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—from The Legend of the Herla King
The steps to Maximus’s cellar were damp. Artemis climbed down carefully, for she held Apollo’s breakfast in her hands: tea, bread thickly spread with butter and jam, and a huge dish of coddled eggs. The maid had looked at her a little oddly when she’d requested such a large breakfast but was obviously too well trained to inquire about her unladylike appetite.
Now Artemis balanced the wooden tray on one hip as she fumbled with the key to the door. It seemed rather odd to lock Apollo in like this—surely no one would dare investigate the duke’s cellar—but both Maximus and Craven had insisted it was for the best.
Inside, nothing seemed to have changed since she’d bid Apollo good night only hours before. The brazier still cast a dull light and Apollo sat upon the narrow cot. But as she drew nearer she saw there was one very large difference: Apollo had a ball and chain around one ankle.
She stopped short only feet from him. “What’s this?”
He might be half-starved, beaten near to death, and for some reason still unable to speak, but her brother had never had any trouble expressing his thoughts to her.
He rolled his eyes.
Then he looked down and started theatrically at the ball as if he’d never seen it before. The skittish movement was quite silly when made by such a large man.
Her lips twitched, but she stilled them. This was a serious matter.
“Apollo,” she said warningly, setting the tray on the bed next to him. The chain was long enough that he could easily reach a covered commode not that far away and the brazier, but nothing else. “Who did this? Maximus?”
He didn’t deign to reply, tearing into the bread before halting for a moment and then beginning to eat again almost daintily.
Artemis frowned at his odd behavior, but was distracted by the chain clinking against the stone floor as he shifted to reach for the teacup. “Apollo! Answer me, please. Why would he chain you?”
He gazed at her over his teacup’s rim as he sipped before shrugging and putting down the cup. He picked up the notebook that had been left on the floor by the cot and scratched something out with a pencil before handing it to her.
Artemis glanced at what he’d written.
I’m mad.
She scoffed, thrusting the notebook back at him. “You know you’re not.”
He paused, his fingers upon the little book, to flick his eyes at her, and she saw them soften. Then he pulled the notebook from her hands and wrote something else.
She sat beside him to read.
Only you, sister dear, think me sane. I love you for it.
She swallowed and leaned over to buss him on the cheek. At least he’d shaved. “And I love you, too, though you drive me half mad.”
He snorted and dug into the eggs.
“Apollo?” she asked softly. “What happened in Bedlam? Why were you beaten so badly?”
He took another bite, refusing to meet her eyes.
She sighed and watched him. Even if he was too stubborn to recount what had caused a boot to be thrust into his throat, she was glad that he was safe and had enough food.
She glanced again at the chain on his ankle. He might be safe, but he was chained like an animal again, and that simply wouldn’t do. “I’ll talk to Maximus. He’ll understand that you were wrongly accused and not mad at all.” She said it confidently, even though she was beginning to doubt that Maximus would ever change his mind. And if he didn’t? She couldn’t leave her brother chained here—it was little better than Bedlam.
He chewed, looking at her narrowly, and for some reason his expression made her nervous.
He picked up the notebook and wrote one word: MAXIMUS?
She could feel heat climbing her cheeks. “He’s a friend.”
He cocked a sardonic eyebrow as he scribbled, the pencil hitting the paper with an audible thump when he made the period. He must accord you a very good friend indeed to rescue me from Bedlam on your word.
“I suppose he thought it a good deed.”
