Again, how very peculiar . . .
Hesitantly, I stepped into the room expecting to find Styxx's twin brother. An arrogant youth who thought he knew everything about the world. An insulting, boastful man-child who was sullen and spoiled who would wonder why I was bothering him with so foolish a quest.
I was completely unprepared for what I found.
Acheron sat in a large, bathing pond alone. He had his flawless bare back to me and was bent over with his blond head against the rim as if he were too tired to sit up while he bathed himself. His long hair hung just past his shoulders and was damp, but not wet.
My heart pounding, I moved forward and noticed a strong scent of oranges in the air. A small tray of bread and cheese was set on the floor beside him, untouched.
"Acheron?" I whispered.
He froze for a moment, then rinsed his face in the water. He left the tub and quickly toweled himself dry as if completely unabashed by the fact that I had intruded on his bath.
There was an air of power that surrounded him as he toweled himself with short, quick strokes, then tossed the towel toward a small stack of them.
For an instant, I was captured by the youthful, masculine beauty of him. By the fact that he made no move to dress or cover himself. All that adorned him were gold bands. He had a thin one around his neck that held a small pendant of some sort. Thicker bands encircled each of his biceps at the top of his arm and at the crook of his elbow with another band around both wrists. A chain of smaller circles connected each band down the length of his arms. And a band of gold with a small circle attached was worn around each ankle.
As he approached me, I was stunned by what I saw. He was Styxx's twin in physical looks and yet I saw few similarities between them.
Styxx moved fast. Mercurially.
Acheron was slow. Methodical. He was like a sultry shadow whose every movement was a poetic symphony of muscle, sinew and grace.
He was thinner than Styxx. Much thinner, as if he didn't get enough food to eat. Even so, his muscles were extremely well shaped and honed to perfection.
He still had those eerie silver eyes, but I only glimpsed them briefly before he averted his gaze to the floor at my feet.
There was also something else. An air of hopeless resignation surrounded him. It was one I'd seen countless times from the peasants and beggars who came to collect alms from the back palace gate.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said softly, his voice strangely seductive and quiet as he spoke between clenched teeth. "I didn't know you'd come."
His chains jingling softly in the quietness, he moved behind me like a sleek, seductive wraith. He reached around my neck and unfastened my cloak.
Stunned by his actions, I didn't think to protest when he removed the garment and dropped it to the floor. It wasn't until he brushed my hair back from my neck and moved to kiss the bared flesh that I bolted from him.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He looked as puzzled as I felt, but still he kept his gaze locked on the floor before me. "I wasn't prepped on what you paid for, my lady," he said quietly. "I assumed from your looks that you wanted me gentle. Am I wrong?"
I was completely baffled by his words as well as the fact that he continued to keep his jaw locked. Why did he speak that way? "Paid for what? Acheron, it is I. Ryssa."
He frowned as if he had no memory of my name. He reached for me again.
I stepped away and grabbed my cloak up from the floor. "I'm your sister, Acheron. Do you not know me?"
His eyes flashed angrily as he met my gaze for an instant. "I have no sister."
My thoughts whirled as I tried to make sense of this. This wasn't the boy who wrote letters to me virtually every day, the boy who told me of his days of leisure.
"How can you say that after all the gifts and letters I've sent you?"
His face relaxed as if he finally understood. "Ah, this a game you wish to play with me, my lady. You wish me to be your brother."
I glared at him in frustration. "No, Acheron, this isn't a game. You are my brother and I write to you almost every day and you, in turn, write to me."
I could sense he wanted to look at me and yet he didn't.
"I'm illiterate, my lady. I won't be able to play your game that way."
The door behind me swung open. A short, round man wearing a long Atlantean formesta robe came through it. He was reading from a parchment and not paying attention to us.
"Acheron, why aren't you in your . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked up to see me.
His gaze narrowed dangerously.
"What is this?" he growled. He turned angry eyes to Acheron who took two steps back. "Are you taking clients without notifying me?"
I saw the fear on Acheron's face.
"No, despotis," Acheron said using the Atlantean term for master. "I would never do such."