On the morn of Domi's big heist, the boy hurried out of bed, into his tunica, and down from the Black Flight's loft. He wanted to start his day before his ma could wake up and coax any uncomfortable truths from him.

Whistling to keep his nerves at bay, he plowed through his chores.

He hauled in the buckets of post-Brightening rainwater for washing and made the bread dough for Merula's trip to the ovens. He weeded the odoratus and chucked the rubbery leaves into the ceramic lye tub. He pulled yesterday's matte-black and red-black sheets of fresh-pressed odoratus pulp off the drying racks and heaped them in a pile for the needleworkers. Finally, he sorted the shoes delivered by the city's snatcher teams for redistribution and wiped down the wine bar's tables in preparation for opening.

Then he attended to his personal business.

Collecting his coin from the pawnshop was easy, but visiting the forum marketplace to buy an outfit was another matter.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked. "I have the coin right here."

He couldn't afford the tailored attire he originally planned to buy, but he possessed enough coin for these imitation garments the uppity middle class loved to wear. They were the proper pastel color and luxurious length he needed to pass muster at a glance, though a real sorcerer would wear far more expensive fabric. He would need to get in and back out before anyone studied him too long and realized he wore cotton satin and not clivia silk.

But first, he needed to find someone willing to sell him clothes at all.

The man sniffed and tugged the pale-lemon tunica out of Domi's hands. "Stolen coin. Go away, Pullatus."

The second stall owner proved no easier to persuade. "I don't sell odoratus pulp garments, Pullatus."

"Great," Domi said, rolling his eyes. "I can make those myself for free. I need something better."

"Sorry," the woman said with a sneer, "what I meant to say is I don't serve your kind."

Domi scowled. "I have gold. Gold I would love to give you." He sighed as the woman pointed at the busy street beyond. "Fine."

In the end, he did what he did best. While the young woman at the fifth clothier's stall turned away to flirt with a flower seller, Domi snatched what he needed right off the racks. He left a pile of coin, at least.

At last, he marched in his brand new outfit back to the pawnshop. And by marched, he meant tripped. Every two steps, the long fabric wrapped around Domi's legs, making him stumble. No wonder dunces walked everywhere with slow, graceful steps; if they didn't mince their way around with ginger movements, they'd fall flat on their faces.

The Appraiser eyed Domi as the boy stepped into the pawnshop. Jewelry covered the countertop before him. "You're back. And you look ridiculous."

"So do you," Domi said, "but at least I can blame it on the clothes." He offered the old man the winning smile that always earned him an extra coin or two from charitable citizens when he begged on the street corners. "So, I'm doing it today."

The Appraiser frowned. "Today? You started planning the break last week."

"Well, that was then, and this is now."

The old man scratched the back of his neck and then pulled a rag from his pocket. "Are you going to let me in on where you're going and what you're after?" He began polishing a small ring.

"The Collegium." Domi shrugged as the Appraiser froze, the ring clattering back onto the counter. "To snatch the lapis translationis."

"I'm sorry, I need you to repeat that. It sounded like you said you want to die an early death."

Domi scowled. "You heard me. I need you to tell me where in the Collegium I have to go to grab the lapis translationis."

"That's what you're after?" He had never seen the old geezer so aghast. "You reckless kid, I'm not telling you anything! Don't glare at me like that, I fear your mother far more than a scrawny shrimp like you. She'll kill me if she finds out you're after that stone and I'm the one who told you where to find it."

"She might kill you if you tell me, but if you don't tell me, she won't be able to kill you at all because she'll be dead."

"When you rehearsed that in front of the mirror, did you think it sounded convincing?"

His heart lurched. The Appraiser couldn't refuse him. He just couldn't. "Please." Domi rested trembling hands on the desk and leaned toward him. "Please," he begged again. "This is my only chance. She doesn't have long."

The Appraiser scowled and eyed him with a stern gaze. "Promise me you can do it. That you can sneak past those snobby bastards, snatch the rock, and get out." He held up a hand as Domi's mouth opened. "Without any missing limbs."

"I promise." Breathless with relief, the words flowed from him in a rush. "I'm the best breaker we got, you know that."

"Only because you're not allowed to do much else." The old man shook his head. "You're sick, Domi. Maybe not like her, but you are. If this goes wrong, you lack the kind of odds for survival I hope to see for a high-risk break like this."

"Yes, I'm aware I'm sick," Domi said, rolling his eyes. "But I'm willing to take the risk. If I have to die to give her a chance to live, I'm fine with that." He was nothing, just some worthless kid his birth parents cast out. Merula, though, was the Rex Pullati. So many people needed her. He needed her. He wouldn't let her die, no matter what.

"Dramatic," the Appraiser said, unimpressed. He jabbed a finger at Domi. "Well, maybe I'm not fine with that. And you think your ma wants that either? Children are supposed to outlive their parents, Domi. It's the way of things."

Panic bit deep. He thought the Appraiser had been ready to cave in, but the old geezer was stubborn. "How about this, then?" Domi said, his heart racing. The words rushed out of him as his frantic mind worked. "Tell me where the stone is so I can get in and out fast, or I'll go right now and search every room in broad daylight until I find the rock or get caught."

"Domi—"

He stretched out his arms, showing the new tunica and paenula he wore. "I'm all ready to go, and I'm not waiting any longer. I'm not going to stay here and let her die. I will either go in there clueless and try my luck, or I will go straight to my target and get out, but I'm going. If you care so much about odds, which option do you figure offers a better chance of survival?"

"How about I just knock you out and tie you up instead, you obnoxious little brat?"

"And risk a head injury that might kill me?"

"There are things that might kill you and things that will." The Appraiser's voice, low and dark, made Domi worry for a moment the man might try his luck.

Domi shrugged and turned to the door. He forced himself to walk away, his heart thudding in his chest as he counted under his breath.

"Fine." When he paused and turned around, the Appraiser threw his hands up in exasperation. "If you die, don't you dare haunt me. Do kindly haunt your ma though, and tell her to leave me be. I tried to stop you, but she knows her stupid son."

"Yes she does," Domi said with a smirk. The surge of relief left him lightheaded and giddy. "So, tell me where the stone is."

The new Princeps Worldholder would be crowned in two hours. All the most distinguished Trueborns would be in attendance at the coronation. The occasion would be a grand opportunity for society's rich and influential elites to rub shoulders, jostle for position, and try to become even more rich and influential. The event of the year.

Valens couldn't have cared less about the coronation. He had only ever been forced to attend two annual public functions, the New Year's Observance and the Rite of Remembrance for his deceased former Praetor. If he never had to subject himself to another public event again, he would thank the Eternal Radiance with true reverence for the first time in his life.

If only his fellow Trueborns felt the same, he would be able to return to Urbs Hostiae without delay, get the Rite of Remembrance over with, and get back to his life.

Instead, his travels were delayed. Trueborns clogged the skychariots, and not just Trueborns, but also Pyrrhaei hoping to catch a glimpse of several Trueborns up close.

Some of these commoners must think sorcery was contagious. They must believe they would, through mere proximity to a Trueborn, manage to obtain prometus and the skill to use the magical essence to manipulate promenia.

At least, that remained Valens's best theory as to why a Pyrrhaei woman sidled so near to him she practically perched in his lap.

He wouldn't be having this obnoxious problem if he could travel to Urbs Hostiae in a private skychamber, but there was no room left. His insufferable peers bought up every last seat in every private skychamber on every skychariot Valens had checked.

So he sat, back stiff and hands folded in his lap, in a chamber surrounded by gawking Pyrrhaei. Their gazes pressed against him like physical weights.

For his own part, he stared straight ahead out the window, watching the Trellis glimmer against the violet sky like a gossamer spider web. He hoped the new Princeps Worldholder, a kid he'd never met and had no particular interest in ever meeting, didn't mess up. One misstep could transform the Trellis from a radiant web into an incandescent firestorm.

If this journey held any redeeming value at all, it was that most of the passengers disembarked in Vola Apertus for the coronation. At last, he retreated to a private chamber and completed the final leg of his trip in delicious solitude.

Almost. "Did you hear the news, Promerenti?" the attendant serving his watered wine gushed. "The new Princeps Worldholder is being ordained today. I suppose you must have heard, being a worldholder yourself and all. I bet you even met him, and—"

The woman broke off at his flat stare. He completed the rest of his journey in sweet silence.

With a soft hum, the skychariot glided along the golden thread of the skyway's promenia track toward its destination. Below, clouds, mountains, lakes, and cities drifted past.

Twelve hours later, he at last disembarked in Urbs Hostiae, far away from the world capital and the ridiculous drama there. It was good to be home. Well, almost home, at least. He had business to attend to first at the Collegium, and then he would be free to retreat to his domus until Cerasus sent him back into the wilds where he belonged.

He disembarked the skychariot at the skyhaven just within the city's promenia-coated marble outer wall and flew the rest of the way to the Collegium. Calling promenia to him, he shaped invisible, winglike sheets of resistance and steady air currents to create lift. He was done with people, whether on public transportation or the streets. The wind and his own thoughts offered more preferable company.

From above, Urbs Hostiae was an artful lattice, mirroring the intersecting radiant lines of the Trellis under which the city sprawled. Yellow marble walls and roads in the wealthy edges of Provincia Sicarii's capital gave way near the city's heart to brick-lined walls and roads of basaltic lava blocks. Raised, sloping aqueducts towered over the buildings, carrying water to every corner of the metropolis.

The central forum offered a patchwork of styles. Tiny adobe insula apartments, slums, and the stalls and carts of the poorer streets of the marketplace crammed next to the emporium, baths, amphitheater, comitii basilica, and marble-walled Collegium.

"Show-off," Cerasus Erythranus said by way of greeting the moment Valens landed in the Collegium's outer courtyard.

"How kind of you to come meet me." He had hoped to have no audience for his arrival.

"It's my pleasure," the lifeholder said with a sly, cheerful smile. "Stops you from sneaking off and hiding until the rite."

Valens did not admit the other Trueborn described his plans with eerie precision. Cerasus knew him far too well. Provincia Sicarii's Praetor grew up with him, after all, and remained one of the few people whose presence Valens could tolerate for more than a few minutes. Both attended the Silvula Salutis curia schools as children and youths, though the Praetor had always been a few years ahead of him.

"How was your trip?"

"I believe I met most of the Lightbearers on Aquarius and every last Pyrrhaeus."

"That bad?" Cerasus extended an arm toward the basilica's arcaded facade.

"I wish I'd traveled through the night-side instead," Valens said as they proceeded toward the main portico entrance.

"That would have taken an extra sixty-four hours and risked exposure to the Devouring Eyes."

"It would have been worth it."

"You poor recluse," Cerasus said as they passed between the green marble columns of the portico's arcade and into the central nave. "Well, I hate to subject you to more socialization, but there are some people I want you to meet."

Valens tensed. This again? "Let me guess. You have several adorable little alumnas you want me to coddle for you." Somewhere above them in the second-floor gallery, brats squealed and sniveled, and Valens grimaced.

Cerasus did not deny it. "I've personally made arrangements with the nursery school's headmaster for you to meet several promising candidates while we are here."

"Don't you have more important things to do with your time than find me a student, Praetor? Such as rule your provincia?"

"You mean more important than attending to the future of my provincia?" His eyes narrowed. "Every Promethides in our curia is my responsibility, Valens, from the smallest Empowered child to the most stubborn Trueborn. Our kind is essential to Provincia Sicarii's well-being."

Valens sighed. "Any worldholders among these kids of yours?"

"Yes, indeed." Cerasus leaned forward, eyes hopeful.

"Trueborn?"

"No, but they are all Empowered from distinguished worldholder bloodlines." Cerasus led him past massive white marble columns with pink granite bases toward the far side aisle.

"Not very distinguished if they're producing Empowered."

He realized he went too far as the lifeholder stopped ahead of him, back tensing, before turning to fix him with a stern glare over his shoulder. "Even your Praetor's bloodline produces some Empowered these days, Valens. I'll have you show me your respect."

"Sorry."

"And Valens?" Cerasus turned the rest of the way around, crossing his arms. "Your line may still always breed true, but the same is not the case of other worldholder bloodlines. The worldholder lineage is fading away one family at a time. Do you really want to be so picky? Or do you want to help ensure there are trained worldholders after you're dead and gone?"

Valens remained unimpressed. "You can't guilt-trip me."

Cerasus groaned in frustration. "Why must you be so stubborn?" He threw a hand out to the eastern staircase leading up to the gallery. "Please just meet them. Serenitas Empowered them all only last week"

"Then that's a definite 'no' from me. If I ever take a Lightless alumna, I must Empower them myself."

"What? Why?"

"I am confident my prometus is sound. Serenitas has no children yet. That might indicate a problem of some kind."

The Praetor looked incredulous. And ridiculous, with his hand still outstretched toward the stairs. He seemed to realize the latter, dropping his arm. "Even an Empowered can donate sound prometus, Valens, and Serenitas is Trueborn. And you also lack children." He arched his brows. "Unless there's something you mean to tell me. A woman?"

"No."

"A man?"

"No."

"How about a—Oh why do I bother? You've refused to wed or take a lover of any gender for eight years, so how would you have children on the way?"

He meant it as an insult. Valens took the words as a compliment. "Correct, and there's a difference. Unlike Serenitas, I don't want a child. Or a lover. Or an alumna. In fact, a child would be the most preferable of the three. At least I'd owe them nothing once they're sent to an aedificans. But an alumna would be a little leech for life, and a lover might want to be."

Cerasus tried another approach. Valens suspected the man brainstormed arguments he thought might work and talked over strategies with his younger sister, Arbita. "Can't you be more reasonable and at least see them? It's Dies Disciplina, Valens. We're supposed to use this day of the week to devote ourselves to the education of the next generation. Consider it your virtuous action for the day, hmm?"

"Maybe next week," Valens said, amused despite himself. That had been the stupidest but also most creative attempt to convince him yet, and he heard some absurd arguments from Cerasus over the years.

"You need to do your duty to our curia, Valens," the Praetor said, glum now that his last idea failed. "Serenitas is a fine worldholder, but we both recognize her skill pales next to yours, and she has too many students to train by herself. These children deserve a talented aedificans to teach them the worldholder arts. If I must order you, I will, but I would prefer you to take an alumna of your own selection."

Valens sighed. "All right, you shameless beggar, tell you what—"

Shouts interrupted them.