Father roughly snatched the cowl back over Acheron's head and shoved him toward his guards who were ordered to take him into custody. Acheron was escorted back to the palace where Father had him beaten for his disobedience.
I tried to mitigate the punishment, but Father wouldn't listen. They dragged Acheron into the courtyard outside my father's throne room that was reserved for punishment. The guards stripped Acheron bare and delivered sixty-five strokes to his back. I couldn't watch, but I heard every whistle of the whip as it traveled through the air and every lash that cut through his flesh.
Acheron would grunt and several times I heard him fall, only to have my father order the guards to make him stand again. Never once did he cry out.
When it was finally over, I turned to see Acheron leaning against the post, bleeding, his hands still securely tied. The guards threw a coarse blanket over him before his ropes were cut and he was dragged back to his room and locked inside.
All I could do was hold Acheron afterward. For once, he didn't turn me away. He lay with his head in my lap as he used to do when we were children. When he would beg me to tell him why his parents hated him so.
I waited for someone to come and tend his ravaged back.
No one did.
It was only later that I learned Father had forbidden it. So I sat with Acheron for hours, holding his head as he quietly wept from the pain.
But whether he cried from the throbbing wounds of his back or the deeper ache in his heart, I didn't know. Gods, how I wanted to take him back to that day in the orchard when it'd been just the three of us playing and laughing. Away to some place where he could be free and lackadaisical, where he'd be a normal boy of nineteen as he should have been.
When he finally fell to sleep, I continued to brush my hand through his golden hair as I stared at the ragged welts on his back. I couldn't imagine a pain so severe.
"I love you, Acheron," I whispered, wishing my love was enough to spare him from this.
December 10, 9529 BC
After that day, I never spoke again of the fact I knew Acheron continued to slip out of the palace to go to plays. Many days I followed him just to make sure no one bothered him. That no one knew what it was he did.
He kept to the shadows, his identity and beauty carefully guarded. His head was always hung low, his gaze on the ground as he passed through the unsuspecting crowds.
Acheron risked much to go. We both knew it. I'd asked him once why he dared so much and he'd told me simply that it was all that comforted him.
He liked to watch the characters in the plays. Liked to pretend he was one of them. How could I fault him for that when so little brought joy to his life?
As my union with Apollo drew critically near, I spent more and more time in Acheron's chambers. He alone didn't treat the event as some magical moment that I should be anticipating with relish and enthusiasm.
He saw it for the horror it was.
I too was being whored. Only Father saw my whoredom as noble and wonderful.
"Will it hurt much when he takes me?" I asked Acheron as we sat on his balcony that overlooked the sea below.
I was on the ground while Acheron sat up on the banister as he always did. He balanced precariously over the edge of it which dropped down to the raging sea.
I was terrified of heights, but he seemed oblivious to the danger.
"It depends on Apollo and his mood. It always depends on your lovers and how much force they use. How much pleasure they take from causing you pain."
That didn't comfort me since I couldn't control someone else's mood. "Was it painful your first time?"
He nodded subtly, his eyes blank. "At least you won't have an audience when he violates you."
"Did you?"
He didn't answer, but then he didn't have to. His expression told me that he had.
My heart aching for him and the horror he must have known, I looked down at the cord I was twisting in my hands. "Do you think Apollo will hurt me?"
"I don't know, Ryssa." His tone showed his impatience. He always hated talking about intercourse. Then again, he hated talking, period.
But I had to know what was coming and no one else would speak to me of such things. I met his swirling gaze. "Just how painful can it be?"
He glanced away, out toward the sea. "Try not to think about it. Just close your eyes and imagine that you're a bird. Imagine that you live high up in the clouds and that there's nothing that can touch you there. You're free to fly anywhere you want to go."
"Is that what you do?"
"Sometimes."
"And others?"
He didn't respond.
So we sat there in silence, listening to the waves below crash against the rocks. For the first time, I finally understood some of his pain. His humiliation. I wanted no part in my future and yet I had no choice.
As I listened to the waves, it reminded me of the time we'd spent alone when he was younger. Of the hours he used to spend on the rocks, listening to the sea and the voices that called out to him. "Do you still hear the gods' voices, Acheron?"
He nodded.
"Do you hear them now?"
"Yes."