Chapter 2, Part C

Daedalus could not help the soft gasp that escaped his lips. Why was Princeps Fidentia asking him if he knew about the ancient Calamity of the Twins?

His heart thudded in his chest. His words, when he found his voice, were calm and even, however. "Of course I know of it, Basilicus."

Did she know about Domi? Did they all know? They must. Why else would-

Heat, he reminded himself with a deep breath in through his nose. He visualized the Trellis's flaming lattice and released a slow exhalation, studiously avoiding looking at Buccina.

"What do you recall?" Fidentia asked, unknowing or uncaring about the effect her words were having on him.

Daedalus bit his lip, feeling chilled and clammy. Why were they doing this to him? Were they playing some kind of game? Tormenting him before laying their judgment at his feet, just to watch him squirm?

They had never been cruel before, though. He peeked from one to the next, his gaze skipping over Buccina, and confusion swelled within him, diluting fear. He saw no vicious humor in their faces, no anger, no condemnation. Just a heavy burden yet unspoken.

He drew another deep breath, calming. They did not know. At least he did not think so. This was about something else. Or so he prayed.

He focused his thoughts on answering Fidentia's question even though cautious relief made his voice a little shaky. "It was eight hundred and twenty years ago. My distant kinswoman, Ceratias Adurere, was the Princeps Worldholder. She had an identical twin sister." He barely managed not to choke over the words. Fire. Pressure. Vastness. Just breathe. "Unfortunately, the Trellis, despite the Eternal Radiance's infinite wisdom, is not quite as wise as the divine hand that placed it in our sky."

Buccina gave him a sharp look. "Why do you say that?"

He shuddered under the oily weight of her invasive gaze, sure that he could feel it seeping into him. Best not tread so near to blasphemy today.

Oliva cleared her throat, giving him a reassuring smile. Thankfully, Buccina's attention shifted away from him to the Princeps Lifeholder, who said, "I understand what he means, I think, Basilicus. The Trellis recognizes its Princeps Worldholder via their unique prometus. But identical twins possess identical prometus and thus the Trellis became... confused."

Daedalus nodded, offering her a small smile in gratitude. "Unable to distinguish between its mistress and her twin sister, it suffered a series of catastrophic malfunctions. These created a swarm of rogue promenia that devastated an enormous region of land in the night-side outside of the border of what is today Provincia Sicarii. Several cities were wiped out."

He left unspoken the fact that he had nearly done the same last week. They all knew, of course, though thankfully they did not know why he had accidentally dissolved a portion of the Trellis. At least he hoped they did not know that his twin's prometus had interfered with his own during a critical working and caused a disaster. If they did know, he could not understand why they pretended otherwise.

Cautiously, dreading what might happen if his sudden suspicion proved wrong, he snapped in his mind, Buccina!

The Princeps Mindholder brushed a strawberry-blond curl behind her ear absently, looking at Decus as the old man sighed.

"The world could have ended, of course," the Rex said. He looked pained. "To prevent that, both twins were put to death to force the Trellis to shift to their younger brother."

Daedalus nodded, his heart leaping to his throat. "The..." Don't think about it, just in case, he counseled himself. "The malfunctions ceased, but the damaged lands were far too broken, and the rogue promenia too abundant, for rehabilitative efforts to be practical. And so the blightlands were abandoned. For over eight hundred years, their outer border remained unchanged, though chaos reigned within."

A strange silence fell over the other four royals then, and Daedalus paused, afraid and not knowing why. What was going on?

Decus closed his eyes, looking sick. "Yes, for over eight hundred years the blightlands remained unchanged. That is, until eight years ago when a young worldholder from Provincia Sicarii discovered that the blightlands have started expanding."

Daedalus frowned. "Expanding?" That could not be right. He would have felt such a thing. "But Augustus, that cannot be possible."

"I wish you were right," the Rex said, his brown eyes tired but kind.

Daedalus could not help but stiffen at the suggestion he, the Princeps Worldholder, did not know his own business.

The Rex continued with only a sympathetic glance. "A few weeks ago, something triggered an acceleration of the expansion. Within weeks, the rogue promenia within the expanding blightlands will reach the edge of the Trellis in Provincia Sicarii."

Daedalus's eyes widened. "What?"

But no, that could not be. He would know. The Trellis would sense such a threat and howl incessant warnings in his mind until it was dealt with. Yet all he heard was vast, harmonious ringing.

"When that happens," the Rex went on, "the Trellis will begin to convert to rogue promenia and trigger a cascade of conversions that will destroy the entire Trellis." Daedalus shook his head and a stern look made him still. "But the team we have working on the problem just found a tower in some of the ancient ruins within the blightlands. We believe the Eternal Radiance once used it somehow in the creation of the Trellis. A worldholder has confirmed that if we can learn to use it, the tower may be able to rehabilitate the blightlands and the parts of the Trellis the rogue promenia has already damaged. Your fath-"

"This cannot be correct," Daedalus blurted. When no one stopped him from talking this time, only exchanged sad, troubled looks, he plowed on, shifting his voice from incredulity to reassurance. "No parts of the Trellis are damaged, Augustus, I assure you. The repairs in Provincia Sicarii went well last week. Other than that, it has been fully intact for a month, at least. I sense no signs at all of what you claim. I am not sure how your researchers came to believe that the blightlands are expanding. There are no blightlands. Not any more. There may have been long ago, but I do not sense any area of destruction." He glanced from one royal to the next, trying to reassure them. They did not look comforted, just pitying. "I would know if there were such a thing. I would feel it."

Decus drew a deep breath. "You do not sense it," the Rex said, his voice gentle, "because I commanded Princeps Buccina to suppress your awareness of the blightlands."

No one spoke after that. Daedalus trembled at the implication of what had just been said.

His awareness. She had meddled with his awareness. She had been in his mind, manipulating his thoughts.

"W-what?" he whispered at last.

"It was for your own good, Basilicus," Decus said, his years carved in every line in his face. "And for the wellbeing of the world that depends upon you." He patted Daedalus's knee and it took all the boy's self-control not to slap his patronizing hand away. "You have been struggling with the Trellis and you are young and inexperienced. With the grief of your mother's death so fresh, we deemed that you needed time to stabilize before we could safely share this with you. But with the situation so critical now, we could wait no longer to inform you."

Daedalus drew a shaky breath and glared at Buccina. She at least had the good grace to look regretful, although of course, it could have merely been the illusion. "You have been in my head without my permission. You have been blocking me from noticing or thinking about this. This disaster, which it is my duty to know and deal with! Have you been listening in on all my thoughts?"

"No, Basilicus," she said, her voice soothing. It made him want to scream. "I do not do such to anyone without consent except in the direst of circumstances or while discharging my duties." She spread her hands placatingly. "I merely placed a small measure of obfuscation promenia within you to dissuade your mind from noticing certain things."

Fury rose within him, so hot and bright that, for a moment, the Trellis flared. He sucked in a deep breath as everyone in the room cringed, their eyes darting to the windows, and forced himself to keep his emotions contained. Only when he was sure he could speak without thunder crashing around the planet did he say, "Remove it."

Oliva fixed him with a concerned look. "Basilicus," the old Princeps Lifeholder said, her rich mahogany face soft with compassion, "now is not the best time for such. It will be quite a shock to your body and mind when the promenia is removed. You should-"

"Remove it now!" he snapped at Buccina, surging to his feet.

Only to lurch and collapse right back into his chair as Buccina's green eyes closed and a wave of wrongness abruptly crashed over him.

"I'm sorry," the Princeps Mindholder said gently.

"Oh... Oh, Eternal Radiance, shield and preserve us," Daedalus whispered, unable to find the breath to scream even though he wanted to. "What have you people done?"

Gone. Part of him was gone, a gaping, icy hole in his spine. Its outer edges crept slowly across his skin, a crackling line of fire that tore into him, leaving his back a ruin.

He knew it was not his own body that was wounded, of course. Not truly, although the difference was philosophical when the Trellis was a part of him now. It was the great golden lattice that had this enormous absence. The Trellis isles outside provincia Sicarii had been obliterated, leaving behind hundreds of miles of torn, blighted land filled with roiling balls of rogue promenia that left the outermost edges of the Trellis wailing in his mind at their approach.

The world was about to end. It was not an exaggeration. When those clouds touched the edge of the Trellis proper, the magic that the whole world depended on for warmth, light, agriculture, fair weather, and protection from the Devouring Eyes and solar flares would all unravel.

He did not realize that he had surged to his feet again and was halfway to the door, panic giving his legs a mind of their own, until the Rex called after him. "Where are you going, Basilicus?"

"To survey these blightlands you have been hiding from me," he snapped. The Trellis was flaring again. Ruthlessly, he quelled it.

"What?" Oliva said, rising to her feet. Her voice, normally soft and grandmotherly, sharpened to sternness. "Basilicus, you cannot just run off to the night-side. You're a child and it is too dangerous."

Daedalus froze at the door, seething. He turned to them stiffly. He was so tired of other people deciding what was best for him. "I can," he said lowly. "And for the wellbeing of the Trellis and the planet I, and only I, have the duty to protect, I will."

"Basilicus-" The Rex's wave of promenia swept toward him, humming in warning, and eyes narrowing, Daedalus dissolved it all with a slap of his will.

He fixed his frowning ruler with a glare. "Unless you wish to make me further derelict in my duties, let me go, Augustus."

For a moment they just stared at one another. Then Decus's eyes shifted to the window, where golden afternoon light poured in from the Trellis like the world was not about to end. The old man sighed and nodded. "Go."

Oliva's aghast face was the last thing Daedalus saw as he turned on his heel. "But Augustus, he's a boy!" he heard the Princeps Lifeholder protest. "And he's certainly not in his right mind."

"I think he is," Buccina said softly as Daedalus glared at the Rex's private secretary until, nervous, the woman opened the double doors.

As he stalked out into the hall and, slipping his mind into the Caeles, summoned his own private secretary, Fons, to await him in his office in the Onyx Palace, he heard the Princeps Mindholder's quiet voice behind him. "We told him the truth because we believed that he needed to know," Buccina said. "Now we must trust in our Princeps Worldholder, and let him do what he needs to do."

"I agree," Decus said, voice weary. "I hate it, but I agree."

The doors closed behind Daedalus.

<>

With the public portion of their unwanted nuptials at last over, the only part remaining was the private one.

Valens and Arbita stood on opposite sides of their marriage bed and stared at each other.

"Well," Arbita said and cleared her throat.

Valens searched his mind for something, anything, to say that would not make this worse. All he could come up with was, "Now or never, I guess."

"Yes," Arbita agreed, her voice tight. "We'll just get it over with."

Valens's alumna--Arbita's puer now--had fled to the opposite side of the domus after half-teasingly begging them to "keep it down". If they were going to fulfill their duty to try to produce at least one child for Silvula Salutis curia and give Cerasus his damn niece or nephew, it might as well be now.

"So," he started, eying his fully-clothed new wife. Was he supposed to undress her? That would be awkward. "How do you want--"

"We don't have to be intimate, you know," Arbita said quickly. "I'm a lifeholder. I can just take one of your reproductive cells and--"

"Do you really want that? Something so impersonal?" He studied her face. Annoyance or impatience was something he could tolerate, but the sadness he saw there made him pause. "No, you don't."

"It isn't my idea of a perfect wedding day, no." She crossed her arms, her whole body stiff. "But we need to produce a child," she said, voice testy now, "and you don't want to bed me, Valens."

"I did not want to wed you," he corrected. "Not yet. Not now. But whatever my wishes, and yours, we are wed."

He had made a commitment, whether he had wished to or not. He avoided commitments like he avoided clivias, but in the exceedingly rare times he made them, he strove hard to fulfill his duties. This was just another kind of commitment. Marry a woman. Produce a child. Rear the child. Make his wife happy. It wasn't what he wanted for his life, but life rarely gave you what you wished. If it had, his domus would be empty now and the world would not be on the brink of apocalypse. The only thing to do was attend to the life now before him.

Arbita frowned at him, searching his face. "What are you saying? You had a wedding and now suddenly you want bedding, too?"

He snorted. "I just made vows to you, Arbita, and I mean to keep them." He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. The day was only half over, and he was already tired. "Neither of us wanted this marriage, but now that we have it, I will try to be a good husband to you and make you happy in my own way." He shrugged. "So, what will make you happiest on your wedding day?"

"Mad, passionate sex with the man I love," she said without missing a beat, but her eyes had regained a little of their sparkle, at least.

He chuckled. "Will you settle for plain sex with your new husband? I think I can manage that. We can find you a lover later if you want the rest."

"Really?" She lifted her brows in surprise. "You are so calm about this."

"Marriage is about doing whatever works for you and your spouse." He shrugged. "Or so my mother always says." She was never the one to pass up an opportunity to share unwanted advice.

"She really is going to kill you, you know."

He snorted. "Yes, but knowing my mother, she'll dote on you." She would, too. Hedera Capessere adored all her marriage-children and had been waiting a long time for this final one.

"Good, someone should." Arbita scrunched up her face. "But let's stop talking about your mother in our marriage bed if we're going to do this."

"In our marriage bed?" he asked, looking pointedly at the vast span of silk sheets separating them.

Arbita rolled her eyes and plopped down, leaning back against the pillows he'd stacked against the headboard earlier. "Come here." She crooked a finger. "Give me your kid. And do try to make it feel good. There might as well be some perks to this marriage thing."

"Alright."

She watched him as he removed his paenula and tunica and did not seem displeased by what she saw when he was bare as the day of his birth, though perhaps embarrassed. He helped her out of her own clothing, trying to get used to touching her, to the feeling of his fingertips grazing her skin. She shivered a little when she was bare, but he suspected more with nerves than cold or desire.

"Now, do you know how to make it good for a woman?" she asked, laying back. Her fingertips brushed the sheets like she was eager to draw them over herself, but after a moment she sighed and simply patted them.

"I read a book." He hadn't bothered to find lovers in the past, but he figured this could be approached through study like anything else.

Arbita sat up a little, staring at him in exasperation. "Oh for--"

"I'm willing to take instruction," he added.

Arbita paused, then slowly settled back again. "Alright, that is something I can work with," she said and reached for him.

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