White hot fury rose in Domi. "Don't call me that." He knew the Trellis was probably reacting but he didn't care. If they wanted him to do this stupid observance, they could deal with the consequences. "You're not my mother and you're not real."
The eidolon gazed at him, sorrow overtaking joy in her warm brown eyes. "You are angry," she said, her voice softer than he expected. She had always seemed so powerful in the weekly Cultus sermons, gentle only when talking about the Eternal Radiance's love and blessings. But now tenderness radiated from her golden face. "Of course you are."
"Why wouldn't I be? You left me." Belatedly, he realized his mistake. He needed to be Daedalus, even here. Who knew what this promenia creature might report? What it might tell the Trellis, or the Compendium, or the Eyes only knew what? "Left me by dying," he corrected himself. Dae would be mad about that, right? Domi would be mad if Merula took her own life.
She tilted her head. "Left you at birth, you mean."
His heart, already racing, felt like it was going to burst from his chest as fear surged. It knew? How did it know? Not even the Trellis knew who he really was. Maybe it was just guessing, trying to fish for information. Peritia said that the Trellis had a hard time telling him and Dae apart but had revised their ranks in the Compendium several times as it had gradually learned more about each of them. This promenia entity was a creature of the Caeles and connected to the Trellis. It didn't know anything, right? It was just trying to trick him, lure him into confirming its growing suspicions as it tried to sort out which twin was which. Right?
He was staring at it too long. He cleared his throat. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, unable to keep the nervous tremble from his voice. He sucked air through his nose and forced it down into his belly to calm himself, as Valens and Peritia both taught him every day, and Aix too when he wasn't lecturing about weird night-side customs, historical anecdotes, and bestia species. And grammar. Proper grammar, like Dae used. "Do you not know me, mother? I am your son, Daedalus. You reared me in the onyx palace. Surely you remember?"
"I remember everything." The eidolon looked faintly amused, though sadness still drew her promenia visage's face downward. It was disturbing how lifelike something made entirely of magic could look. She tilted her head. "Come, son. Let us not play this game. We have so little time together."
"I don't want any time with you."
The Princeps's eidolon sighed. He wondered if it could truly breathe. Did it need to breathe? He didn't like it; the temptation to use the one skill he was good at to dissolve it welled. "You're angry and afraid," she said.
He scoffed. He wondered if the real Princeps had been so insistent on stating the bloody obvious. "Yes, I am. But there's no use talking to you about it." He paused, catching himself, molding his words to sound more formal and stuffy like Dae. "You are not you. Her. You are not my mother. You are just a bunch of magic particles wearing her face."
She reminded him of his debutant portrait, a promenia painting with a bit of mindholder magic.
"I am more complex than the portrait Promerenti Bellus prepared for you."
He stared at her, trembling. "You... You can sense my thoughts?"
"Some of them. Some feelings." She looked thoughtful, nibbling her lip. "I am more like a person you visit in the Caeles. A dynamic projection of their thoughts and feelings. Only the map of my mind remains although my body has perished."
"I do not care," Domi snapped. "I do not want to talk to you."
Princeps Verita nodded. "Do you want your question and your tale, at least?"
He wanted nothing from her except to escape this dark room, this woman, and this anger. He certainly did not want the flimsy ritual of asking a question and receiving a story to help resolve any unfinished business. He had no unfinished business with her. How could he? He didn't bloody know her. She'd made sure of that.
"You cannot possibly answer my question, eidolon," he growled, pacing at the edge of the faint promenia glow rising from her. "And I doubt you have any stories I want to hear."
"We can sit here together in silence, if you prefer, Domi."
Panic flared in his chest. She knew his name? How could she know that? That meant the promenia knew, the Trellis, everything? Right? "I'm n-not--"
"You are," the Princeps said, tone firm now, then gentling as she continued. "Do not fear, Son. I have been watching you since you kindled. I will not allow the Caeles to detect you as long as I can prevent it."
As he relaxed a little, curiosity overcame some of the fear and anger. "You can do that?" he asked grudgingly, glaring at her. He still didn't trust her. No way.
The eidolon studied him. "Is that your question, Son?"
"No. I don't have any questions for you, eidolon."
She hummed thoughtfully at that, her voice a strange blend of a woman's alto and promenia's metallic bellsong. Lightsong, perhaps. He tried to remember if her voice had sounded this musical in the Cultus sermons. His own curiosity left him feeling uneasy, confused. He shouldn't want anything from her. He didn't want anything to do with her.
The eidolon finally shrugged. "I have some power within the Caeles as a former Princeps. Not much, but enough to shift where knowledge gathers within the promenia."
"You have a busy un-life, eidolon," Domi said bitterly. It seemed so unfair. Why did she get to live forever, or whatever her existence was, and yet countless Pullati and other impoverished Pyrrhaei died forever? She didn't deserve it.
"As busy as my true life, Domi," she said. There was a strange light coaxing note to her voice he disliked. "But very unlike human life."
"How?" he asked sullenly himself as that curiosity welled again against his will. He narrowed his eyes. "And no, that is not my question."
"It is difficult to explain." Again, she nibbled her lip as she thought, the look reminding him of Daedalus. "Can you imagine living as a cloud? As water vapor? Drifting particles?"
"Not really. Sounds boring," he added scornfully.
Her lip twitched. "Human life sounds dull to me, now. Limited. Confining." She shrugged. "Except when I am here. I am closer to my former self here with you. More dense."
"Yeah, I really don't think you're her," Domi said dryly. The eidolon didn't seem to even realize it sounded nothing like a human woman it was trying to imitate anymore.
The Princeps shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I know what she knew. I think what she thought." She patted a hand over her heart. "Feel what she feels."
Domi stared at her, dejection and resentment rising as he took in her unflustered appearance. "Well then, she's doing pretty great, emotionally, isn't she?" he said bitterly. "No regret or anything about leaving me."
Sadness welled in her eyes. Compassion. He turned his back to them, unwilling to trust either. They were fake, just some magic particles trying to approximate what she'd look like, be like, in this moment.
The eidolon's voice echoed behind him in the vast odeon as Domi prowled the shadows at the perimeter of the chamber. There was no escape from her. "I feel pain about leaving you. Every day of both my lives. But regret? No, I do not feel regret. I hate the choice I was forced to make, but I am glad that I made it. Do you hate me for that?"
His outstretched hands, grasping blindly in the dark for anything that was not her, found the wall. He pressed his forehead to it, chill stone he couldn't see cooling his forehead. "Yeah," he said, unable to summon the vehemence he wanted. He just felt tired and sick, all of a sudden. No regret. She felt no regret at all about abandoning him. He should not have expected anything else, but the words still felt like a punch to the belly, driving all the air from his chest. His words were weak. "You chose Daedalus over me. Screwed me over. It's not fair."
"You are right. It is very unfair." He looked up at that, pressing his back to the unseen wall as he turned to face the dimly glowing woman. A strange hope pricked and he felt stupid and guilty. He shouldn't expect anything from her and it was messed up to wish pain on someone, wasn't it? Even an eidolon. It wasn't right to want her to pine over him or agonize over what she'd done. The dead were supposed to be at peace at last. Yet he couldn't help hoping for a sign, any sign, that she cared about what she'd done to him.
"I love your brother," the Princeps said. Comitas had said she could walk anywhere in the odeon without dissipating, but she remained near the pillar. The distance helped, somewhat, as he endured her words. "I would not inflict your life on him. And I love you. I would not inflict his life on you. I would lift the burdens each of you faced from you if I could." She shook her head, her regal face resolute. "But if I could go back and change it, to switch your fates, I would not."
Domi gulped. He understood, of course. It hurt, but he got it. The royal families obsessed over birth order. "Because he's older. He was born first and is more valuable." She loved him more from the start.
To his surprised confusion, she shook her head again. "No. Technically he is older, this is true. But if he had been suppressed and abandoned in your place, the Trellis would have accepted you when I died. You are both valuable to me, and loved. I did not keep Daedalus instead of you because I loved him more. I chose him because I had to choose one of you. And choosing by birth order was the only way I could make myself choose at all. And I would not go back and change it because suppressing and abandoning you was an enormous risk and it paid off. It worked."
It paid off? Worked? Fury welled again, familiar and comforting in its own way. It was easier than these other, more confusing emotions. "Yes, great job. I grew up a Pullatus and--"
"Yes, Domi," she interrupted, and if the wall would have let him draw back from the weird joy radiating from her face, he would have. "You grew up. You lived. Everything I did, everything your father and I asked Cercitis to do, hiding, suppressing, and abandoning you was so that you could live."
His lip trembled as something like relief displaced some of the anger. Maybe she had cared about him, had wanted the best. But if so, her idea of the best was pretty pathetic. She'd probably been a coward, or too proud to sully her family name by admitting she'd given birth to twins. She'd chosen safety and the family reputation over him. "You could have taken the risk of keeping me with you," he reminded her sternly. "It isn't illegal to be a twin." Aix had checked.
"It is not illegal," Verita agreed. "But there are frightening reasons that the only twins we ever see are all among the Pyrrhaei, Domi. Sometimes custom has the force of law. I was not yet Princeps when you were born, just several steps away from the throne, but if my family knew about you they would have killed you."
"It still isn't fair."
She nodded. "You're right. It... isn't."
He eyed her uneasily. Had she just mimicked his speech? Her small smile made his eyes narrow. "I hope Dae manages to make that sound more natural than you did," he said grudgingly. Why was she poking fun at him?
"He is learning," she said, the small smile growing.
Domi frowned at that. "Wait, you can see him?"
"Is that your question?"
"No," he said, unable to keep the dry note from his voice.
"Yes, I can see him any time I wish. And you. I can even see him right now."
Domi nodded, nibbling his lip as he thought of his twin. Daedalus should have been the one to do this observance. Would have, if Domi hadn't messed everything up and taken the Trellis and even his identity from him. "I feel kind of bad," he said quietly. "That I get to see you and he can't. He knew you. He must be sad to miss this. The next chance won't be till next year."
"He is sad, but he is also glad you get to have this time. He wants you to have this, since you were denied a chance to meet me."
"You can sense his thoughts too."
"Indeed. Similar to the way you can sense another person's thoughts and feelings in the Caeles." She hesitated, then held out her arms. "Will you not have this conversation over here?"
He ignored her, shifting uncomfortably. The distance he'd put between them felt awkward now but it also felt weird to go to her, so he stayed where he was. "Can you sense what his question is?"
She sighed, lowering her arms to her sides, her face falling. The look made him feel guilty. But why should it? She left him? She had her reasons, but still. Why should he go to her? "I cannot," she said. "Not unless it rises to the surface of his mind, and even then only vaguely and if I am paying attention at that very moment. Why do you ask?"
Domi shrugged. "I thought maybe I could ask his question for him. That's what this observance is about, right? Unfinished business and saying goodbye. He knew you. I'm sure there are questions he must have."
"Can you think of one?"
"I suppose." He sighed, stepping away from the wall and trudging back over to her, feeling strangely sheepish. "I know he wants to know where his father is. Our father. He's been so worried. Everyone says Ausus is dead, but he doesn't believe that."
Verita sighed, and this time he saw anxiety in the lines of her face. "I wish I had that answer for you. I wonder where your father is, too. I share your brother's fear for him." She bit her lip. "But I do not know where he is. If he still lives, he is far from the touch of promenia. From me."
"So I wasted the question," Domi sighed. He couldn't do anything right.
"Your question will not be used until you ask something I can answer."
"Oh. Alright." He swallowed. "Well, um." Would it be awkward for her to talk about this? She wasn't still depressed even after death, right? "Dae's probably wondering why you died. Why you... Well, you know."
Maybe she did still feel depressed after death. Her face fell long before he finished speaking. "Oh child," she said gently, "you do not want that answer. It will only bring you pain."
"I do," he said stubbornly. Eidolons had to answer one question, and answer as truthfully as their knowledge allowed. "Tell me why? Why did you leave Dae and make him take on all your burdens at fourteen? Why did you take your life?" He swallowed. "If you'd lived, we could have met," he added quietly.
"That will use up your question, and your story," she warned. "The pillar will not permit more beyond that."
Eidolons were weird. This whole thing was incredibly weird. "Fine. Answer."
She looked sad, but she obeyed. He did not think she was capable of doing otherwise, her supposedly unconfined, unlimited new existence shackled in this one way, governed by the silent rules of this observance. "If I had lived," she said slowly, "you would have been discovered and killed. And I would die a thousand times more before letting that happen."
His heart pounded in his chest as horror and a perverse consolation welled within him. She had died for him. For him. "W-why would I have been discovered?"
Verita sighed, gaze faraway. "Princeps Buccina wanted to examine me. I was struggling with depression because of the Blightlands and what we face when they destroy the Trellis. But I was not depressed to the point of ending my life." She shook her head. "Everyone was quite worried, though. I was not eating or sleeping normally. It was hard to cope with the knowledge that the world stands at the brink of destruction and everyone sleeps, unaware." She smiled a little at him. "I am surprised and impressed that you have been taking it so well. Focusing on the response and not your fears. You are strong, Son."
"I'm Pullati," he said, shrugging. He wasn't strong, he was just used to surviving. "For most of us, the apocalypse has already come. This is just the latest thing to try to survive."
She nodded. "Well, I did not cope as well as you or even your brother. I did not know what you know, about the hope the discovery of the restoration tower offers. I did not have your foster mother's brilliant idea to supplement the workforce to free up Lightholders to focus more on the response efforts. I felt hopeless and overwhelmed and was not doing well at all. My handlers feared for me and the Trellis. So the Rex commanded Buccina to examine me." Her eyes narrowed, and he could see a hint of the ruler she had been, governing not just by position or the power of her magic, but by sheer force of will. "And I could not allow a mindholder access to my thoughts."
Domi closed his eyes, understanding. "She would have found out about me."
"Yes."
His fists clenched at his sides. 'Why did you do that? I don't want anyone to die because of me! For me!"
She reached a hand out, promenia brushing his face like warm mist. "You are my son," she said simply. "When you are a parent one day, you will understand."
"But--" Outside, a melancholy tune began to play, and Domi suddenly shared Radix's hatred of the bloody ten-string lyre. The Rite of Six and Thirty Days was ending. It would be over by the time the dirge stopped playing.
"I don't want you to go," he told Verita.
Her face, chin and lips so like his and Daedalus's own, echoed his own misery. "I do not want to leave you, Son. Not again." She swallowed hard, backing toward the pillar. "But I must."
"Don't go," he pleaded, following her, reaching for her. But there was nothing to grasp but warm mist.
"I must," she said again, voice gentle. She stepped halfway into the glittering black pillar like a woman stepping through a dark doorway. But she wouldn't be able to emerge from this doorway again for a year, and then only once a year after that. "I love you, son. I always have. I will be watching you. You will not be alone."
"That isn't the same as having you here," Domi pointed out.
"I know. I am sorry. Goodbye, Son."
He reached for her again when she stepped into the pillar, half ready to summon the promenia that comprised her back to him. Just for a little bit longer. But she melted into the black surface and his fingers just found cool stone. He could see no hint of her in the black opal surface. Pressing his palm to it, he tried not to pound the stone.
When he emerged out into the sparkling Trellis-light there were no tears in his eyes. He did not feel like crying. He just felt confused and exhausted.
Sidus peered into his face, searching his expression. The older boy offered a small, sad smile and then his hand.
"Is it allowed?" Domi asked dully as he took it. The starholder's palm was warm, his grip strong.
"Yes," Sidus said and gave his fingers a squeeze. "We're official, remember?"
Domi returned his small smile and let himself be led back over to the procession.
Radix's amber eyes lingered on their joined hand, then lifted as Sidus murmured, "Take good care of him, hmm?"
"I will," the redhead said firmly as Sidus guided Domi into place next to them, the starholder on his other side.
The lyre player continued onto the next movement of the hateful dirge and the procession started back toward the onyx palace, mourning over.
"We'll go back to your chamber and you can cry there," Sidus said, voice soft, fingers warm.
"All right," Domi agreed and bit his lip to keep it from wobbling.