"Did the Eternal Radiance carry us within its belly like a fiery she-bird heavy with eggs? Or did it sail upon the Dark Waters and cast stones down to Aquarius to form us? If you want me to preach ridiculous things, at least make them consistent."

--Princeps Worldholder Aura Adurere,
45th year before the Restoration,
from "Holey Holies",
out of A Garden of Fragrant Heresies

*~*~*~*

Daedalus stared up at the faux marble ceiling above his skychariot bed and could not sleep. Would not sleep. Must not.

His body wanted him to sleep, as did the crystal humming gently at his temple. Aix wanted him to sleep and heal, as did Valens, and it was not an unreasonable request. Most people on the skychariot slept, for it was the midst of the night. The vessel had even experienced a sort of false Dimming as it traveled over the borderlands and away from the sun, which seemed to watch like a narrowed crimson eye glaring over the horizon. The diminished light ought to have made slumber easy.

But Daedalus did not wish to sleep. Every time he so much as rested his eyes, the memories returned and each moment of his execution replayed against the back of his eyelids. And whenever he dared succumb to sleep, the memories swallowed him whole.

The crystal did not care what he wanted, only that he rest and recover. Drowsiness flooded him and darkness lurched near, but Daedalus peeled his eyes open whenever his lids sank shut and then forced himself to practice his breathing.

What once came with ease now felt like a trial. Daedalus stared and stared at the skychamber's white ceiling and struggled to stay calm, still, and awake. Focus, he counseled himself. He must not panic, or the crystal and his prometus would conspire to make him sleep. With care, he matched his shallow inhalations and exhalations to the sound of his slumbering brother's breaths beside him.

The urge to yawn tugged at his chest, and he clenched his jaw against the demand, knowing that it would fail to give him the air his body craved and would instead transform broken ribs into glass shards. But his damaged heart left him ever short of breath, and the sensation that he could never fill his lungs to his satisfaction unnerved him. His hands stung as his fingernails dug into his palms.

Would it ever fade? A foggy memory of Buccina's illusory blue-eyed boy surfaced. The Princeps's lips moved and formed a word. Words. Prognosis. Physician. Compassion filled the sapphire eyes. Reassurance. When had that been?

Daedalus groaned in frustration and his eyes sank half-lidded. He blinked to prevent the nigh irresistible descent and tried to remember, to stay awake. He had been unconscious for the first two days after... Well, after. Then early today, consciousness returned in fleeting stages until, now, he at last felt alert enough to know to avoid sleep at all costs. But when had Buccina spoken to him of the physician's prognosis? What had she said? Would he be like this forever?

Daedalus drew in another slow, shallow breath around the pressure for air, for sleep. The urge to gasp, to struggle after the deep inhalation he craved, writhed within him. Daedalus trembled in reaction and shifted in bed in search of a more comfortable position, then stilled as his injuries shrieked at him.

"Mmh," he whimpered as sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart raced and promenia hummed a soft lullaby at his temple.

He frowned up into Decus's face. The old man smiled back, lifting him under his arms to place him on the ground.

"You can't sit in my lap all morn, Dae," the Rex said, smoothing the white beard Daedalus had been sitting upon. "Go play with your mother."

His mother? He whipped around to look, sure Decus must be mistaken. His mother was dead. She had died, right?

His mother smiled at him as she stepped into the jasper palace's salutatio hall, the black pearls along the bottom hem of her clivia white paenula clinking against the floor as she paused. "Come here, Daedalus." She held out her hand. "My Rite of Solitude is over. Have you been good for Cercitis?"

"I killed her," Daedalus admitted, belly tightening as grief sank deep into his gut. He walked across cold marble to her. Why had he imagined his mother died? She was right here; his foster parents were the ones slain by clivias. "She and Astricus needed me, and I left them."

"Left?" Verita asked with a disappointed frown, her hand still outstretched. "I told you to be good while I was away." She shook her head. "But come, now. Let us go home."

Daedalus hurried to reach her, but weakness swept through him and turned his legs to water. He sank to the marble and trembled. "Ma."

"Hurry along, now." She brushed dark brown curls over her shoulder. "We will discuss what you learned from salutatio, and then you can take a bath and go to bed."

He tried to rise. Strength bled from his muscles, and he could not gather his legs under him. They wobbled and refused to push him up off the floor, even as the sudden certainty he needed to flee, flee right now, descended upon him. "Ma," he gasped. "Help me."

A figure stood over him and his whole body quailed as he recognized its feminine shadow. Death, the stern old woman.

Steel gray eyes lowered down upon him without compassion. She used to sneak him treats when he observed salutatio, even when Comitas said sugar made him less mindful of his manners and inclined to fidget. Now Princeps Oliva held the cluden high overhead, promenia whirring amethyst, and emerald. This time, it would claim more than his prometus.

"What did I do?" he asked, wide-eyed as he stared up at her. Why would his body not cooperate? It was disgraceful to die on his knees like someone fearful of death. Yet shameful terror gripped him and his body refused to rise.

Oliva remained speechless. Why would she not speak? She used to tell him stories from the Holy Ovidiana about the heroes of old, the Ancients who slew bestias and evildoers. Now, as she slew him, not a word passed through her lips, only a soft exhalation of effort as she slashed the cluden downward.

It should not have hurt. The Rex said it would not hurt, but he lied. Daedalus deserved torture and death, and not all agonies were physical.

Cold stillness hit him again like a punch to the gut, slamming the breath from his lungs and the rhythm from his heart. His laurel extinguished in the corner of his eye. He strained to move, to scream, to call for help, to breathe, knowing with the certainty of experience that if he did not, he would die. He remembered the realization sweeping over him before, that he had just taken his last breath, that his heart had just beat one final time, that the deadly stillness within him was going to be eternal. He could not let it happen again. But his chest refused to move and he could not breathe. Could not, no matter how hard he tried. Could not. Could--

"Ow!"

Daedalus panted, wide-eyed, as his own tired face glared down at him. Agony screamed in his ribs at the harsh movement of his chest, and he embraced it in relief.

His twin rubbed one arm. "You smacked me with your splint," Domi grumbled.

Daedalus believed it. His broken arm throbbed. "S-sorry."

Domi nodded and studied him. The look of irritation on his face faded to worry. "Are you all right? You're breathing weird."

Yes, he breathed. The passage of oxygen in and out of his lungs hurt, but he breathed. For a moment, he had been sure he would never do so again. He savored each gulp of sweet air.

Domi bit his lip. "Dae?"

He needed to say something before his twin ran off to fetch Aix or Valens. It was the middle of the eve. Everyone needed their rest. The work awaiting them on the night-side would require strength.

Daedalus drew another deep breath, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "I am fine," he said as steadily as he could. "Go back to sleep."

<>

After a late night of planning and then fitful sleep, Valens and Aix stepped into the twins' skychamber room with breakfast trays from the attendants and exchanged a look.

"How did you get that?" Valens asked. He did not know whether to be annoyed, amused, or relieved. The two youths should be resting.

Domi was very much not abed but instead stood next to where Daedalus reclined, also not abed, on the divan. The younger boy offered a faint smirk as he held the golden skychariot attendant's uniform up to his scowling twin's chest. "Guess." He looked the illusory girl over with a critical eye. "He can't wear boy's clothes, right? Not when he looks like..." He waved a hand.

"I told you," Daedalus said, soft feminine voice weary. Pale, with dark circles under her brown eyes--Eternal Radiance, his brown eyes--he didn't look like he'd slept at all. Though who knew what a kid who had died three days ago should look like? It was a miracle he breathed at all. "People on the night-side wear all colors. It will be fine."

Domi shook his head. "You look like my sister. No one will believe you come from the night-side if I come from the day-side." He extended the tunica to his twin. "Try it on."

"It is a servant's uniform," Daedalus said. Instead of reaching out to take the garment, he pulled the blanket he huddled within up to his chin and sagged back against the divan with a wince. "A stolen one."

"Too good for you?" Domi asked, eyes narrowing.

"No." Long lashes brushed Daedalus's wan cheeks as he closed his eyes for a moment. "But skychariot attendants wear that," he mumbled. "People will recognize it." He opened his eyes with a tired sigh. "How will we explain why the sister of a Princeps would wear that?"

Valens cleared his throat. "Domi won't travel as a Princeps." He nodded as two pairs of brown eyes turned to him. "Aix and I discussed it. It's best not to let people know who we are. Once we leave the skychariot, we'll travel as Pyrrhaei."

Aix smiled as Domi sagged in relief. "We thought you might like that, young Erus."

Daedalus stiffened and cast the lifeholder a stern glare. "You shall address him as--"

Domi waved a hand. "An old joke, Dae."

The former Princeps settled. He looked from one adult to the other. "We will travel as Pyrrhaei?" he prompted, rubbing tired eyes with his good hand.

Valens stepped into the room, Aix behind him. They put the breakfast trays on the twins' table, dulciola and milk for Domi, oat gruel for his brother. There were not many options for a sick kid among the skychariot stores, but Aix had seemed happy enough with the fare, though he forbade use of salt.

"Yes," Valens said. "We were planning to do so even before you joined us, Basiluculus, since it'll be safer if no one knows who we are. But with you here, it's even more important to keep your identities hidden." He eyed the older twin, wondering if Daedalus should eat resting on the divan or come to the table. But the boy rose on shaky feet and walked to the table without help, Domi hovering behind, lip between his teeth.

Aix nodded and pulled out a chair for the older twin to sag into even as Valens tugged his alumna away from his brother and into the other. "I brought quellwort and its antidote," the lifeholder said. "We will keep ourselves suppressed so we will not be visible to the promenia if anyone consults the Compendium to identify us. I do not know what information the night-side Caeles fragments have received, but it will either show Domi under your name, Daedalus, or under his royal name unless there is no prometus to identify."

Domi shook his head hard. "No."

They all stared at the boy. Valens blinked, unable to fathom the problem. Surely the kid welcomed a chance to escape his royal identity for a time? "No?"

"No." Domi bit his lip. "You can't suppress Dae. Sidus said the crystal shows his prometus just barely started to come back, and he needs it to heal. He'd be really sick without it, trust me." The boy grimaced. "I lived without prometus most of my life. He can't be sick or hurt when he's got no prometus. No way." Domi's cheeks paled. "Not while already this hurt. He just can't."

"I concur, Lifeholder Domi," Aix said, and the kid relaxed at the gentle rebuke. The old man smiled. "We three will suppress our prometus. Your brother will keep his, as indeed, young Erus, he needs it."

"Besides," Valens added, "Buccina unregistered him in Vola Apertus." He regarded Daedalus with a frown. "The Compendium may show you under Domi's name on the night-side, however. I'm not sure how the Caeles works with the fragmentation. Aix and I have had to assist the skychariot with navigation, so not well, I think. But Daedalus, unless you kindle your prometus, no one will spot you as a Lightholder on sight unless someone goes digging."

"Very well," Daedalus said.

Domi smiled, a hint of the old slyness back. "So, want me to snatch a few more uniforms?"

Valens snorted. "No. Stay in your room and rest. If not for your sake, then for your brother's." He studied them both. Neither looked well, especially the older twin, but even as exhausted as Daedalus appeared, both boys seemed more alert and less uncomfortable this morn. "How is the resonance?"

"He feels better. Tired, though." Domi frowned at his twin, who looked away. "He won't sleep."

"You should not fight the crystal, Basiluculus," Aix chided gently, stepping forward to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Or your prometus."

"I will not, never fear," the boy said.

Valens narrowed his eyes. Daedalus lied about as well as his brother. But Aix could deal with it. "I'll go ask the attendants for uniforms for the servant stores."

Domi frowned. "Why would they just give them to you?"

Aix chucked, sharing a knowing look with Daedalus even as he tapped the crystal on the boy's temple and promenia gathered and brightened into a wispy collection of glyphs. Valens recognized about half of the medical terms floating in the air in tendrils of shimmering green and gold. "You are not yet accustomed to being royalty, young Erus," Aix said. "Valens can just tell the attendants that Princeps Laetus wants souvenirs for his grand quest."