If only his brother knew the truth . . . Thank the gods that he didn't.
"What a horrible night," Ryssa said. "I'd best go to Apollodorus. I know all this commotion will have him scared."
Acheron didn't move as she left him. Through the crack in the door, he watched the guards swarming the hallway and searching rooms. His brother was alive. He couldn't get past that one fact.
So their lives weren't truly bound together. At least not in a traditional sense. If he died, Styxx died. If Styxx died . . . there was no effect on him.
His father was right. He was unnatural.
Why would the gods protect him and not Styxx? It didn't make any sense.
Withdrawing into his room he decided to wait out the search until the house was again quiet. Once he was sure he could leave and not be seen, he wrapped his cloak around himself and headed out into the dark streets.
He remained hidden as he wended his way through the alleys to Apollo's temple. Once there, he knocked on the door.
"We're closed."
"I'm from the royal house," Acheron said forcefully. "It's imperative that I see the oracle."
The door opened a partial degree until the old wizened priest caught sight of his face. His demeanor immediately changed to one of subservience. "Prince Styxx, forgive me. I-I didn't realize it was you."
Acheron didn't bother to correct him. For once, he was grateful they were twins. "Take me to the oracle."
Without further hesitation, the priest led him through the columned walkway to the back where small rooms were set aside for the priests and attendants. The oracle's room was slightly larger than the others. It was bare and stark with only a small drapery-lined bed.
"Mistress?" the priest called as he headed for the bed. "The prince wishes a word with you."
A blond woman who couldn't have been much older than fifteen sat up on the bed and with the priest's help she stood, then walked toward him. By the way she moved, Acheron knew she was drugged. Heavily.
The priest led her to a tall chair that was set over a bowl with vapors. By the scent of it, he'd guess it contained Morpheus Root mixed with Risi Opsi, a compound that created fantastic hallucinations. It was something he'd only taken once after Euclid sang its praises, but that had been enough. It'd left him delirious with nightmares for two days.
"Leave us," she snapped at the priest. "You know the law."
He withdrew instantly.
The girl pulled the cloak up on her head as she added water to the boiling herbs to make them smoke more. "You're not the prince."
He frowned at her. "How do you know?"
"I know all," she said snidely. "I'm the oracle and you're the cursed firstborn son whom the king denies."
That last bit wasn't common knowledge and it made him believe in her abilities. "Then tell me why I'm here."
She breathed in the vapors and writhed on the stool as if she heard the same voices that haunted him. When she opened her eyes, her gaze pierced him like a lance. "You can't kill him. It is forbidden for you to die."
"Why?"
She inhaled again. Her eyes turned a glowing shade of gold. "In the mark of the sun lies a slash of silver. Not once, not twice, but thrice. The mark of the father to the right, the mother to the left and in the center is the one who unites the two. Three lives intertwined. You are what you were though you don't know it yet. You will. The day draws near when your destiny will manifest. Walk with courage and listen. Yours is a birth of pain, but one of necessity. Akri di diyum. "
The Lord and Master will rule . . .
She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your will will make the laws of the universe."
"What are you saying?"
"He who fights destiny loses. Embrace your fate, Acheron. The harder you fight the more painful your birth." She collapsed.
Acheron barely caught her before she hit the floor. Scooping her up in his arms, he took her to her bed and laid her down. She continued to mumble nonsensical words of birds and demons coming for him.
Even more confused than he'd been before, he left her to the care of the priests and made his way back to the palace.
Her prophecy was gibberish.
It had to be. Why would the gods pick a whore to move through? Why would his will be the will of the universe?
She's drugged . . .
Of all men, he knew how disconcerting that was. It was nothing more than the hallucinations he'd had himself. He was nothing.
Yet in the back of his mind two words whispered over and over again.
What if?
March 3, 9527 BC
Acheron sat in the nursery, spooning strained meat to Apollodorus. The two of them had been alone most of the morning while Ryssa lay with a vicious headache. He didn't know why his nephew appeared to adore him, but the boy would follow him anywhere.
It was the only good thing in his life.
Apollodorus let out a long burp, then giggled.
Acheron lifted his eyebrows. "I think you're done, my lord."