Somewhere deep in the onyx palace, someone was playing music. The notes drifted, lazy and forlorn, down black and silver hallways all the way to the servants' quarters where Radix now lived.

Even with its ruler's Rite of Solitude slowing down palace life, the grim, dark royal residence still bustled with the endless bizarre activities Promethidae considered important.

Radix could imagine ten thousand reasons a palace musician might believe it crucial to practice the same bloody song over and over all day. But the real reason was probably way grander and more absurd than anything Radix could dream up.

The Pullatus had no clue what instrument it was that they were hearing. Some kind of string instrument, judging by the squeaks of missed notes, but whether a violin or harp or lyre, they had no idea.

Radix knew of a book that might be able to help them identify the culprit. They'd scanned most of the titles in the small tablinum office library and seen the short but thick encyclopedia of musical instruments on the fourth shelf, seventeenth book from the right, sandwiched between a volume on magically-modified lifeforms and another on Provincia Bacaliae's pastoral love poetry.

Part of them longed to dart out of their bedchamber, get the book, go find that mysterious instrument, and make its identity a mystery no longer.

They quelled the desire, that strange new urge that had been coming upon them more and more ever since they had first learned to read a few weeks ago. Books, to their delight and frustration, opened whole new worlds of knowledge, and they longed to drink it all in as fast as possible. To know everything. But there were way more books to read and things to learn than time in the day.

And they wanted to use their time on this little project.

Humming off-key under their breath along with the mysterious string instrument, they surveyed their creation.

It didn't look like much. They had borrowed a consecturum--well, alright, a whole chest full of the crystalline promenia weapons--and other things they'd found around the palace. One of Fons's spectacle lenses. A mirror. A bunch of candles. Several potted plants from the greenhouse. And their slender knife, one of the few belongings they'd brought with them from Urbs Hostiae.

They could not believe how easy it was to thieve in the palace. Snatching had been a piece of cake back at the collegium too, but at least there they'd needed to sneak in and out of buildings and rooms where they didn't belong. But as a palace servant and personal attendant to the Princeps Worldholder himself, there were no spaces in the onyx palace that were barred to them. All they had to do was pick up a mop or feather duster and waltz in, and no one even looked askance at them. And the luxurious, flowing fabrics of a palace servant's tunica and paenula, shorter and simpler perhaps than a Promethides's but still quite fine, had ample space to squirrel away all kinds of interesting things.

The most interesting things, however, weren't in Radix's bedroom but their head.

Promenia. Lots of people seemed to have written about promenia, but Radix swore no one was actually thinking about it. The Promethidae were so set in their ways and the Pyrrhaei in their superstitions that no one seemed to give much actual thought to the magical particles and the weird silent songs those particles sang as they reshaped reality.

For the thirtieth or fortieth time that week, Radix lit the candles and arranged them beneath the mirror. Heat seemed to be the key they had been missing. They'd thought at first that the particles' silent songs behaved like light, and in some ways the magical songs did, but the magic also behaved like, well, songs. Sound. And heat helped bend soundwaves just as a lens helped bend light.

Unlike Domi and other Promethidae, Radix could not actually see or hear lightsongs, as they had decided to call the weird energetic waves promenia received and emitted. They could not see the promenia's wavering distortions or hear the incessant humming Domi kept whining about.

But their perfectly normal eyes and ears were more than enough to witness the lightsongs' effects on the world.

Light too few candles and nothing happened. But with a bunch of candles, the metal of the mirror to help trap the heat, and the lens to help direct and concentrate the light, Radix could bend the lightsongs.

Strewn about their room were the results of their efforts. The sodden, herby mulch of their earliest, failed attempts. Torn leaves and bits of twigs scattered about. Broken, charred pottery. A weird, gooey spot on their wall, gray and stinking, that they'd hidden behind their wardrobe.

And more recently, finally, several vibrant, springy flowering plants sitting pristine and healthy in Radix's windowsill. It was time for one more test.

Radix eyed the knife, heart pounding in their chest. Now or never. Gritting their teeth and hissing, they drew it over their palm.

The door creaked. Someone gasped, and Radix yanked their arm behind their back.

"What are you doing?" Domi snapped. He surged into their room like a whirlwind.

"Nothing," Radix lied, cheeks heating as their friend gave an incredulous look at the bloodied knife in their other hand and the mess of promenia artifacts, candles, wax, and other junk in the center of the room. "Should you be wandering around alone, Basilicus?"

Domi cast a pointed look over his shoulder, where Sidus was standing in the doorway now, the starholder's brows arched as he took in the tangle of items. "Let me see your hand," Domi demanded.

Radix reached for the consecturum's silver handle. "Better idea," they said, holding their injured palm in front of the purple promenia crystals. "Check this out."

Domi's eyes widened and he took one panicked step forward. "No, don't!"

Both Trueborns flinched in response to something only the pair could see and hear. Radix just felt a warmth, a burst of sharp pain, and a weird tugging in their hand. Then the torn flesh knit and they waved their hand at Domi, unable to stop the elated grin from spreading across their face.

It had worked!

Domi just stared, mouth ajar. It was Sidus, his annoying bodyguard and now the captain of his security force, who managed to find a voice first. "How did you do that?" the starholder demanded, brown eyes even wider than Domi's own.

Radix flicked the older boy a sour look, then smiled at Domi. "That's a long story."

"A-are you a Lightholder?" Domi squeaked, then shook his head before Radix could answer. "No, you can't be. Even if you'd just kindled, you shouldn't be able to do that yet."

"Why?" Radix teased. "You did."

"I'm royal," the Princeps said with a snort. He needed to adjust to the idea. "But you're--"

"Pyrrhaeus. I know." They shrugged. "But you don't need magic to do magic. You just need to understand magic."

"What?"

Radix smiled. "Pyrrhaei use magic all the time. Alcoves and stones to access the Caeles. Pillars to visit eidolons. Medicine sticks. Nothing the Pullati ever get to enjoy, but all kinds of stuff."

"But you made this," Domi said, hand sweeping through the air to indicate the mess on the floor.

"Yeah. Anyone can make promenia artifacts if you understand how magic works."

Sidus closed the door with a pointed look at Domi. "No Radix," the starholder said, "not everyone can. In fact, only forgeholders can."

"But--"

"How in the world did you make this?" Domi asked, crouching down in front of Radix's contraption and peering at the candles, mirror, and lens.

"Well." Radix scratched the back of their neck. They doubted Domi and his obnoxious friend had read the same books they had. "It's hard to explain."

"Hard to explain to someone as stupid as me, you mean," Domi said, reaching out to poke at the lens and then apparently thinking better of it.

Heat rushed into Radix's cheeks. "I didn't say you're stupid."

Their friend lifted his chin to grin up at them. "I know. I'm saying I'm stupid. Compared to you, anyway."

Eternal Radiance, they had not meant to insult him or make him feel inferior. "I'm--"

Domi shook his head, rising to his feet. "It doesn't bother me. I love it. You're brilliant, Radix." Their cheeks warmed more at the compliment and his smile. They cast a glance at Sidus, eyes narrowing; the arse just looked amused. "So try to simplify it for me. How did you make this?"

"That's complicated," Radix admitted, trying to think of how best to explain. Maybe they should start with how a consecturum weapon seemed to normally work before describing the changes they'd made? "Well, you know that the original artifact senses intentions, right? You can point it at a clivia pouncing on a friend and it will sense you want to attack the clivia and not your friend."

"Right."

"There's a bit of mindholder promenia in there. Lifeholder, too," Sidus said. His eyes narrowed at Radix. "That's what forgeholders do; make promenia crystals that can hold different kinds of keyed promenia that sorcerers of other lineages contribute."

"Yes, you're very smart," Radix said with dry praise. All starholders were unnaturally clever, but how was that impressive if your magic let you cheat? They snorted and turned back to Domi. "So, think of forgeholder crystals as being a bit like music boxes. You know, the wind-up kind with the gears and such?" They pointed at the consecturum. "This artifact holds two songs inside its music box. A lifeholder song that chops living matter up into tiny bits and a mindholder song that senses which living creature you want to chop up and which you don't. But the promenia--the gears doing all the singing--in the consecturum don't do the actual chopping. That would require the particles to leave the artifact, and that would make it a single-use tool. Impractical."

"Alright..." Domi was looking a little lost while Sidus, arms crossed, looked grudgingly impressed.

"So instead of leaving the artifact and butchering a bestia or whatever, the artifact instead summons available promenia and commands it to become lifeholder promenia. Then choppy chop, clivia bits everywhere." They demonstrated with their hands, slicing at the air with sharp gestures.

"Will you keep your voice down?" Domi asked, amused. "I'm pretty sure they can hear you all the way in the Rex's palace."

"Fine, fine. Well anyway, like real sound, the songs travel in waves. I call them lightsongs, actually, because they're kind of like sound and light together, and--"

"Sound travels in waves?" Domi asked, looking baffled.

"Yes," Sidus said.

Radix scratched their neck. Hadn't Domi read anything? There were books on promenia and stuff everywhere. He just needed to pick some up and he'd know this stuff too. "Yeah, sound travels in energetic waves. Light and magic do too. Think of those magical waves you hear humming as music notes. Well, some are high pitched, some low, and all of the notes sort of warble at different rates and travel over distances, jumping from one particle to the next."

"Alright," Domi said slowly. He nodded down at the consecturum. "So you're saying that thing sings songs that chop stuff up with waves?"

"No," Sidus and Radix said together. The Pullatus frowned at the Trueborn starholder. "It's more like the promenia in the artifact sort of sings a siren song to promenia outside the consecturum, luring it to gather around and singing it a lullaby about what kind of magic to release."

"Alright," Domi said, brow furrowed but nodding at last.

Radix jabbed a finger at the contraption on the floor. "So when you use this, you don't have to be a mindholder or lifeholder to use a little of the magic of either lineage. You don't even have to be a Lightholder or Promethides. The artifact does it for you. It sings the lightsongs." They shrugged. "And, well, you can change the songs."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sidus snapped, but now he looked intrigued.

"You heard me," Radix said, unable to keep from standing straighter. At last, they were getting some respect from the Trueborn. "You can change the songs these things sing. The songs they use to call and command other promenia. That lets you change the kind of magic produced."

Sidus nodded at the stuff on the floor. "That's what all this does?"

"Yeah." They shrugged. "I just cobbled these things together to alter the pitch or whatever of the lightsongs."

"You just cobbled all this--" Sidus sputtered.

Radix ignored him. "You Lightholders use your prometus to access the songs available to your specific lineage. The songs aren't really sound but something similar to sound and light. I think that's why your laurels seem to glow--even the black ones, which just isn't natural--and why some of your magic is visible but usually silent and invisible to Pyrrhaei. It isn't true light or sound but the mind interprets it as best as it can. And I think that's why all of you Promethidae hear humming. It isn't real, or at least isn't real light and sound, but it's similar enough to light and sound that it can be changed like light and sound."

"And all this stuff helps you trap and warp the waves," Sidus said, nodding to himself.

"But how do you know what, erm, note does what?" Domi asked.

Radix gestured around the room at all the plants. "Well..."

Domi's lip twitched. "What did all those poor plants ever do to you to deserve such butchery?"

Radix grinned. "Those rude plants didn't like the songs I had the consecturum sing at first. When I tried bending the waves, I found that a bunch of stuff that seems to be lifeholder powers are stacked right next to each other. Lower, erm, notes chop living stuff up. But if you raise the pitch of the notes, you unlock promenia's ability to..." They waved their hand.

"Heal," Sidus breathed.

"Yeah," Radix said, and grinned at Domi. "Pretty neat, huh?"

Their friend offered a wry but proud smile. "I'm honestly not sure because I only understood a tiny bit of what you just said."

"Well, I understood," Sidus said, looking at Radix for what felt like the first time, "and I can say that, yes, it is pretty neat."

Radix offered a small smile. Maybe the starholder wasn't so bad. If only he'd stop trying to seduce Domi.

The Princeps eyed the modified consecturum and then looked at Radix. "Can you make more of these? And make them do other things?"

"Sure, I guess." They cleared their throat, avoiding looking at Sidus. "I kind of have a whole chest full of consecturui." People needed to lock the armory door. Not that Radix couldn't just pick the lock, but what if someone else broke in? "What are you going to do with them?"

Domi smirked. "Give the Pullati an opportunity to make a little coin."

<>

"Thank you for coming, Basilicus."

The Princeps Mindholder gave him a polite nod as she lowered herself down into the chair Decus offered. "Of course, Augustus. I hope that the matter is not urgent?"

"I hope so as well, Basilicus." He extended his hand to the low table of tea, fruit, nuts, and other simple refreshments. Alas, his days of being able to enjoy the rich, complex delicacies of palace cuisine without discomfort were fading fast. Getting old was a bother.

Buccina lifted a hand in polite refusal; he did not blame her. Their lives were quite busy and there often was not time in the day for proper meals, but it was difficult to get excited about such a plain sampling of Aquarius's agricultural bounty. "May I ask what troubles you, Augustus?"

He reached out for an almond, allowing himself to chew pensively as he thought. "Daedalus is weighing on my mind," he said at last, choosing his words with care.

The blond woman tilted her head thoughtfully, folding her hands in her lap. "I am worried about Dae as well. He is clearly having a difficult time. But I think he is coping well, considering."

Decus could not help but arch his brows at that, almond suddenly forgotten halfway to his mouth. "You think the boy is coping well?" he repeated and glanced at the window.

The sky had assumed a new, sparkling luster these past days. It was lovely but alarming. The Trellis ought to glow bright and steady except for after Dimming, when it should glow soft and steady. But instead, it flickered, glittered, and wavered even when it was not flaring.

Buccina finally leaned forward and helped herself to a grape. The Princeps Mindholder shrugged. "He is improving day by day. No, the Trellis is not as stable as before, but I see evidence that he's recovering."

"I am just worried why this is impacting him so severely. He was doing well before we shared the news of the Blightlands."

The other royal shook her head. "He was struggling a little even then, Augustus. It is why we chose not to brief him on the situation at first if you recall. But you must understand that his struggles are normal, considering."

"Normal?" Decus asked. "I do not understand how that is so, Basilicus. This is a mess. He's created quite a few catastrophes in a short time."

"He's experienced quite a few catastrophes," Buccina said. She plucked another grape, turning it between two fingers. "His mother's death. The manner of her death. His father's disappearance. To say nothing of the trauma of inheriting the Trellis, the pressure of ruling, and the horror of the Blightlands. And he is barely fifteen. Honestly, I would be surprised and more worried if he seemed unaffected by all of that."

"I suppose you are right. Still, I fret. I've known that boy since he was born. I have never seen him so out of sorts..."

He trailed off, shaking his head. Daedalus had seemed afraid of him, of all of them, during the meeting earlier. It had broken his heart to imagine what pressure and guilt the child must be feeling to lose such composure. And Dae's Cultus sermon had been a wreck. The boy was a wreck, and normal or not after what he had been through, it was worrisome and agonizing to witness.

"I assure you, Augustus, he is out of sorts, yes, but he is reacting normally given the circumstances and he appears to be recovering day by day. Give him time."

Decus nodded. "I will. Still, it would give my heart great ease if you examined him, Basilicus. Politely. Just to be sure he is well."

Buccina frowned. "I will of course do as you command, but I must advise against it."

"Pardon?" he asked, surprised. The child was clearly struggling and she did not wish to ensure he was all right? "Whyever not?"

"It is complicated, Augustus. His mother..." Buccina shook her head. "You know that she always had a certain animosity toward me. Especially in her last days. I believe she did not wish to be examined lest I discover her plan to end her own life. But whatever her reason, she never trusted me. And I worry her son may have inherited her discomfort with me. If I examine him, he may see it as criticism or intrusion."

Decus stroked his beard as he thought about her words. He had never understood Princeps Verita's dislike of Princeps Buccina. If she wished to hide her depression and despair from the other woman, it made more sense to him. "Even so, I would like you to take a look at him. Make sure he understands that I am not accusing him of anything. I am just concerned." He shook his head, the deep, crouching fear digging claws into his gut. "The news we shared with him killed his mother."

"You fear that the distress we're witnessing could become self-destructive," Buccina said, her soft, soothing voice unusually grim.

Decus sighed. "Knowledge of the Blightlands, the burden of saving the world... His mother could not bear the pressure. This is a horrific burden for one so young." He nodded to the Princeps. "Examine him. See how he is doing and what he needs. We all depend on him being well."

Buccina sighed but nodded. "Yes, Augustus."