Acheron held his breath at words that had been said to him so many times. Just once couldn't someone think of that before they damaged him?
"I'm fine." But the truth was, he wasn't. He'd never been all right with the pain. He'd merely grown used to it.
She brushed the hair back from his face. "You look so tired. I shouldn't have taken so much blood from you." She tugged him toward the bed. "You should rest."
True. There was no telling what horrors would be there for him on the morrow. Another gelding or beating, or just the emotional punching that Artemis excelled at.
He couldn't wait.
"Will you come to me tomorrow?" he asked again, desperate to not be alone while the whole world lavished well wishes on his twin brother.
Artemis hesitated. She wanted to come, but Apollo would be here for Styxx's celebration. She had to be careful. Because they were twins and gods, he could sense whenever she was near. If he felt her, he'd come seeking her and that could very well cost Acheron his life. "You know I have a festival. How can I miss it?"
He looked away and the hurt she felt from him sliced through her own heart.
"I'll visit the next day."
Acheron held his emotions in check. "I'll look forward to it then."
"Are you being sullen with me?"
"No." He was hurt. "I hope you have a good festival."
Artemis raked her hand through his hair. Will you think of me while I'm gone?"
"I always do."
She leaned down to kiss his cheek. "You always make me feel so special."
And she always made him feel like shit. She tucked her arm under his so that she could take his hand. He held it to his heart and let out a long sigh.
As he did so, a bad feeling went through him. Something was going to happen tomorrow. He could feel it with every part of him. Whatever it was, he was certain would change him and Artemis forever.
Akri di diyam.
June 23, 9527 BC
Acheron sat on the railing of his balcony completely drunk in the darkness as he watched the elaborately dressed guests arriving for the birthday party in the palace below. His back was pressed against the building while his legs were stretched out before him in a precarious balance. He wasn't sure how much he'd imbibed at this point.
Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to kill him. But if he were lucky, he might yet tumble from his perch to the rocks a hundred feet below and die horribly there.
That would definitely fuck up his brother's birthday celebration. For the first time in weeks, he laughed at the thought of Styxx dropping dead in front of the gathered nobles and dignitaries.
It would serve them right.
"It's my birthday too," he shouted, knowing no one could hear him. Even if they could, they wouldn't care.
Acheron turned his head and flinched as pain cut through him. He hated the fact that Artemis alone could give him so much anguish. He'd been so careful to shield himself from the callousness of others. But Artemis cut him on a level no one else could touch.
And like everyone else, she didn't care how much she hurt him.
Then again, he should be grateful. At least this year he wasn't celebrating the anniversary of his birth in prison . . .
Or a stew.
Ever alone. Even when he was in a crowd, surrounded by people, he was alone.
Truthfully, he was tired of it. No one wanted him. The only reason his so-called family cared whether he lived or died was because if he died, their beloved Styxx died too.
"I've had enough."
Even though he was only one and twenty, he was as tired as an old man. He'd lived beyond his years and wanted no more pain. No more loneliness.
It was time to end it.
The voices he heard in his head were louder now. They were calling him home . . .
Acheron stood up on the railing. The winds from below rushed up over him, fanning his hair out as he stared down at the black sea that beckoned him like a lover. He dropped his goblet and watched as it tumbled down below, vanishing from his sight.
One step.
No pain.
Everything would end.
"It's time," he breathed. There was no one here to stop him now. No Ryssa to pull him back. No father to tie him down and prevent it. No Estes to call for a physician.
Freedom.
Closing his eyes, he let go and stepped off.
Fear and relief whipped through him as he plummeted through the weightless air. In a moment, he'd have his long-sought-after peace.
Suddenly, something hard struck his stomach. Acheron gasped at the pain. He opened his eyes out of reflex.
Instead of falling, he was now rising, away from the sea. The sound of the waves crashing against rocks was replaced by the heavy fluttering of giant wings. He turned to see a female demon holding him. Just as the oracle had said.
"Let me go!" he shouted, trying to free himself.
She didn't. Not until she'd returned him to the balcony where he'd been.
Acheron staggered back as she perched on the railing and watched him closely. She had long straight black hair that fell over skin marbled white and red. Her eyes glowed in the darkness, white irises, surrounded by vivid red. Like her hair, her wings and horns were black.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with venom.
"Akri should be more careful," she whispered kindly. "Had Xiamara been a moment later, you would have died."
"I wanted to die."
She cocked her head in a gesture that reminded him of a bird. "But why, akri?" She looked over her shoulder to where the people were still arriving. "So many come to celebrate your human birth."
"They don't come for me."
Xiamara frowned at him. "But you are the prince. Heir."
He laughed bitterly. "I'm heir to shit and prince of nothing."
"Nay. You are Apostolos, son of Apollymi. Revered by all."
"I am Acheron, son of no one. Revered only within the confines of a bedroom."
She stepped slowly down before him. Her wings tucked themselves around her lithe body. "You don't remember your birth. I understand. I was sent here by your mother with her gift for you."
He was trying to follow her words, but his mind was too numbed by drink. The demon was insane. She must have him confused with someone else. "My mother is dead."
"The human queen, yes. But your real mother, the goddess Apollymi, is alive and wishes you all of her love. I am her most faithful servant, Xiamara, and I am here to protect you as I've protected her."
Acheron shook his head. He was drunk. Hallucinating. Maybe he'd already died.
"Get away from me."
The demon didn't. Before he could escape, she placed a small orb to his heart.
Acheron screamed out as pain tore through him. Never in his life had he felt anything like this, and given the tortures they'd put him through, that said much. It was as if there was poisonous fire in his veins, ripping through his entire body.
From the center of his chest where the orb rested, his skin changed from tawny to a marbled blue . . .
As the pain and color unfurled through him, images and voices screamed out, piercing his eardrums. Scents assaulted his nostrils. Even his clothes burned against his skin. He fell to the ground and curled up into a ball as every sense he had was assailed.
"You are the god Apostolos. Harbinger and son of Apollymi the Destroyer. Your will is the will of the universe. You are the final fate of all . . ."
Acheron kept shaking his head in denial. No. It couldn't be. "I am nothing. I am nothing."
The demon lifted his head. "Why are you not happy? You are a god now."