the lowest part of the palace, beneath the foundation where they kept the worst sort of criminals: rapists, murderers, traitors…
And one young prince whose father hated him for no reason other than he'd been born.
I didn't want to go down there where you could hear the cries and moans of the damned, where you could smell their rotting flesh and torture. It was only the knowledge that Acheron was there that made me find the courage I needed to visit.
I was quite sure that if he'd been given a choice he wouldn't have been there either.
I walked down the twisting corridors, pulling my cloak ever closer to me for warmth. It was so damp and cold here. Dark. Unforgiving. Not even my torch could banish the dankness.
As I passed the cells, those who could see the light called out for my mercy. However it wasn't my mercy they needed to be free. It was my father's.
Unfortunately, he had none to spare.
The captain of the guards led me to a small door at the very end of the corridor, but he refused to open it. I could hear the sound of water dripping from inside, but nothing else. There was a fetid stench permeating the air and choking me. I had no idea what caused it. Truly this was a frightening place.
'Just hand over the key to me. I swear no one will ever know.'
The guard's face paled. 'I cannot, Your Highness. His majesty made it clear that anyone who opens this door will be sentenced to death. I have children to feed.'
I understood his fear and had no doubt whatsoever that my father would indeed kill him for the affront. The gods knew, he'd killed men for far less. So I thanked him and waited for him to leave me alone before I knelt on the cold, damp floor and opened the small trap door that had been designed to pass food from the hallway into the cell.
'Acheron?' I called. 'Are you in there?'
I lay flat on the filthy floor to peer through the small opening, but could see nothing. Not a single bit of flesh or clothing or light.
Finally, I heard something rustle ever so slightly.
'Ryssa?' His voice was weak and scratchy, but it filled me with joy.
He was alive.
I reached my hand through the opening as an offering to him. 'It is I, akribos.'
I felt his hand take mine. It shook ever so slightly. His fingers were thin, skeletal, his grip gentle.
'You shouldn't be here,' he said in that raspy tone. 'No one is allowed to speak to me.'
I closed my eyes at his words and drew a ragged breath. I wanted to ask him if he were well, but I knew better. How could he be all right living in a small cell like an animal?
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
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.
By the time the physicians arrived, Styxx had grown ghostly pale and gaunt.
I moved away so that they could examine him and while they worked, I watched fretfully.
'What is it?' my father asked, his voice fraught with concern.
The physicians appeared baffled. 'I've never seen anything like it, Sire.'
'What?' I asked, my voice breaking.
The head physician sighed. 'It's as if he's about to die from thirst and starvation though I know he's never missed a single meal. From the looks of him, I doubt he'll live out the day. It doesn't make sense. How could a prince have these symptoms?'
My heart stilled at his words and instantly I knew the source of Styxx's illness. 'Acheron,' I said to my father. 'He's dying.'
