It had been many years since Valens willingly attended a salutatio of any kind, other than his own, of course. He never expected to feel so relieved to grant his alumna a morn off and drag himself to the stuffy event.

Cerasus had avoided him for almost a week now and had only relented. Valens had nearly fallen through the gates during his daily attempt to visit, prepared for a resistance that was at last no longer there. One of the Armati guarding the gate had the gall to laugh at him as he stumbled.

He was on his finest behavior for perhaps the first time in his life. He awoke early so as not to be late. He always dressed with impeccable meticulousness, but today he took extra care to wear attire proper for a man of his station. He donned his longest, lightest starched tunica and paenula, each an ice blue so pale they almost appeared white.

The fur from the creature's belly grew a rich blue that clothiers bleached to any shade desired. Even more prized, the long fibers of its wings came in a pale crystal blue, and wealthy men paid extravagant amounts to don clivia wing cloth to formal events. However, its usefulness outshone its beauty. The fibers hid the clivia, as well as anyone wearing garments made of its fur, from heat-sensing night-side predators.

Some people believed fabrics woven of the filaments shielded a wearer from the Eyes' influence. Valens found the idea ridiculous, but these garments once obscured him from a clivia eager to sample warm day-side flesh. The creature couldn't digest him any more than his body could process the bestia's meat, but that didn't mean the clivia had been reluctant to try.

Valens meant to remind Cerasus of that particular incident and the crucial work he did for their curia and provincia. There were far better uses the Praetor could put him to than providing remedial education to a rude Pullati brat.

Compared to those of many provincias' Praetors, Cerasus's domus exemplified simplicity. Other than its rebellious origins, the world knew Silvula Salutis curia most for its self-denial and frugality. Waste not, want not, as the Ancients used to say, and among the Silvula Salutis the principle applied to everything from promenia to architecture.

Simple, however, did not mean plain or ugly. Cerasus's airy hall of polished beige marble restrained its decor to tranquil fountains, unadorned sandstone columns, and potted day-side green and night-side cyan plants on understated sandalwood tables.

Valens and the other curia members gathering for salutatio wore elegant but simple tunicas and paenulas, no fancy embroidery or jewelry among them. Not like those curias far from these frontier lands, where paenulas could be so gem-crusted no hint of fabric showed on the mantle at all. Or, worse, the ones deep in the night-side, where fashion ranged from barbaric in its rudimentary design to bizarre in its elaborate ornamentation.

Other than Valens, ten Promethidae gathered near the raised apse at the end of the hall, waiting for their Praetor to arrive and take his seat on the dais.

Arbita stood with the academies' other five teachers and glanced at him and away again with an arched brow as he entered.

Serenitas, the only other worldholder in the room, glared. She was no doubt annoyed at being stuck with yet more alumnas after Valens rejected the kids she Empowered. He would love to take the brats back in exchange for getting rid of Domi. Well, maybe. At least the boy was a Trueborn and old enough Valens didn't need to wipe his nose and cut his food for him.

Behind Arbita and Serenitas stood Cerasus's wife, Damma, who chatted with his lover of many years, Ros.

The other two were a young worldholder man and forgeholder woman, incidentally also the foster siblings of the new Princeps Worldholder. Valens could never remember their names. The Empowered pair must have been back from the coronation in Vola Apertus and were here to report to Cerasus before returning to their work in the borderlands.

Other than the people in this hall, twenty Armati, far too many magicless Promethidae, and Cerasus, no other adult curia members lived in Urbs Hostiae. And now the Praetor arrived in a sweep of pale-mustard and mint fabric.

His eyes brushed Valens and dismissed him a moment later. The worldholder gritted his teeth but joined the others in placing his hand over his laurel and bowing his head until the lifeholder took his seat in the apse.

"May the Eyes pass over you this fine day," the Praetor began.

"And you also, Dominus," they replied.

Cerasus turned toward the young Empowered pair. "Epileus and Gemma, welcome back. How was the coronation?"

"Stunning, Dominus," the young man said, blushing with pleasure. "So stunning."

His sister extended her hand, and a pair of iridescent promenia balls manifested in the air and floated toward the Praetor. "Messages from the Rex and Dae—err, the new Princeps Worldholder, Dominus."

"Excellent," Cerasus said, holding his palm out for the message–and gift of promenia–until the lights touched his golden skin and faded. "And Serenitas, tell me how the new worldholders are faring."

"The ones who survived are adjusting well. Two took the donation poorly, but one recovered." She and Arbita exchanged a glance, and her voice quieted. "The other passed yesterday."

Cerasus closed his eyes, and the rest fell into a sorrowful silence.

Arbita cleared her throat. "I realize we've discussed this before, but I really wish we would delay Empowerment for a couple more years. Their little bodies can't take the shock."

"I too wish we could wait, Arbita," Cerasus said. "But I must weigh the risks of delaying their education against the risks to the children. With other lineages, we might wait longer. But worldholders? Out of the question."

"Speaking of worldholders who are behind on their training," Valens said. "I beg you to recons—"

"How is the little rat coming along?" the Praetor asked.

Arbita sighed, frowning at her older brother. "Cerasus..."

Valens eyed his Praetor with a sour scowl. "He's wildly unsuitable, Dominus. He was late to lessons yesterday because he was off making friends."

"You're letting him have friends?" Cerasus scoffed. "I don't believe it."

"Of course I'm not." Such frivolous luxuries must wait until the Pullatus at least learned how to breathe like a proper Lightbearer.

Serenitas sniffed, flipping a headful of long, thin black braids over her shoulder. "Honestly, Valens? No friends at all?"

"He needs to focus on his studies."

"He's a boy," the other worldholder said. "He needs companionship as much as education. And he must be socialized. He was not raised among us, after all. How is he to learn our ways if he doesn't interact with other Promethidae?"

"He has me."

Cerasus snorted. "No one has you."

Valens ignored the barb. Besides, he preferred to discuss another matter. "Dominus," he said, keeping his voice as civil as possible. "I urge you to reconsider placing the boy with me. Everyone here is well aware of how I feel about young people. The boy deserves an aedificans who enjoys working with children."

"He's fourteen, Valens," Cerasus said, exasperated. "Almost fifteen. He'll be old enough to marry next year. He's practically grown."

"That's an even more obnoxious age than a toddler," Valens argued. "Just as obstinate and defiant, yet harder to put in time out. And they think they know everything."

Cerasus started to speak and then paused, suddenly thoughtful. After a moment, he glanced back at Valens with a strange gleam in his eye. "If you really do not want him," he at last said, "then I won't force him on you, but you will need to take another alumna. The Rex's order still stands."

Valens struggled not to sag as relief swept through him. "Thank you, Dominus."

"If you don't want him, Serenitas can take him."

The other worldholder straightened at the pronouncement, her dark eyes eager. It had been a few years since the curia last had a new Trueborn worldholder among them.

Valens frowned. "Her?" He eyed the long-haired woman with skepticism, and her almond eyes narrowed at him in return. "He'll walk all over her."

Serenitas drew back, offended. "Excuse me, no he won't."

"And she's a generalist, not a specialist," Valens said. "And not accustomed to interacting with Pyrrhaei. The boy was raised by them, after all."

Cerasus shrugged. "None of that matters if you don't want him, Valens. There are no other worldholders here suitable to train him." He shook his head as Valens glanced at Epileus. "No. Epileus may make a fine aedificans one day, but I need him on the frontier, and he needs the experience he'll receive there."

"And you don't need me on the frontier?" Valens asked, arching his brows.

He was the world's highest-ranked worldholder, after the new Princeps, of course. But the young royal did not rival Valens in skill, despite the boy's lofty position. They all knew it. The Compendium didn't lie. The promenia monitoring every sorcerer excelled at evaluating such things. Eerily so, governed by magical workings set into motion ages ago no one understood any longer. None refuted the arcane calculations, though. Valens was the best.

So why wasn't he being put to good use doing what he did best, destroying rogue promenia?

"I don't need you out there so often that you can't work with an alumna," Cerasus said, his tone unrelenting. "If you won't take the boy, I'll reassign him to Serenitas and find you a Lightless. You can Empower the child yourself."

Valens frowned. Serenitas would make an awful teacher for Domi. Her students all grew into coddled city layabouts when real worldholders belonged in the frontiers and wilds.

A boy like Domi needed discipline and, one day, adventure. Valens did not see the mischievous kid settling down in some pampered town to adjust local weather or oversee mine operations. She would ruin the boy and deprive the provincia of a much-needed worldholder specialist who wouldn't be afraid of a little danger. The world depended on sorcerers willing to face rogue promenia in the wilds.

"Serenitas," Cerasus said, "after salutatio, I will send the boy to—"

"No," Valens said, glaring at the manipulative man.

Cerasus raised a brow, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

Sometimes Valens hated his lifelong friend. "I will train him," he said through gritted teeth.

The Praetor nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Excellent. Now, on to the next matter. How fare the wedding preparations?"

Valens groaned and exchanged an annoyed glance with Arbita. "They proceed, Dominus."

"Unfortunately," Arbita said.

"Very good," their Praetor said. "Do get on it sooner rather than later. By the end of the year, I want to hear that I'm going to be an uncle."