"Forgeholders know that promenia particles are not alive. Neither is the Caeles, the immersive environment emerging as an accessible thought-space from the dynamic communion of countless interacting promenia particles.

"However, although promenia and the Caeles are not alive in the conventional biological or psychological sense, they mirror living beings in noteworthy ways.

"They possess no physical forms comprised of cells and tissues, but it is said that the Ancients held the power to build great promenia constructs to house human minds.

"Promenia and the Caeles possess no capacity to self-reproduce, but rogue magic spreads within the blightlands through a process of encounter, contamination, and conversion similar to the spread of a viral infection.

"Promenia and the Caeles possess no personalities, but our minds echo within the Caeles and return as our eidolon likenesses after death.

"They possess no consciousness, but promenia watches, remembers, and seeks to understand.

"Promenia and the Caeles possess no will of their own, but both follow an arcane purpose pre-dating our written history.

"Whether that ancient purpose was granted by the Eternal Radiance or given to promenia and the Caeles by the Ancients, none know, but many speculate.

"Who set into motion the arcane processes, so like and yet unlike life, that govern our magical world?

"Who crafted the calculations governing magical rank?

"Who determined which promenia powers each lineage and rank is permitted to unlock?

"Who anointed the five royal lineages which the Trellis empowers, and the single royal lineage holding the Trellis and, with it, the world?

"Again, none know the truth with any certainty, but countless speculate with foolish arrogance and declare their beliefs indisputable fact with dangerous fervor."

— from Particles and Purposes
out of A Garden of Fragrant Heresies

*~*~*~*

Daedalus had never been an older brother before. He found that he was already rather enjoying the new experience.

He smiled as he held his hand out to receive the next of several promenia communiques his secretary, Fons, had delivered to his tablinum office for his morning briefing.

The floating, iridescent ball of light had been sent by Bellus, the protocol handler Daedalus had assigned to his brother. His heart beat faster.

"Thank you, Erus," he told Fons, trying to keep unseemly excitement from his expression. He was not a child opening a name day gift. But the communique felt like a present. He was sure the orb of shimmering golden and rainbow light held news about how Domi was settling into his new life.

"My pleasure, Basilicus," the Pyrrhaei civil servant murmured and took a soft step backward to wait for his Princeps to request the next communique.

Daedalus opened the promenia message with an eager flick of his mind.

The thrill of anticipation was a novelty. He had not had anything he was particularly excited about for many years. Not when his life had been entirely devoted to preparing for this enormous duty of serving as Princeps.

Now he had another duty. A new, unexpected one. He had only had a little brother for three days now and caring for a younger sibling was already proving to be a refreshing change from his normal royal duties.

Of course, he knew he and Domi were technically the same age. He was only four minutes older than his twin, or so Cercitis said. His foster mother would know; she had delivered both of them herself. He barely counted as his brother's elder.

Still, he felt like an older brother. Nothing else explained the sudden, fierce desire to protect a boy he had just met and fill that boy's world with good things.

Daedalus wondered if this was how he would have felt if his mother and father had ever been able to conceive again. If a little child had been placed into his arms and his parents had said those wondrous words-"this is your brother"-would he have felt this same sudden connection, responsibility, and protectiveness? He thought so.

He smiled as he reviewed the likeness he had instructed Bellus to prepare yesterday for Domi's debutant portrait. The image unfolding in the middle of his office and rippling through his mind like a reflection on a still pond was well crafted.

Daedalus outranked Domi's new protocol handler, of course, and so could see what the obfuscation promenia hid from others. But in truth, he was not so sure that the mind-altering magic was needed. Yes, Domi looked eerily like Daedalus if a person only paid attention to the structure and coloring of their faces and laurels. But a promenia likeness showed so much more than just physical features. He doubted anyone would look at this slouchy youth with the uneven haircut, mischievous smile, and easy way with people radiating off of the image, and be reminded of Daedalus Adurere, the Princeps Worldholder who sat on the Throne of Solitude.

Still, he was glad that Bellus had made the effort to prevent people's minds from drawing any connection. There was one part of being an older brother he disliked. The fear. The terror that Domi would be discovered and harmed. That someone might kill his brother. Might steal another family member from him.

His father, missing.

His mother, dead by her own hand.

Her extended family, slaughtered in a terrorist attack fifteen years ago, when Daedalus had still been a babe.

He was not going to allow anyone to harm the brother he had just met. But that did not mean it could not happen against his will. And that terrified him. He held the whole world in his power and yet was powerless to stop the world from harming his brother if Domi was exposed too soon.

He swallowed, shoving the thought away. There was nothing more he could do right this moment to address the threat. He needed to trust in the preparations he had just made and give them time to bear fruit. Fretting would not make Domi any safer.

He turned to Fons. "Please tell Promerenti Bellus that my brother's debutant portrait is approved. And remind him to tell me without delay if anyone above the Principis Heres's rank appears on the list of suitable matches."

Daedalus had granted Bellus promenia charged with his own royal authority for the mindholder's use in crafting the likeness. No one high-ranking enough to be able to see past the obfuscation magic ought to have any reason to view the image. But if Domi's rank changed again and earned him a royal conjugal match, another Princeps or even the Rex might review Domi's debutant portrait while considering options for a young family member's nuptials. Daedalus outranked both the Princeps Lifeholder and Princeps Forgeholder, so there was little risk there, but his credentials would not be high enough to hide anything from the Rex or Princeps Mindholder if either deigned to look.

He offered up a silent prayer to the Eternal Radiance that his brother would remain beneath the higher-ranking royals' notice until Domi was skilled enough in his magic not to cause a scandal. Or a calamity.

"Yes, Basilicus, I will send your reply to Promerenti Bellus at once."

"Thank you, Erus." He folded his hands atop his desk, composing himself for the drudgery of the rest of his royal correspondence. "Are there any other communiques?"

"A summons, Basilicus. From the Rex." Fons nudged his spectacles higher atop his nose. "Your presence is now expected at Seventh Hour instead of the usual Ninth Hour. Shall Comitas hold salutatio in your stead?"

Daedalus tried not to grimace. While it was normal for Pyrrhaei civil servants to serve as administrators in non-magical governmental affairs, until he had sat on the Throne of Solitude longer, he was not keen to delegate responsibility to others just yet. Not even in something as simple as salutatio, where requests were entertained and decisions were reported but not made.

"Yes, please," he said, trying not to grumble. "Anything else?"

"No, Basilicus," Fons said, but his voice sounded hesitant and morose. He peered at the polychrome marble floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

The man must have seen the sermon. Daedalus straightened and cleared his throat. "Speak your mind, Erus."

The secretary's face darkened. "It is just that I noticed that you made some changes to the sermon I prepared for you yesterday, Basilicus."

"Yes." He had wondered how long it would take Fons to notice.

The young man shifted from one foot to the other. He looked glum and confused. "Well... you made them."

Patience, he counseled himself. This is new for Fons. No one likes change. "Yes, I did," he said, keeping his voice calm.

"May I ask why?"

Daedalus felt a surge of mixed irritation and sympathy. He was the Princeps, not Fons. He was the one who had to deliver the Cultus sermon each week. He had the right, and the skill, to write his own words to feed the people. Besides, he had only made a few small changes, not discarded the whole thing. But the hurt on Fon's face was hard to ignore. The man likely felt disrespected.

"Because I wished to speak to the people in a different way than your words would have permitted," Daedalus said, keeping his voice firm but serene.

Fons bit his lip. "But Basilicus, it has always been the special duty and honor of a Princeps's private secretary to write the royal sermons. Are you displeased with my work?"

"Of course not," Daedalus said, shaking his head. "I am grateful for this draft and the well-crafted words you have prepared. I look forward to your continued assistance with my future sermons." He resisted the urge to emphasize certain choice words; Fons understood his meaning. "Will there be anything else?"

The secretary looked like Daedalus had just slain his pet cattus, but he knew not to offer any further protest. "No, Basilicus."

Daedalus nodded, noting the relief passing through him. His emotions were all over the place today; he needed to spend some time breathing and recovering his equanimity. "Thank you. You are dismissed."