She didn't know either, did she? And what was worse, Philammon was acting like a fool. All anger and clutching of chairs, as if Philotes would have slain anyone - let alone Artemis, whom she'd mentioned being quite fond of on more than one occasion. Asklepios first put a hand on his brother's shoulder and leaned in closer, close enough that Philotes couldn't hear what he was saying. Philammon was in a delicate state. It might help him to know that more than one person grieved for Artemis - try as he might, Asklepios could summon no tears, and at least one of them had to remain sober of mind and soul. Now more than ever, for he doubted Philotes would take the news very well at all. Most important was to make sure Philammon didn't forget his obligations as a host.
"She had nothing to do with this," Asklepios whispered to his brother. "But if you don't believe that, then let her grief speak the truth to you."
With one final, affectionate squeeze of his brother's shoulder Asklepios moved away. Into the kitchen. Wine bottles of various sorts were open there. Philammon had hardly seemed to care what was put in front of him, as long as he could drink it. Asklepios didn't see a reason to needle him for his lack of a discerning palate - at least, not right now. Usually Philammon had the greatest of noses and tongues for wines, far more than his brother did. Then again, Philammon didn't homebrew cannabis concoctions either. Was that a stalemate? Philotes might like a nice white, he decided, at least for the first glass. Asklepios poured incautiously, sloshing a bit onto the counter but not seeming to notice.
"There are no good times, these days, are there?" Asklepios asked, moving out of the kitchen once more to offer Philotes the wine glass. "Here, sit. Sit. I can see you don't know, and I'd rather you heard from me than anyone else. Take my chair, Philotes."
The story troubled him. A closet? Locked in by Deimos, released by Nemesis? There were two more names he didn't truly know as well as he should. Nemesis would never have done something like this. But Deimos, who'd made his home in the Underworld all these years? Perhaps she'd been locked in the closet to prevent her from interfering. Asklepios immediately hated himself for such thoughts - it wasn't bad enough that a war was actually raging around them, was it? He wouldn't suspect any of them, only accept proof when it was offered.