Styxx (DH #33) Read online

  Big help that, bitch. Thank you.

  That was why Apollymi had chosen the drunkard and forced her to do this deplorable deed. When it came to giving up any kind of useful information, Basi was worthless.

  Archon shed the hated Greek armor and skin in favor of his true form—that of a perfect blond male in his mid-twenties—and donned his dark blue Atlantean formesta robes. “Can you remember anything else?”

  Fear darkened Basi’s beautiful brow. “No, Archon. I just remember Polly telling me to hide it in a queen.… Yes. It was a queen. I think I was in Greece, but I can’t remember. Maybe Sumer … Akkadia or Egypt? I think the queen had dark hair … but it might have been blond or red.… Maybe.”

  It took everything he had not to kill her for her stupidity.

  His brother, Misos, sighed heavily. With black hair and a full beard, Misos was as different in appearance from Archon as he was in his divine warring powers. “So what do we do now?”

  Archon growled at the only option they had. “We go out and we hunt that bastard down. Whatever it takes.”

  Chara, the plump redheaded goddess of joy and happiness, scowled at him. “If we venture into the domains of other pantheons to search, we’ll have to hide our powers from their gods. How are we to find Apostolos without them?”

  It wouldn’t be as easy, but … “I know my wife. There will be something about him different from other mortals. You won’t mistake Apostolos when you see him, and I doubt our powers will help anyway since she has him shielded so carefully. In the meantime, those of us who remain in Katateros while the others search can call out to him and drive him insane. That, too, should help us find him. He’ll be the mortal prince who hears the voices of the Atlantean gods even when he doesn’t worship us.”

  Bet’anya Agriosa stood up from where she’d been sitting next to her mother, Symfora. With flowing black hair and perfect caramel skin, she stood out from the other Atlantean gods. “For the record, I want to state my displeasure over all this. I may be the goddess of wrath and misery, but I find it distasteful and wrong to hunt down an innocent child and kill him because of the accidental prophecy of three little girls.”

  Archon glared at her. “My daughters may be young, but they hold the power of two pantheons in them. You better than anyone know how powerful that makes them.” While his daughters were born of him and the Greek goddess Themis, Bet’anya was Atlantean and her father the Egyptian god, Set—one of the most powerful beings in existence.

  Some even claimed Set held more power than Apollymi, and that was something Archon never wanted to test.

  Bet’anya arched a brow. “So? You don’t fear me.”

  That wasn’t true, but Archon wasn’t dumb enough to let her know that. Bet’anya held a lot of dark power herself and he wasn’t about to cross her. No one with a brain would. The last time a god had taken her on, the world had almost ended over it. “You don’t draw the same powers Apollymi does. And we don’t know what powers her son holds.”

  Misos nodded in agreement. “As the son of Apollymi and Archon, he could easily be the mightiest of any pantheon.”

  Archon inclined his head to his brother. “We have twenty-one years to find this boy and kill him. We cannot fail. The sooner he’s destroyed, the better for us all.”

  Bet’anya clenched her teeth as they began to divide the world between them. Apollymi had always been one of her allies. And Bet hadn’t been here when the other Atlantean gods had united their powers to trap her in Misos’s hell realm, Kalosis. Personally, she couldn’t blame Apollymi for her anger. Had they ganged up on her and locked her away while calling for the life of her child …

  She, too, would show them exactly how dark her powers ran.

  But like it or not, Bet’anya was part of this pantheon and would be honor bound to hunt for the child.

  She’d just do so leisurely.

  Her great-grandfather, Misos, approached her. “What are you thinking, child?”

  “That it’s a sad day when a mere baby can threaten a pantheon so powerful.”

  “While I concur, I would remind you that pantheons have fallen for a lot less.” He kissed her brow.

  “Fine, Tattas.” She used the Atlantean term for grandfather. “I’ll take southern Greece and Egypt where I can use my powers to find him … if he’s there.”

  She looked back at the leader of this cursed quest and spoke to him. “I have one question, Archon … you slaughtered an Atlantean citizen and prince by mistake. How is it that here at home, where you have full power, you couldn’t tell the baby was mortal?”

  “The queen’s son stank of a god’s powers. Not to mention, her husband died well before its conception and to our knowledge, she’s had no other lovers. That smacked of Basi’s interference.” He growled low in his throat. “Obviously, I was wrong. I should have known Apollymi wouldn’t make it that easy on us.”

  Bet’anya arched a brow at that. There was only one god from outside their pantheon it could possibly be. “It was Apollo’s son?”

  “Most likely.”

  She cringed inwardly. While she wasn’t afraid of the Greek gods, she didn’t want to be in another bloody war with them. Every time she went up against their rampant stupidity, she felt like it sucked a portion of her own intelligence out of her. “And you think the Greek god will be all right with your actions?”

  Archon wasn’t concerned in the least. “Why would he care? He has bastards aplenty he ignores. Besides, he doesn’t dare rattle our cage since Atlantis is the only place his Apollites can live and thrive. No other pantheon will tolerate them among their people.”

  And the warring Apollites had been a constant source of grief in Atlantis, but Archon didn’t see it that way. To him, they were another set of beings to honor the Atlantean gods and feed their powers.

  To her, they were creatures who were as likely to turn on them as they were to continue to worship them. Anything Greek made her skin crawl. She hated them above all races.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bet’anya saw Epithymia slinking out a side door. Tall, beautiful and golden, she was the goddess of all desires.

  Curious about what had her so skittish, Bet’anya followed after her. “Epi?”

  Outside the hall, she froze instantly. “Yes, Bet? What I can do for you?”

  “What have you not confessed?”

  Epithymia stiffened. “That which I will not confess.”

  Unwilling to play this game, Bet’anya gestured toward the hall they’d just left. “Then perhaps I should tell Archon about this?”

  “Don’t you dare!” Epithymia grabbed her arm and hauled her to a corner so that they couldn’t be overheard by anyone. “I have to do something I don’t want to do.”

  “Kill a baby?”

  Epithymia scoffed. “I wish. That would be easy.” This from a goddess of light powers? If Epithymia was so quick to kill, it explained so much about Bet’anya’s proclivity for violence.

  “Apollymi has enlisted me in her scheme and I have to do it. If I don’t … I can’t even tell you what she holds over me because I can’t afford for anyone to learn it. That bitch!”

  Bet’anya frowned. “What has she asked you to do?”

  “Birth her child.”

  Bet’anya sucked her breath in sharply at that implication. “He’s not born yet?”

  She shook her head. “And if you tell a soul, I swear I’ll join Apollymi against you.”

  Rage clouded her vision as Bet’anya glared at her. “Do not threaten me. God or not, I will feed on your entrails. But in this, you don’t have to fear. I have no desire to kill a defenseless baby.”

  Epithymia released her. “Good. Because I have a plan. Apollymi wants me to oversee his birth to make sure nothing goes wrong with it, and I intend to deliver him myself.”

  Bet’anya’s stomach clenched at what the goddess was telling her. “You intend to touch a babe who will be born without god powers?”

  She nodded.

&nb
sp; That was so cold.…

  “The humans will tear him apart in their desire to possess him. And they will hate him for it.”

  Epithymia winked at her. “I’m just following my orders from Apollymi. To the letter.”

  “Why not tell Archon—”

  “She’ll rip out my heart and devour it if I do. I wouldn’t cross that bitch for anything. I cannot even hint at where that child is or anything else about his birth. She wrung an oath from me.”

  And Atlantean gods could never breach their oaths. As such, they tried their best to never make any.

  “It would be kinder to kill him on delivery than to leave him with your touch and no protection.”

  Epithymia held up her hands. “Apollymi won’t let me. So I’m doing this her way. And if you breathe a word…”

  “My oath, I will never tell the ones hunting him where he is or what it is you do.” No sooner had those words left her lips than she realized what she’d said. It was just such a slip that had cursed poor Apostolos.

  Epithymia glared at her.

  “I didn’t mean…” There was no need in explaining. “Fine. I can still kill him if I find him.”

  Epithymia relaxed. “Good luck, Agriosa.” She left to go to her own temple down the hill.

  Bet’anya sighed at Epi’s parting shot that referred to the fact that she was also a goddess of the hunt. She absolutely hated the thought of harming a child.

  Any child.

  And yet …

  What she’d said was true. Death would be the kindest act. Otherwise, that child would live a life of absolute agony. No one should be condemned to such a horrific fate.

  “I’m sorry, Apostolos.”

  As in all battles, when a soldier’s wound was mortal, no matter his age, and there was no doubt he would die from it, the kindest thing was to end his suffering with a single fatal blow.

  She would commit this mercy killing and pray that one day Apollymi could understand and forgive her. It was for the good of all.

  Especially the boy.

  Her only hope was that she found the child first. The other gods would not be so merciful to him.

  June 23, 9548 BC

  King Xerxes stared down at the infant boy who peacefully slept in his arms. How could his joy have turned so bitter so fast? For a moment, he’d believed himself to be the most blessed of all kings. That the gods had granted him two sons to rule his vast empire.

  Now …

  Did he even have one?

  There was no doubt that the firstborn, Acheron, was born of the gods. That his wife-queen had whored herself to them and birthed it.

  But Styxx …

  The king studied every inch of the perfect, sleeping child nestled against his body. “Are you mine?” He was desperate to know the truth.

  The infant appeared to be a mere human babe. Unlike Acheron, whose eyes swirled a living silver color, Styxx’s were vivid blue and perfect. But then the gods were ever treacherous.

  Ever deceitful.

  Could it be that Acheron was his son and this one was not? Or that neither child belonged to him?

  He looked to the elder wise woman who’d proclaimed Acheron a god’s son just after his birth. Decrepit and wizened, she wore heavy white robes that were richly embroidered in gold. Her gray hair was wrapped around an ornate gold crown. “Who is the father of this child?”

  The woman paused in her cleaning. “Majesty, why do you ask me something you already know?”

  Because he didn’t know. Not for certain. And he hated the taste of fear that scalded his throat and left it bitter. Fear that made his heart pound in trepidation. “Answer me, woman!”

  “Truth or lie, will you believe whatever answer I give?”

  Damn her for her sagacity. How could the gods have done this to him? He’d sacrificed and prayed to them his whole life. Devoutly and without blasphemy. Why would they taint his heir in this manner?

  Or worse, take his heir from him?

  He tightened his grip, which caused the baby to wake and cry out. A part of him wanted to slam the child into the ground and watch it die. To stomp it into oblivion.

  But what if this one was his son? His own flesh and blood …

  The wise woman had said it was.

  However, she merely relayed what the gods told her, and what if they lied?

  Angry and betrayed, he went to the woman and shoved the infant into her arms. Let someone else solace it for now. He couldn’t bear the sight of either child.

  Without another word, he stormed from the room.

  The moment she was alone with the babe, the old crone transformed into a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Dressed in bloodred, she placed a kiss to the boy’s head and he instantly calmed down.

  “Poor, poor Styxx,” the goddess Athena whispered as she rocked him in her arms to soothe him. “Like your brother’s, yours will be an unpleasant future. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for either of you. But the human world needs its heroes. And one day, they will all need you.”

  March 10, 9543 BC

  Five years later

  “You wretched little thief!”

  Styxx looked up at the shrill cry of his older sister. Ryssa towered above him and his twin brother Acheron as they played with their wooden horses and soldiers on the floor.

  Why was she always so cross at him? No matter what he did to try and please her, it was never enough.

  Ryssa hated him. She always had.

  “I took nothing.”

  Curling her lip, she closed the distance between them and yanked him up from the floor by his arm. “Where did you put it, you worthless little worm?” she demanded, shaking him so hard it felt as if she’d rip his arm off.

  Styxx tried to break free, but she was too strong for him. “Put what?”

  “The toy horse Father gave me for my birthday. I know you collect them and I know you stole mine. Where is it?”

  “I haven’t touched it.”

  “You’re such a liar!” She threw him toward the ground then went to search his things again. “Where have you hidden it?”

  Styxx met Acheron’s gaze. “Did you take it?” he whispered to his brother.

  Acheron shook his head.

  Then who?

  “What are you doing in here?”

  All of them froze at the sound of fury in their nurse’s voice. Before Styxx could explain that he’d invited Acheron in to play with him, the nurse snatched his brother away.

  Acheron cried out as the nurse’s grip bit into his small arm. “How many times have you been told to stay in your own room?”

  Styxx panicked as he realized Acheron still held one of the soldiers in his hand. Even though he’d given them to his brother, he knew what would happen if anyone saw it in Acheron’s possession.

  His brother would be punished. Again.

  Wanting only to protect Acheron, Styxx launched himself from the floor and grabbed it out of Acheron’s hand.

  Acheron offered him a small smile of gratitude before he was taken away.

  “You!” Ryssa sneered as she glared at the toy he held. “You’re so selfish. You never think of anyone but yourself. What would it have hurt to let him keep one toy? Huh?” She gestured to the others scattered on the ground. “Nothing’s ever enough for you, is it? You always want more and you don’t care who you take it from.”

  She jerked the toy from his hand, cutting his palm in the process, and stormed from his room.

  Heartbroken, Styxx stood alone. He hated being by himself with a passion that made no sense. Ofttimes, he wondered if it came from being born a twin. Surely the gods wouldn’t have given him a brother if they meant for him to be forever by himself.

  And yet, he spent very much of his life alone.

  Sighing wistfully, Styxx glanced around the room that was littered with toys. He would gladly give them all away if he could only have one person to play with. Ryssa refused because she didn’t like him and he was a smelly boy, and, ac
cording to her, he was too stupid to follow the games she played with Acheron. The other children ran away from him because their parents were afraid they might hurt him, either by accident or on purpose, and incur his father’s wrath.

  Acheron was the only one who welcomed him as a playmate. But their father demanded they stay separated.

  Styxx looked down at his brother’s toy and wished with everything he had that it was different for them both. Rather they’d been born poor farmers than have to endure the burden of this wretched family and its meanness.

  He set the toy aside. Later, after everyone was asleep, he’d return it to his brother.

  * * *

  “Acheron?” Styxx whispered, nudging his sleeping brother awake.

  Slowly, Acheron blinked his eyes open. Rubbing them with his fist, Acheron sat up in bed. Styxx shoved the loaf of sweet bread in his face, making Acheron smile the moment he saw it.

  “I didn’t bring the honey, sorry. But…” Styxx opened his small cloth bag to show the sugared figs he’d taken. “I managed to pilfer your favorite.”

  Acheron’s silver eyes lit up. “Thank you! But you shouldn’t have. You could have been caught.”

  Styxx shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been hurt over this.” At least not physically—those beatings were reserved for other offenses. Though there were times when he’d prefer being hit to listening to them call him worthless or other names.

  Glad he’d helped his brother, Styxx watched as Acheron tore into the bread. Since they’d sent them both to bed with no supper, Acheron was starving. But as usual, Styxx had been unable to sleep and so once the palace quieted down, he’d snuck to the pantry.

  “What did you eat?” Acheron asked.

  “Bread … with your honey.” He grinned wide with his guilt.

  Acheron laughed. “That was wrong of you.”

  Styxx indicated the small bag. “I thought you’d rather have the figs.”

  “You could have given me the choice.”

  “And I would have had my belly not been cramping. It smelled so good, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to eat some on my way here. Sorry.”