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."
My father didn't hear me. He was too busy yelling at the physician to heal his heir.
"Father!" I shouted, shaking his arm to get his attention on me. "Styxx is dying because Acheron is dying. Do you not recall what the wisewoman said when they were born? If Acheron dies, so does Styxx. Acheron is the one who is starving to death in his prison cell. If we heal him, Styxx will live."
His face furious, he called for his guards and ordered them to bring Acheron to the throne room.
I ran after them as they walked the breadth of the palace and went to the below-ground cells to retrieve him. As always, it was dank and smelly. I hated this place and it bothered me much that Acheron had been confined here these many months.
My heart pounding, I stood back as they opened the cell door. Finally I would see him again.
They stepped back, showing me Acheron.
Never in my life had I cursed aloud, but I cursed foully when I saw how they'd kept my brother.
The room was so small that he'd been forced to sit doubled over inside it. It was even smaller than the one Estes had used in Atlantis to punish him. Acheron was literally curled into a ball. There was no light whatsoever inside it.
My brother had lived in total darkness and filth for almost a year now. Unable to move or stretch, or to even relieve himself. Not even animals were treated this poorly. Why had Acheron never told me what lay on his side of the door?
The guard tried to pull him out. Too weak to protest, Acheron spilled across the hallway floor. The stench of him and the room was so rancid that it made my stomach lurch. I was forced to pinch my nose closed so as not to vomit.
Acheron lay on his back, his breathing shallow and faint. He was so thin that he didn't look real lying there. I could see every single bone in his body. A thick beard covered his face and his hair hung around him like a frail spiderweb. He looked like an old man, not a boy of nineteen.
I knelt beside him and pulled his head into my lap. "Acheron?"
He didn't respond. Like Styxx, he was too weak to do anything more than stare blankly at me.
"Take him upstairs to my room," I ordered the guard.
He curled his lip in repugnance. "My lady, he is foul."
"You take him to my bed or I will see you beaten for your insolence."
Indecision played across his face for several minutes before he complied. I ordered another guard to fetch food and drink while I followed them.
Every step seemed to take too long. I couldn't believe the shell of a human in the guard's arms was the same handsome boy who'd chased Maia in our garden. How could my father have done this to him?
How could Acheron have done this to himself?
Entering my room, the guard placed him on my bed, then left immediately. I sent my maids for water and linen so that we could bathe some of the filth from him.
It was so horrible to be near him like this. He smelled so bad, looked so weak . . . How could anyone suffer such a tragedy? And I felt completely helpless.
Using my sheet, I tried to wipe some of the dirt from his face.
My maids returned at the same time food was brought.
I cradled Acheron's head as I carefully fed him small pieces of bread. But he didn't seem to want to chew. I didn't know if he was too weak or too far gone to even know it was bread in his mouth.
"My lady," Kassandra said, "You'll ruin your clothes touching him like that."
"I don't care." And I didn't. All that mattered to me was saving his life. I dripped wine slowly into his mouth. "Eat, Acheron," I breathed.
Weakly, he turned his head away from me. "Please," he begged, his voice a ragged, hoarse whisper. "Let me die."
Tears choked me as I realized he must have done this on purpose. No doubt he'd been going without food, praying for death to come and free him from that hole where he'd been trapped.