Afraid of being slaves to the superior technology of the Atlanteans, the Greek city-states had been fighting with everything we had.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be enough. Apollo favored the Atlanteans and the Apollites he'd created who shared Atlantis with them. So much so that as long as they fought during the light of day, they were invincible.

The Greek kings were at their end. So the priests and oracles had gathered to see what, if anything, could return Apollo's favor to the people who'd originally worshiped him.

"The god can only be distracted and tamed by the most beautiful of all princesses," the oracle of Delphi had proclaimed to them all.

Some lunatic had then named me as said princess.

That man, I could kill.

"Father, please," I begged, following in the wake of him and Styxx. They were headed toward the Senate room and had no time for me. Not that that was unusual.

"Enough, Ryssa," he said sternly. "The decision is made. You are to be offered to Apollo. We need him on our side if we're to win this war against the Atlanteans. So long as he continues to favor and aid them, we will never stand a chance. If you are his lover, he will look more kindly toward our people and might be swayed to our cause."

It stuck in my craw that I was to be bartered and sold without so much as . . .

I stumbled as I thought of Acheron. I finally understood exactly how he felt. Understood what it was like to have no say in what was done to my body.

It was an awfully sick feeling. No wonder he'd thrown me out of his room. No doubt in my innocence I'd seemed quite sanctimonious about something I had no understanding of.

However, I wasn't through with them. Determined, I followed Father and Styxx into the back corridor.

As we approached the main hall, the sound of a small group of senators conversing out in the atrium stopped me dead in my tracks.

"He looks just like Styxx."

My father and Styxx paused as they heard them, too.

"What say you?" another voice asked.

"It's true," the first senator said. "They couldn't look more alike had they been born twins. The only difference is their eye color."

"His eyes are eerie," a third senator interrupted. "You can tell he's the son of some god, but he won't say which one."

"And he's in a stew you say?"

"Yes," the second man said. "I'm telling you, Krontes, you have to visit him. Pretending he's Styxx has helped me immensely in dealing with the royal prick. Spend an hour with Acheron on his knees and the next time you see Styxx, you'll have a whole new perspective."

They laughed.

I felt the blood drain from my face as Father and Styxx's turned red with fury.

"You should have been at our banquet last night," the first man said. "We dressed him in royal robes and passed him around like a bitch in heat."

I felt suddenly sick.

Father charged into the group, calling for his guards to arrest them for defaming Styxx in such a way.

Styxx defamed.

Hysterical laughter welled up inside me as I doubled over in pain. Zeus forbid Styxx ever be insulted. It didn't matter that it was Acheron who was being degraded and made to serve them.

Acheron never mattered.

At least not to anyone but me.

June 23, 9529 BC

It was dawn when I left the palace alone. It was a foolish quest I was about, but I couldn't stop myself. Today Acheron turned nineteen.

In my heart I knew no one had ever given him a present for the anniversary of his birth. I wondered if he even knew the exact day when he'd come into this world. And I thought about the celebration I had planned that our father had ruined by returning him to Atlantis.

I clutched his gift under my himation as I walked through the abandoned streets to the stew I had gone to before.

I knocked on the back door and asked for Catera. After a brief wait, she appeared with a frown.

"My lady? Why are you here?"

I smiled gently at her. "I wanted to see Acheron again. Just for a few minutes."

Sadness darkened her eyes. "I wish I could help you, my lady, but he's no longer here."

Cold dread seized my heart. "What? Where did he go?"

"I know not where he was taken."

"Taken?" I whispered the word cautiously, hoping she didn't mean what I thought she did.

Unfortunately, she did. "He was arrested several months ago. The king's guards came in early one afternoon. They broke through the front door and demanded to be shown the royal imposter. Acheron was pulled from his bed while he still slept and bound into chains, then they dragged him out of here and I haven't heard anything since."

My fingers numb, I felt my gift fall to the floor as I stood there too stunned to move.

My father had taken him?

Of course he had. I should have realized that myself. No doubt he'd sent his men the same day he'd overheard the senators talking. What kind of fool was I not to check on that?

But then I'd been too busy thinking about my impending doom with Apollo. Shame on me for not putting Acheron first. There was no telling what they had done to him.

My only comfort was the knowledge that father couldn't kill him. Not without killing Styxx too.

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: 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.

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.

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.

"I wished you'd speak to me, Acheron."

He acted as if I weren't even there.

"You have to know that I love you. I don't want to see you like this. Please, little brother. Could you at least look at me?"

He didn't even blink.

His lack of response angered me and a part of me wanted to lash out verbally against him. But I held my tongue. He'd been abused enough by the insults of my father and the guards and servants who fed him.

There was nothing more I could do. Ill from the knowledge, I left him and continued my preparations for Apollo.

November 20, 9529 BC

Acheron continued to lie unmoving on his bed. He stared at the ceiling as always, ignoring me while I tried to talk to him.

"I wish you'd speak to me, Acheron. I miss the way we used to talk together. You were my best friend. The only person I could ever talk to whom I knew wouldn't tell every word I said to Father."

Again, there was no response.

What would it take to make him acknowledge me? Surely he couldn't continue to lie in bed like that. Then again, given the fact that he'd been sitting in a tiny hole these months past, he'd probably grown more than accustomed to not moving.

My heart aching for him, I started away from the bed when I noticed something odd. Frowning, I headed to the bedpost where his ankle was secured by a metal shackle. It took me a second to realize what I was looking at. Fresh and dried blood coated the metal.

I cringed as I saw his raw and bleeding skin that was mostly hidden from my view by the cuffs. So Acheron wasn't always inert like this. From the wounds that marked each arm and leg, I could tell he'd been fighting fiercely for his freedom whenever he was alone.

As I saw the blood, my own vision turned red. I'd had enough of this abuse.

My fury smoldering, I left his room to find our father.

After a quick search, I learned he was out in the training area watching as Styxx practiced his sword fighting.

"Father?"

He gave me an agitated stare that I'd dare to interrupt his encouragements to Styxx. "Is there a problem?"

"There is indeed. I want Acheron freed. I demand it."

He sneered at my request. "Why? What would he do with it?"

I wanted him to understand what he was doing to someone who'd never caused him harm. Someone who was his own flesh and blood. "You can't leave him tied like a beast, Father. It's cruel. He can't even attend his basic needs."

"Nor can he shame us."

"Shame us how?"

"Women," he snarled. "You're ever blind. Can you not see him for what he is?"

I knew exactly who and what my brother was. "He's a boy, Father."

"He's a whore." There was more venom in those words than in the snake pit where my father threw his enemies.

It made my ire seethe. "He was a tortured slave you turned out into the street. What was he supposed to do?"

He answered me with a feral snarl.

But I refused to back down. "I won't have this, Father. I won't stand for it another minute. So help me, if you don't let him out of those shackles, I will shear the hair from my head and scar my face to the point that neither Apollo nor anyone else will have use for me."

"You wouldn't dare."

For the first time in my life, I stared at him as an equal. There was no doubt inside me that I could carry out the threat. "For Acheron's life, I would. He deserves better than to be kept as he is."

"He deserves nothing."

"Then you can find another woman to whore for Apollo."

His eyes darkened in such a way that I was sure he'd strike me for my boldness.

But ultimately, I won this battle.

That very afternoon Acheron was freed from his bed. He lay there as the restraints were opened and I saw the suspicion in his eyes. He was waiting for something worse to happen.

Once the shackles were gone, I ordered the guards to leave the room. Acheron didn't move until we were alone. Slowly, angrily, he pushed himself up to glare at me. He was unsteady, his muscles weak from lack of use.

His long blond hair was matted and greasy. His skin sickly pale from the darkness that had been his home. A thick beard covered his cheeks. There were deep circles underneath his eyes, but he was no longer so gaunt-the atrocious feedings had added enough weight to him that he at least appeared human.

"You can't leave this room," I warned him. "Father was explicit in his terms that you're only allowed freedom in here so long as you stay hidden."

Acheron froze at my words and gave me a piercingly cold stare.

"At least you're no longer tied down."

He didn't speak to me. He never did anymore. But his swirling silver eyes spoke volumes. They told of the pain and agony that made up his life. They accused and they ached.

"My rooms are two doors down should you-"

"I can't leave," he snarled. "Isn't that what you just said?"

I opened my mouth, then paused. He was right. I'd already forgotten it. "I shall come visit you, then."

"Don't bother."

"Acheron-"

He interrupted my words with a cutting glare. "Do you remember what you said to me on your last visit to my cell?"

I struggled to recall it. I'd been angry at him for not speaking to me, but that was all I remembered. "No."

"Go die for all I care. I can't be bothered with you anymore."

I winced at words I should never have spoken. They cut me soul deep which was nothing compared to how they must have felt to him. If only I'd known the misery he was in . . . "I was angry."

He curled his lips. "And I was too weak to answer. It's hard to speak when you go days with nothing but darkness and rats for company. But then you don't know what it's like to have rats and fleas bite you, do you? What it's like to sit in your own shit."

"Acheron-"

His nostrils flared. "Leave me, Ryssa. I don't need your charity. I don't need anything from you."

"But . . ."

He shoved me from the room and slammed the door shut in my face.

I stared at it until a movement beside me caught my notice. Acheron's guards. He had two of them to make sure he didn't breach Father's mandate.

So this was his fate. I'd only changed the location of his prison. He still had no freedom.

I ached deep inside my soul for him. He was alive, but to what purpose? Perhaps it would have been kinder to let him die after all. But how could I have done that? He was my brother and I did love him even when he hated me.

Ill, I turned and went back to my chambers, but there was no peace there. I'd been uncharitable to Acheron, unkind. Thoughtless. No wonder he didn't want to speak to me.

But I couldn't leave it at this. I would give him time. Perhaps he'd come around eventually.

At least, I hoped deep inside that he could find it within himself to forgive me for being like everyone else. For hurting him when I should have been fighting for him.

December 1, 9529 BC

As the days passed by, I learned more things about Father's mandates for Acheron's treatment. No one was allowed into Acheron's room, except for me whom he refused to see, and everything he touched was to be shattered and burned.

Everything.

His dishes, his sheets. Even his clothes. It was Father's public humiliation for Acheron.

It sickened me.

Until the day I made the most frightening discovery of all.

I'd gone with several friends to see a play in the middle of the day. It wasn't something I normally did, but Zateria had a desperate crush on one of the actors and had insisted I judge him for myself.

We'd been laughing among ourselves when I happened to notice someone who was sitting two rows down from us in the peasant section. He sat alone with a peplos shielding him. He had the hood pulled up over his head so that I could tell nothing about his features and yet something seemed oddly familiar about him.

It wasn't until the play ended and the man got up that I realized why he was familiar.

It was Acheron.

He pulled the cowl down lower, but I'd already glimpsed the beauty of his face and I knew Styxx would never deign to come to something as common as a midday play. Even if he had, he'd never be in that section of seats.

I excused myself from my friends to go after him.

"Acheron?"

He hesitated an instant before he pulled the cowl lower and continued on his way.

Rushing to catch up, I pulled him to a stop.

He looked at me coldly. "Are you going to tell him?"

"No," I breathed, knowing the him he meant was our father. "Why would I?"

He started away, but I stopped him again.

His expression was exasperated. "What, Ryssa?"

"How did you come to be here? The guards-"

"I bribed them," he said in a clipped tone.

"With what? You have no money."

The look he gave me answered that question plainly. I was nauseated with the mere thought of what he'd used to get out of the palace.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Don't look so horrified, Ryssa. I've been bartered for much less than an afternoon of freedom. At least they're gentle with me."

Tears stung my eyes. "You can't keep doing this."

"Why not? It's all anyone wants me for."

"That's not true."

"No?"

I watched as he angrily lowered his cowl. I could feel the ripple that went through everyone around us as people caught sight of him.

The sudden silence was deafening. It was tangible and there was no mistaking the attention that was immediately focused on him.

Solely him.

Women's heads came together as they giggled and tried to remain inconspicuous in their ogling. Men weren't so subtle. There was no denying the fact that every one of them stared at him with longing. With desire.

I was no more immune to his unnatural allure than they were, but mine was tempered by the fact that we were family.

"Do you really want to know why your father hates me?"

I shook my head. I knew the answer. Acheron had said it the day Father had banished him. Because he, too, was attracted to Acheron and he despised the boy for it.