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 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.