Acheron (Dark-Hunter #15)(15)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Catera picked up my wrapped present and handed it back to me.

I thanked her out of habit and left.

Acheron had to be somewhere in the palace. No matter what it took, I was going to find him and get him out.

June 23, 9529 BC

It was midday before I finally found Acheron’s whereabouts. I knew better than to ask my father for his location-that would only invite his anger toward me, and learn me nothing I didn’t already know, so I resorted to bribing the palace guards.

Even that was easier said than done since most of them knew nothing at all and those who did were too afraid of my father’s wrath to speak of it.

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: ra**sts, 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.

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 nak*d. 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.

The kindest thing I could do would be to let him go.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t just lose him, I’d lose Styxx as well and I loved both my brothers.

"Stay with me, Acheron," I whispered.

But he didn’t do it for me. Instead, he fought for death and the days passed as I watched my father’s physicians violently force feed him while he tried to spit the food out. They were merciless in their attention.

They kept him tied to my bed and pried his lips apart so that they could pour milk, wine and honey down his throat. He would try to spit the food and drink out only to have them beat him and hold his mouth and nose shut until he swallowed it.

He cursed them and he cursed me.

I couldn’t blame him.

Every day was a nightmare for him while Styxx grew stronger in comfort with everyone lavishing praise on him and serving his every need. Meanwhile bruises marred Acheron’s skin, especially his jaw where they continually pried it apart. The physicians demanded that he be "fed" at least every two hours.

Every time the guards and servants appeared for those feedings, he’d stiffen and cast me the most condemning of glares.

As he grew stronger, the fights became worse until he finally stopped fighting at all. The hateful angry glares were replaced by a hopeless resignation that hurt me even more. Still they left him tied down and I realized that I hadn’t really changed his position. Only his location was different.

My brother’s reality was ever the same.

November 1, 9529 BC

Today Father had Acheron moved to a new room down the hall from mine. Once more, he was tied spread eagle on the bed, but at least this time he was clothed. The feedings continued, but now they only occurred five times a day.

I made a point of seeing Acheron every chance I could and every time I saw him my heart broke more.

Acheron never moved or spoke to me during my visits. He lay there, staring at the ceiling as if he were immune to what was happening around him.