"He'll be fine, Your Highness," Boraxis assured me. "His quarters won't be refined, but they'll be serviceable and clean."
And Boraxis would know. He had once been a slave before my father freed him.
"Thank you, Boraxis."
My heart heavy, I went to my quarters and wondered what Acheron would do for the next four days.
November 8, 9532 BC
I waited on the deck with bated breath for Acheron's return. Over the last four days I'd tried my best to see him, but no one would allow it. Apparently the regular passengers weren't allowed below decks anymore than the slaves were allowed above.
Almost everyone was gone now, even the sailors, while Boraxis and I waited.
At last, I saw Acheron appear. As he had on the day they'd taken him below, he had his cowl pulled low, his head bent down.
Not even a single glimpse of his body or face could be seen.
"There you are!" I said in joy at seeing him again.
He said nothing in return.
When I tried to embrace him, he shrugged me away. When I tried to meet his gaze, he moved past me.
His actions irritated me. Was this the thanks I received for saving him from the madness of my uncle's home? Surely as bare as the slaves' quarters had been, they were preferable to being mauled by others.
"Don't be so petulant, Acheron. I had no choice."
Still he spoke no words.
I wanted to shake him. This was the first time his behavior reminded me of Styxx. "What is wrong with you? Answer me!"
"I want to go home."
I was completely flabbergasted by his whispered request that was tinged with anger.
"Are you mad? Why would you ever want to return to Atlantis?"
He didn't respond.
Sighing in frustration, I led him from the deck. Once we were on the docks, Boraxis went to procure us a closed herio for the journey home.
Still Acheron remained silent. He didn't look around or show any interest at all in the fact that he was safe from Estes's clutches.
"We're in Greece now. Not too far from home."
When he made no response, I sighed and was grateful to see a herio drawing near us. Maybe that would cheer his malaise.
As it stopped before us, a nobleman hailed me.
"My lord?" I asked as he drew near. He wasn't much older than I. His clothes and bearing said that he was extremely well to do, though I didn't recognize him as an aristocrat or dignitary.
He barely looked at me. It was Acheron who held his attention, Acheron who shrank away from the man. "Is he yours, my lady?"
I hesitated at answering that. "Why do you wish to know?"
"I want to buy him. Name your price and I'll pay it."
Anger cut through me. "He's not for sale."
The man finally met my gaze. I swear I saw madness in his blue eyes. "I'll pay anything you wish for him."
Boraxis rejoined us and frowned a stern warning at the man. "Get in the herio, Acheron."
Acheron didn't speak as he quickly climbed inside.
When I tried to join him, the man actually stopped me. "Please, my lady. I have to have him. I'll give you anything you wish."
Boraxis forced the man aside.
I climbed into the herio all the while the man continued to try to bribe me.
"I can't believe this," I mumbled. "Does this happen often?"
"Yes." Acheron's response was barely more than a whisper.
Boraxis secured our door. "I shall ride with the driver, my lady." He handed me a wineskin and what felt like bread wrapped in cloth. "If you need anything, call for me."
"Thank you, Boraxis."
He nodded, then climbed up on the seat outside.
Having eaten a large breakfast on the ship, I wasn't hungry. I could feel Acheron's stare, but he still kept himself covered by his cloak. "Would you care for a bite?" I asked, handing the food to Acheron.
As the herio started forward, he tore into the cloth like a starved animal. It wasn't until he moved to eat that I finally saw a glimpse of his forearm.
There was blood encrusted around the gold band on his wrist. But he didn't seem to notice as he shoved chunks of bread into his mouth.
"Are you all right, Acheron?"
He only continued to eat ravenously.
When the bread was gone, he attacked the wineskin with the same fervor. It was several minutes before he lowered the skin and let out what sounded like a relieved breath.
I reached for his injured arm.
He didn't move as I sat forward and pulled the band back to uncover a nasty wound there. As I looked at his bloodied wrist, I noticed more bruises on his forearm.
And then I saw his face.
I gasped in alarm. Before I could think of what I was doing, I jerked the cowl down. His skin was still that dull, ashen gray, his hair lank and matted.
But it was his face that held me transfixed. Dark purple circles ran underneath both eyes as if he hadn't slept at all. His lips were chapped, raw and bleeding. Both of his cheeks were bruised as if someone had slapped him repeatedly. One eye was red from broken blood vessels.
His clothes were torn and dirty.