An abandoned boy, a grieving prince, and a reclusive sorcerer find themselves caught in a web of peril and mystery...
Domi, a young thief abandoned on the street at birth, just wants to save his dying foster mother. But first, he must survive the m...
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Daedalus's morning started late. Deliciously late. Peritia let him sleep in for the first time since he became Princeps to determine if the Trellis knew him well enough now for Brightening to occur on its own as Daedalus woke.
As his dreams faded, his eyes fluttered open and drifted to his bedchamber's window wall. Mind still fuzzy with sleep, he watched the dim blood-red eve sunlight warm into golden Trellis light. When he yawned, thunder rumbled, and by the time he sat upright in bed, imagining a luxurious visit to his sauna, the Rain began.
The Trellis's metallic ringing at the edge of his awareness accompanied the whole affair, along with a faint, warm tug against him, more imagined than felt. At last, it was starting to become natural and effortless, and he smiled.
He marveled at the Trellis's power, that the holy device resonated with him in such a complete manner in so short a time. Only a few days ago, Brightening and Dimming had been as easy as breathing, but the Rains after had been a trial. Now, he could do them in his sleep.
Still in the first days of his quarterly month of Solitude, he had no visitors to entertain other than his ever-present handlers. Comitas tutored him on the delicate dances of courtesy to preserve Praetors' egos when issuing orders to their worldholders. Afterward, he reviewed Peritia's list of new worldholders to reach aedilis rank around the world.
And then he was done. Fons put naught else on his schedule until early afternoon. So, he broke his fast in the garden beneath the shade of the peach trees, enjoying a little fresh-baked dulciola, dates, and honey in the morn air.
As he mused over where he would like to practice his breathing later, his prometus extinguished.
This time, he was not asleep. It was no dream. Yet the bone-deep chill settled within him once more, and the abrupt silence of the Trellis and promenia descended around him once again. At the edge of his vision, his glittering black laurel winked out, and high above, the Trellis light faded. Crimson sunlight washed the orchard like spilled blood.
It lasted but a heartbeat, maybe two. By the time he had a chance to so much as gasp, the warmth, light, and life returned to him. The Trellis Brightened once more with an incandescent flare and rang out its eternal bright and golden hymn in the back of his mind. Yet Daedalus still shuddered in reaction, his heart pounding.
Basilicus? What just happened? Are you well? I'm here with the Rex, and we both saw that.
Buccina's mind-voice had never brushed his awareness before. Reeling, he clung to his fellow Princeps's invasive but rock-solid presence. His teeth would not stop chattering.
The Princeps Mindholder, so near to him he felt her body shift upon her chair, turned halfway to face the fuzzy outline of a white-bearded man. The Rex. Their voices, indistinct, warbled back to Daedalus as though through the roar of an ocean.
Buccina returned to him fully, the oily weight of her attention settling on him, sinking into him. I have alerted your Armati and Trellis expert and am sending your physician, she told him. His skin crawled as she sifted through his recent memories like a woman flipping through a novel. In the background, her real voice said something to the Rex, likely reporting what she found in Daedalus's recollections.
Astricus arrived first, reaching him within seconds of his prometus's re-kindling from where the man stood guard beneath the trees to offer Daedalus privacy.
"Princeps Buccina says Cercitis and Peritia are both on their way, Basilicus." His hand clutched his cluden. The air where a blade would be wavered with a faint blur of violet and emerald light. The promenia dagger would disrupt the prometus of anyone the mirage-like distortion touched.
Daedalus wondered if someone had used a cluden on him.
Astricus seemed to wonder the same, eyes sweeping over him from head-to-toe and then scanning the garden for assailants. With a flick of his fingers, five Armati fanned out into the peach trees. "Are you hurt?"
"I do not think so," Daedalus said, voice shaking. "But my prometus—"
"Tell me what happened, Basilicus," Peritia said as she hurried into the garden. Cercitis followed at her heels, gray-faced. "The Trellis Dimmed over Vola Apertus, perhaps the whole region."
"I am not sure. I was eating and thinking about practicing my breathing when my prometus extinguished. I think the Trellis reacted and kindled it again."
"Like it would an infant Princeps," Peritia said with a nod. Her voice grew hushed with grim alarm. "That happened once, Basilicus. In the attack years ago. Your mother's infant niece briefly inherited the Trellis when your uncle died. The device kindled the babe's prometus far too early and killed her, and the Trellis passed to your mother."
"But why did my prometus burn out?" Daedalus asked. "That never happened to me before. I never heard of it happening to anyone."
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, he realized they too had never encountered such a thing. Some people failed to ever learn to command promenia, but other than people touched by a cluden's disruptive magic, he never heard of someone's prometus extinguishing.
"Let me examine your prometus, Basilicus," Cercitis said.
Calm enough now for mild humor, Daedalus offered a faint smile. All three adults were being respectful but otherwise treating him like a child. He was not sure whether to be annoyed or find it a comfort.
He vastly outranked his foster mother now. Unless he fell unconscious, her healing magic would not affect him without his consent. Daedalus nodded his permission and bit his lip with apprehension as she hovered her hand over his wrist. However, his prometus, when the glittering violet-speckled black particles wafted up out of his arm toward her palm and spiraled lazily in the air, appeared normal.
He could tell from her narrowed, distant eyes and stone-still face that she was examining the prometus—and his body—more deeply than with her eyes alone. The promenia passed through his veins in a warm, comforting wave, its faint ringing a gentle lullaby. She could have made the experience harsh or like naught at all if she wished, and he appreciated the effort to put him at ease.
After a moment, the warmth drained away. "I see naught wrong with your prometus or with your health, Basilicus," Cercitis said. "Are you sure your prometus extinguished? That it was not something else?"
"I am positive. I saw my laurel disappear." Daedalus shivered. He first kindled his prometus a few days after his eighth nameday. He never imagined he might lose it again.
Cercitis and Peritia exchanged troubled glances. "We will need to keep a close eye on you these next few days, Basilicus," Peritia said. "If this happens again, I need to observe it. It might be a problem with the Trellis itself, or perhaps your forgeholder prometus interferes with your worldholder prometus." She shook her head. "I am not certain."
Daedalus frowned. Trace amounts of the violet prometus he inherited from his father flowed through his veins, but he had never trained his secondary lineage. Few sorcerers bothered. Nor was he aware of a risk of a conjugal impurity causing a sorcerer's prometus to extinguish. But perhaps the Eternal Radiance found an impure worldholder unfit to bear the Trellis. A chill swept through him.
He swallowed and strove to keep his face composed. "I hope it does not happen again, but if it does, it will bring me great comfort to have you near at hand."
Inside, however, he did not feel comforted at all. What was wrong with him?
