Hearing was the first sense to return. Sound surrounded Domi. Voices. Two of them, one a man and one a woman.

"I hope you have news for me," the man said, his voice tense and irritated. "And it better be good."

"Define 'good,' Cerasus."

"He's not a Promethides, and I can finish what Valens started."

"Sorry, can't help with that." The woman hovered somewhere to Domi's right, where crimson light filtered through his closed eyelids. "He's definitely a Promethides, so you can't execute him. But there is some news you might appreciate."

"Do share."

Something clinked. A hand cupped the back of his neck, lifting his head, and Domi sputtered as something pressed to his lips. The thick liquid, milky and sweet, poured into his mouth, leaving a faint floral aftertaste. Domi wanted more, but the cup went away.

"The good news is you don't need to get Valens out of trouble for stealing the Rex's Empowered property," the woman said, cheerful. "Only for trying to kill a Trueborn."

"Trueborn? Wonderful. Just wonderful."

The woman chuckled. "I thought you'd say that."

"What am I supposed to do with a feral Trueborn?"

"I don't know. House him? Train him? Put him to work?" The cup came back. Domi drank with greedy gulps. "You're the Praetor, Brother. You figure it out."

"I'd rather just kill him."

Domi wondered who they were talking about. His thoughts drifted through his mind, slow and fuzzy, as he tried to follow the conversation.

"He's a feral Trueborn who was found in your provincia, Cerasus. By law, his care and feeding are your responsibility."

"I'm well aware." The man, this Cerasus, heaved a sigh. "Just great. Well, what type of prometus does he have? Something useful, I hope. If we end up with yet another lifeholder—"

"I have no idea."

Domi had no idea either. No idea what the heck they were talking about. But there was something very weird about this conversation. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, however.

And he wanted the drink. Why were they taking it away again? He whimpered but could do no more than flutter his eyes. His lids refused to open, and he could not move a muscle.

"You haven't checked his prometus?"

"I tried, but there is nothing to check. He has no prometus at all for me to examine. He's been suppressed, I suspect since birth."

Were they talking about him? Of course he had no prometus. He wasn't suppressed, he was Pyrrhaei. Idiots.

"Impossible. Valens said the stone drew blood from him."

Stone?

The woman brought the cup back. This time, Domi made out the dim outline of a goblet, of a hand, through cracked eyelids as she tipped the drink to his lips. Sugared roses and delicate lemon-cream burst in his mouth. He did not understand how anything could be so delicious.

"Sometimes," the woman said, holding the cup steady for him, "the body's prometarium can overcome suppression under extreme duress. His channels likely produced trace amounts of prometus to stabilize him when he was injured. It died within minutes, however. He's suppressed again."

"Can you undo the suppression, Arbita?"

"Of course. We need to wait a bit though. He's very weak." The woman, this Arbita, lifted the goblet and gave it a slight wiggle. "This should help, but the shock of the change might still kill him."

Domi squinted at the silver cup, trying to peer past it to the woman's face beyond. His eyes refused to focus and soon drooped half-lidded at the herculean effort.

She snorted. "Try not to look so pleased, Cerasus."

"He attacked my daughter," the man said in a snarling growl.

Something about that rang a bell. Domi turned his head weakly in the direction of the man's voice but only made out vague shadows in the corner of a blurry, crimson-lit room.

"Yes, and my fierce little niece paid him back for that. With steep interest. Even if Valens had not sent millions of volts of energy through his body, the blood loss would have killed him."

"How terrible."

The cup came back. Domi sipped, lashes fluttering, and then turned his head aside. Too much. Thankfully, she pulled the drink away.

"Now, I have healed the cuts, burns, and organ damage." She set the cup somewhere with a soft clink. "But the suppression itself makes him very weak."

"Makes him like a Pyrrhaeus, you mean."

"No, weaker than a Pyrrhaeus." Arbita brushed a light hand over his forehead until Domi closed his eyes. The weight of a blanket settled over his legs and hips. "We Promethidae possess fewer blood cells than Pyrrhaei. Our bodies under normal circumstances produce prometus to augment our cardio-pulmonary and immune systems, but his body lacks the prometus. In essence, he suffers from a severe case of aplastic anemia."

"You know, not all lifeholders study the healing arts." The man sounded a mite embarrassed.

"I mean, my dear Dominus Ignoramus, this kid is extremely vulnerable to infection and blood loss."

"So fix it."

"I can't." Domi relaxed beneath the soothing touch on his forehead. "His blood cell count must stay beneath a certain threshold so there will be space for prometus. But I'll need to coax his prometarium to produce prometus at a slow pace, so he can adjust. We don't want the shock to kill him." She paused. "Well, I don't."

"How long will it take?" Cerasus sounded resigned.

"About a week. Plenty of time for you to figure out what to do with him. And, ah, his friend."

"His friend?"

"The Pullatus?"

Domi's ears pricked at that. He stirred his leaden body, and crushing exhaustion forced him to fall still again, breathing hard.

"That filthy kid is still here?" Cerasus asked, voice aghast.

"Yes. I made them rest in the servants' quarters. They suffered a close encounter with lightning, after all. Besides, they're refusing to leave without him."

Radix. Were these people talking about Radix?

"Refusing—" Cerasus sputtered. "They're a ninety-pound Pyrrhaei child! How hard can it be to toss them out?"

Yes, these people were talking about Radix. He needed to wake up or at least open his eyes, but try as he might, his lids refused to part even a tiny crack.

"Not hard at all. It's just some... things... have gone missing around the basilica, and they refuse to tell us where they hid anything unless we agree to let them stay."

"Just tell the little thief we'll torture the information out of them."

Domi groaned, struggling hard to make his body cooperate. He wouldn't let them torture Radix. No way.

"Cerasus! They're a child."

"Pullatus."

"A Pullati child. They can't be more than fourteen. You're not a Praetor who tortures children, Cerasus. And you're agitating this one. Watch your tongue around my patient."

"Fine."

Hands pulled something up to his shoulders, and Domi moaned unhappily. The blanket weighed a thousand pounds. There was no way he could escape it, could get up to help Radix.

"Shh," the woman soothed. It did not help. Until, suddenly, it did. Every muscle in Domi's body relaxed, and he slumped, breathing softly and unsure what he'd been so worried about. Radix was fine. Everything was fine. Comfy. Warm. Darkness crowded behind his closed eyes, and he did not resist.

Cerasus groaned, long and low. "What is happening to my Collegium, Arbita? Every time I check the Compendium, our curia's rank has gone down because of this whole mess. Thieves wandering around. Children attacked. A feral and no doubt rogue Trueborn showing up, and now Pullati scum clinging to us? Well, only one Pullatus, thank the Eternal Radi—"

"Actually, two Pullati."

Domi slid into inky blackness. A roar grew in his ears and sound dimmed.

"No." Cerasus's incredulous denial floated somewhere miles away.

"Yes. You should have seen him wander into the Empowerment atrium earlier. I thought he would trip over his clothing. He's clearly never worn a long tunica in his life."

"That doesn't mean he's Pullati." An extended pause. "Come on, you can't be serious."

"Sorry, Brother, but his friend told me a bit about him. He's the adopted son of, get this, the Rex Pullati."

Domi barely made out the next words over the sound of his own slow breathing, his beating heart.

"That's it, I'm done." Done? Done with what? Domi could not summon the energy to care. "I've had enough of this day. You carry on, Arbita. Keep him alive if you must. And if you notice Valens sulking in some corner, tell him to get his antisocial arse to my office right away."

If the other voice replied, Domi did not hear. Sleep engulfed him.

"Augustus, there is a message from Provincia Sicarii."

Provincia Sicarii? The Rex smiled. He had not heard from young Cerasus Erythranus in some time.

Well, the Praetor was not young any longer. He had a child of his own, as Decus recalled. An adolescent daughter, yes.

The Rex lifted a manicured hand to accept the hovering iridescent ball of promenia from his private secretary. With a mental nudge, he opened the message in the air before him.

Cerasus Erythranus's tawny face expanded before him in shimmering tendrils of promenia mist. Never mind, the Praetor was not so old after all. Still a young man, in fact, only in his thirty-first year. It was so hard to keep track of all four hundred of his Praetors.

Cerasus may have been young, but an older man's worry lined his warm-chestnut face. Oh dear.

"Your Most Glorious Augustus," the Praetor began.

The extra formality brought a sigh to Decus's lips. The news was not pleasant, then.

"It is my unfortunate duty to report an incident here in Provincia Sicarii," Cerasus continued. "Contained within this message are the promenia records of yesterday's events and the findings of the Arborator who reviewed the case. I hope that, in your wisdom, you will find her judgment satisfactory, but I will of course bow to your will if you draw another conclusion."

Arborator? That was not encouraging. It was never pleasant when officials responsible for overseeing crimes by and against Promethidae got involved. The ancient term meant "Tree Pruner," and no one wanted to be deemed unruly and in need of an Arborator's attentions.

The Rex reviewed the promenia records, watching the events of concern unfold in shadowy images before him. The hazy form of an audacious youth striding through the local curia's Collegium. The assault and attempt to extract prometus from—oh dear—Cerasus's heir. The worldholder's lightning strike. Oh my.

Decus sighed, massaging his forehead as he studied the image frozen before him of the instant before the bolt connected with the boy's hooded head.

The promenia painting, dark and blurry, left much to be desired, for the particles tended to ignore Pullati and others not registered in the Compendium. Still, the sizzling strike's placement left no room for argument. The worldholder called lightning down with killing intent.

The punishment Cerasus ordered for the crimes of burglary, theft, and assault against a Trueborn youth appeared reasonable enough. However, there remained the issue of the young criminal being a feral Lightbearer and thus illegal to kill.

It was one thing for the Praetor's daughter to use lethal force to escape the boy; self-defense was always allowed. The execution afterward was another matter, however. Their kind were far too few in number to permit any violence against them.

Ordering the boy's execution and carrying out the act had been understandable mistakes to make, given the lack of visible markers such as a laurel, but also preventable. The worldholder, Valens, should have brought the youth to a lifeholder and confirmed he lacked prometus before carrying out the execution. Only one in ten thousand people bore sorcerous potential within their veins, but those same odds made caution about such matters essential.

It was an unfortunate situation, to be sure, and one that required punishment, for assaults against Lightbearers must never be tolerated.

However, a light touch was called for here. Naught so harsh as being sent to the night-side work camps. He needed worldholders like Valens out in the field where they belonged. A stern slap on the hand to remind the man of his place and Decus's power and mercy would be plenty of punishment.

Decided on that matter, Decus returned to Cerasus's message, listening to the second part.

"Augustus," the man said, slumping with weariness, "I hope the details I provided clarify the situation. If you agree with the Arborator's suggestion to lower the charge from attempted murder to reckless endangerment, I beseech you to grant me a favor as you decide appropriate punishment. Valens presents me with a unique problem and now a unique solution..."

Decus lifted a brow as a sly gleam kindled in Cerasus's eyes. He leaned forward, curious, and found himself chuckling as the Praetor outlined his request.

With a flick of his mind, the Rex dismissed the promenia, and the particles dissipated.

He turned to his waiting secretary. "Convey my agreement to the Arborator and of course to the Praetor that the charges be lowered, and deliver my sentencing and orders to the worldholder, Valens. I hope he'll understand this is a slap on the hand and behave with more caution in the future. You may add that to the communique."

His private secretary bowed, one hand placed over her electric-blue laurel as she listened to her Rex's instructions.