Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Epithymia released her. "Good. Because I have a plan. Apollymi wants me to oversee his birth to make sure nothing goes wrong with it, and I intend to deliver him myself."

Bet'anya's stomach clenched at what the goddess was telling her. "You intend to touch a babe who will be born without god powers?"

She nodded.

That was so cold....

"The humans will tear him apart in their desire to possess him. And they will hate him for it."

Epithymia winked at her. "I'm just following my orders from Apollymi. To the letter."

"Why not tell Archon-"

"She'll rip out my heart and devour it if I do. I wouldn't cross that bitch for anything. I cannot even hint at where that child is or anything else about his birth. She wrung an oath from me."

And Atlantean gods could never breach their oaths. As such, they tried their best to never make any.

"It would be kinder to kill him on delivery than to leave him with your touch and no protection."

Epithymia held up her hands. "Apollymi won't let me. So I'm doing this her way. And if you breathe a word..."

"My oath, I will never tell the ones hunting him where he is or what it is you do." No sooner had those words left her lips than she realized what she'd said. It was just such a slip that had cursed poor Apostolos.

Epithymia glared at her.

"I didn't mean..." There was no need in explaining. "Fine. I can still kill him if I find him."

Epithymia relaxed. "Good luck, Agriosa." She left to go to her own temple down the hill.

Bet'anya sighed at Epi's parting shot that referred to the fact that she was also a goddess of the hunt. She absolutely hated the thought of harming a child.

Any child.

And yet ...

What she'd said was true. Death would be the kindest act. Otherwise, that child would live a life of absolute agony. No one should be condemned to such a horrific fate.

"I'm sorry, Apostolos."

As in all battles, when a soldier's wound was mortal, no matter his age, and there was no doubt he would die from it, the kindest thing was to end his suffering with a single fatal blow.

She would commit this mercy killing and pray that one day Apollymi could understand and forgive her. It was for the good of all.

Especially the boy.

Her only hope was that she found the child first. The other gods would not be so merciful to him.

June 23, 9548 BC

King Xerxes stared down at the infant boy who peacefully slept in his arms. How could his joy have turned so bitter so fast? For a moment, he'd believed himself to be the most blessed of all kings. That the gods had granted him two sons to rule his vast empire.

Now ...

Did he even have one?

There was no doubt that the firstborn, Acheron, was born of the gods. That his wife-queen had whored herself to them and birthed it.

But Styxx ...

The king studied every inch of the perfect, sleeping child nestled against his body. "Are you mine?" He was desperate to know the truth.

The infant appeared to be a mere human babe. Unlike Acheron, whose eyes swirled a living silver color, Styxx's were vivid blue and perfect. But then the gods were ever treacherous.

Ever deceitful.

Could it be that Acheron was his son and this one was not? Or that neither child belonged to him?

He looked to the elder wise woman who'd proclaimed Acheron a god's son just after his birth. Decrepit and wizened, she wore heavy white robes that were richly embroidered in gold. Her gray hair was wrapped around an ornate gold crown. "Who is the father of this child?"

The woman paused in her cleaning. "Majesty, why do you ask me something you already know?"

Because he didn't know. Not for certain. And he hated the taste of fear that scalded his throat and left it bitter. Fear that made his heart pound in trepidation. "Answer me, woman!"

"Truth or lie, will you believe whatever answer I give?"

Damn her for her sagacity. How could the gods have done this to him? He'd sacrificed and prayed to them his whole life. Devoutly and without blasphemy. Why would they taint his heir in this manner?

Or worse, take his heir from him?

He tightened his grip, which caused the baby to wake and cry out. A part of him wanted to slam the child into the ground and watch it die. To stomp it into oblivion.

But what if this one was his son? His own flesh and blood ...

The wise woman had said it was.

However, she merely relayed what the gods told her, and what if they lied?

Angry and betrayed, he went to the woman and shoved the infant into her arms. Let someone else solace it for now. He couldn't bear the sight of either child.

Without another word, he stormed from the room.

The moment she was alone with the babe, the old crone transformed into a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Dressed in bloodred, she placed a kiss to the boy's head and he instantly calmed down.

"Poor, poor Styxx," the goddess Athena whispered as she rocked him in her arms to soothe him. "Like your brother's, yours will be an unpleasant future. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for either of you. But the human world needs its heroes. And one day, they will all need you."

March 10, 9543 BC

Five years later

"You wretched little thief!"