Always and forever.
Closing his eyes, Acheron heard the voices that were always in his head. Styxx heard them, too. But while Acheron only heard those of the gods, Styxx heard those and many, many more. It was one of the reasons his brother had such difficulty sleeping. Whenever they were together, the voices in Styxx’s head stopped shouting at him and left him free to rest. Styxx could only hear Acheron’s thoughts then, and Acheron was very careful of them.
But the moment they were apart, the voices returned to Styxx with a vengeance. The constant lack of sleep made his twin irritable most days and gave him terrible headaches. Headaches so ferocious that at times his nose bled from them, and he was often sick to his stomach.
No one else understood that. They accused Styxx of faking the pain. And both of them were terrified of telling others what they heard. Everyone but Styxx hated him enough already. Acheron had no desire to give them another cause.
When Styxx had tried to tell others about the voices, he’d been ridiculed and punished for lying. Even Ryssa had accused him of making it up for attention. So both of them had learned to keep the secret and tell no one. Ever.
There were many secrets the two of them shared.
And they had promised each other that one day, when they were grown and no one could stop them, they would leave this place and go somewhere else where people didn’t treat them so badly.
Like his twin brother, Acheron couldn’t wait for that day to come.
May 9, 9542 BC
“Sit up straight! You slouch like a fishmonger’s son.”
Styxx flinched at his father’s angry tone and straightened himself immediately in his uncomfortable gold chair where his legs had gone numb from dangling over the edge of it. But if he folded them under him, it would anger his father even more than his slouching. While his father often doted on him, especially whenever they were in public, there were other times when his father would be so cross that nothing he did pleased him. Times when his father seemed to begrudge him every breath he took.
Today was definitely one of those days.
“Are we boring you, boy?”
Styxx shook his head quickly, resisting the urge to groan out loud as pain split his skull with absolute agony. He’d always hated his headaches and the one today was more excruciating than normal. It made it impossible to focus. Worse, he felt as if he would vomit at any moment. That his father would find unforgivable.
What? Are you a pregnant woman, boy? You vomit as such. Learn to control your stomach. You’re to be a man, for the gods’ sakes. Men don’t throw up every other minute. They control themselves and their bodies at all times.
His stomach heaved violently, sending more pain throbbing through his head, which then sickened him all the more. The constant seesawing between his head and stomach was enough to make him want to scream in agony.
“Might I be excused, Father?”
His father turned to glare at him furiously. “To what purpose?”
“I don’t feel well.” That was a substantial understatement.
“Come here.”
Styxx scooted off his small throne and resisted the urge to wince as a thousand needles stabbed at his sleeping legs. Knowing better than to let his father see the pain it caused him, he crossed the dais to his father’s huge gilded throne. It was so massive that the top of his blond head barely reached the arm of it. Dressed in a white and purple stola and chlamys that matched Styxx’s chiton; his father’s blond hair and beard gleamed in the light beneath the gold-leaf crown that would one day be Styxx’s.
As they always did on this day of every week, they’d spent all morning dealing with the problems and concerns of the nobles and people who wanted an audience with their king. Since this was something Styxx would have to do once he ruled this kingdom, for the last year his father had made him stay and listen so that he could use his father’s wisdom once he inherited the crown. While Styxx was here, he was never to move or speak. Only observe.
The “privilege” of attending these sessions had been his sole birthday gift last summer when he’d turned five.
With a fierce frown creasing his forehead, his father touched Styxx’s brow. “You have no fever. What are your symptoms?”
“My head aches.”
He rolled his eyes. “And?”
I want to vomit and I’m terribly dizzy. But he knew from experience that his father would only ridicule those complaints.
“That is all, Father. But the pain is ferocious.”
His father glared at him. “You will one day be king, boy. Do you think they will stop a war or an uprising because you have a meager headache?”
“No, Sire.”