"Why devote but one day to the Eternal Radiance whilst living six in moral transgression? The Ancients may have called our sun TRAPPIST-1 and maintained a seven-day week in loyalty to some bygone drunken heresy, but we cycle our Aquarian sun once every six days, and each cycle draws us closer to the Eternal Radiance's embrace. Let us give each day, therefore, to the Divine Light.
On the first, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of trustworthy allegiance, and call the day Fides.
On the second, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of dutiful devotion, and call the day Pietas.
On the third, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of personal discipline, and call the day Cultus.
On the fourth, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of study and teaching, and call the day Disciplina.
On the fifth, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of unperturbed self-control, and call the day Gravitas.
And on the sixth day, may we dedicate ourselves to the light of unwavering tradition, and call the day Constantia."
-- from the Holy Ovidiana
*~*~*~*
Valens had barely managed to coax Daedalus back to consciousness--and with him, the younger twin as well--when the Electi returned to drag the Princeps away again.
"No," Domi pleaded, voice weak as he sat half-upright on the bed where Valens had deposited the pair. The kid stretched a trembling arm out for his brother's limp hand.
The Electi pulled the dazed older boy beyond Domi's reach and glared down at the younger twin. "The Rex is ready to render sentencing," she said and led Daedalus, stumbling and sallow, to the door.
Valens doubted the Princeps knew where he was or what was happening. Daedalus gazed around the ornate cell, brown eyes fearful and lost as they drifted from black rug, to glowing wall sconce, to looming starholder.
"Sentence him?" Domi gasped. Valens cursed and flung a hand across the boy's torso as his alumna tried to spring toward the Electi. "No, it was me! Leave him alone!"
"Hush," Valens warned, eying the guard's fingers as her hand twitched toward the cluden at her waist. Now that the Rex knew Domi's identity, Valens doubted the boy's royal status would provide protection from violence, and the wards in the room would make defending the kid hard. "It's just sentencing. He'll be alright." For now.
Domi shook his head at Valens's words and then, harder, frantic, at the Electi as she pushed Daedalus out the door. "You don't know that!"
"I do," Valens said, sighing as the door closed with finality. When the time came to carry out the sentence, the Rex would make a public spectacle of administering justice. His heart pounded in his chest. He just hoped his alumna would not be dragged into that spectacle as well.
"B-but--"
He drew Domi back against the pillows. "Come here. Focus on your breathing. If you stay calm, it might help your brother get through this."
"What's going to happen to him?" Domi asked, shaking with echoes of fever and fear. His eyes searched Valens's face for reassurance.
Valens could not deny that look. He slumped on the edge of the bed and sighed. "I don't know," he lied.
<>
The glittering sea of bejeweled Promethidae parted and, overshadowed by the adults, Princeps Daedalus's small figure stumbled through the throng toward the Throne of Regret.
Decus sighed, taking in the boy who came to stand before the dais. The Princeps wavered on his feet, held upright only by the iron grips of the Electi escorting him. He'd been badly hurt somehow, and Decus wondered how much of the proceedings the boy comprehended.
It did not matter, of course. Daedalus would play his role one way or another.
"Kneel, Princeps Daedalus Adurere," Decus said, summoning regal authority. He hated this but, as always, he would do what must be done for the good of the world.
The boy gazed up at the throne with dazed confusion but did as commanded under the weight of the Electi's hands. He sank to his knees, face lined with pain, and the Rex saw a splint on one of the arms bound behind his back.
It hurt Decus to see the boy he'd known from infancy so injured. Daedalus's waxy complexion and the dried blood crusting one side of the Princeps's face spoke of a painful journey back to Vola Apertus and a spike of regret stabbed Decus. The boy should have stayed far away from the capital.
The Rex glanced at Princeps Oliva, who sat enthroned lower on the tiered dais alongside her fellow Principia. The Princeps Lifeholder held her face rigid. Stony. She herself had recommended that lifeholders perform no healings so that promenia might be conserved. Decus doubted she wished to waste magic on the person who set the calamity necessitating such bitter rationing into motion.
He clenched his jaw and sighed. Daedalus must not receive magical healing. Decus could not permit the people to witness a promenia expenditure for the boy's sake. Not when the whole world suffered heartbreakingly preventable losses every hour as lifeholders denied healing to the gravely ill and injured.
"Good people," Decus addressed the crowd at last. Those gathered in the salutatio hall would hear his judgment now and the memory Buccina recorded in the Caeles would slowly drift around the world in the hours to come. "I call upon you, as the Eternal Radiance's chosen, to hear my verdict and sentence for the crimes of Princeps Daedalus Adurere."
The gathered Promethidae shifted, less a glittering sea now as a school of sharks. If they wanted blood, Decus could only imagine how the Pyrrhaei felt. He must keep this situation from growing into an even greater crisis.
"Thirty-six hours ago," he began, "the Eternal Radiance demonstrated its divine displeasure in ways none of us could ignore. We all suffered the holy rebuke together, which descended upon us in swift, brutal justice from on high. Now, millions of people have returned to the Eternal Radiance, restored to divine grace only in death. Many more still shall follow if we do not discover the source of the Eternal Radiance's just wrath and make amends.
"We have all spent these past crimson hours in prayer, wondering why this calamity befell us and how we might atone and restore the Divine Light's sacred blessings. And at last, I have learned of a grave transgression against our god, our world, and our people."
He turned to Daedalus. "Princeps Daedalus Adurere grew up here in Arx Luminosa knowing from infancy that he would one day inherit the high office of Princeps Worldholder and, with it, the sacred duty as Keeper of Heaven and Earth to hold and preserve the Trellis. He knew the grave ramifications should he fail in his duty. He knew that duty must come before all else, whether self or family. And yet when the Princeps ascended to the throne and learned of the existence of an illicit younger twin brother, he selfishly cast duty aside and, with it, threw the world to flame.
"As you know, a Princeps cannot and must not have a living twin. The magical interference of a royal twin threatens the stability of the Trellis and, with it, the whole world. Princeps Daedalus ought to have reported his twin brother and surrendered him for euthanization to protect the Trellis. Instead, he conspired to not only hide his twin but tried to surrender the Trellis to his untrained brother.
"We may have been fooled by the deception, but none can hide from the Eternal Radiance's light. Thirty-six hours ago, the Eternal Radiance rendered its judgment for this grave betrayal. And now, it is my solemn duty to do likewise."
"Basilicus, for a Princeps, loyalty, and duty are paramount. They must come before self or family at every turn, lest the world suffer. Competence can be cultivated, but loyalty cannot. Incompetence can be forgiven, but betrayal is intolerable. Thus, do you understand what must be?"
Daedalus paled, swaying on his knees. "I do, Augustus," he whispered.
The Rex nodded and glanced at the gathered throng. "Then I call upon the people to bear witness as I sentence the condemned."
<>
Daedalus looked better when he returned to the prison suite. Way better.
Domi knew his twin would. He'd felt relief seeping through his own body as one hour dragged into two, then three. Still, it came as a surprise when Daedalus returned. A good surprise. Thank the Eternal Radiance that the Rex hadn't hurt Dae.
Domi bit his lip, studying his twin's pale yet calm face as the other boy padded into the cell.
Unshackled now, Daedalus's arm rested in a sling, and blood no longer splattered his bruised face. He still looked sick, fever-sweat glossing his reddened face, but someone had shown him mercy, at least.
"How did it go?" Domi asked the instant the Electi closed the door. His twin's expression reassured him way more than he had expected. It must not be anything as bad as Domi worried it might be, probably because Dae hadn't been the one to drop the Trellis. The Rex couldn't blame the older twin for this nightmare, right? "What did he say?"
Valens shook his head. "Give him a moment, Alumna." The older worldholder eyed Daedalus with a grave expression that made Domi tremble. "You should sit down, Basilicus."
The older twin shook his head, wavering on his feet. But he sank into a chair, holding his side with a grimace. "You should not call me that," he murmured. "Domi shall be your Princeps."
Domi swallowed hard. "There's no Trellis," he pointed out, the sickness churning from Dae's illness blending with the sick horror at what he'd done. "Not anymore. And everyone knows who I am now. You're the Princeps."
"Today, yes," Daedalus said, meeting Domi's eyes. "But soon, if the Trellis can be restored, you will rule in your own name."
Domi's heart plummeted into his chest even as Valens closed his eyes, a strange combination of relief, resignation, and sorrow on the older worldholder's face. "W-what are you saying?"
Valens held up a hand. "Let me get you some water, Daedalus," he murmured, resting a palm on the Princeps's shoulder. He stepped to the nightstand to the pitcher and goblets there, fists clenched and, to Domi's astonished dread, shaking.
Daedalus shook his head. "That is not necessary, Aedilis. I have imbibed and eaten." He drew a small breath. "Barley bread, cheese, and grape juice." He held Domi's gaze.
The younger twin stared back, feeling like the ground had opened up beneath him.
Penitent's fare. Daedalus meant the penitent's fare, the simple meal a condemned person preparing to face the Eternal Radiance's justice ate.
"No," Domi whispered.
"The day after tomorrow, you will be crowned Princeps Worldholder, Domi," Daedalus said.
The calm in the older twin's voice left Domi confused, and hope crept back. Daedalus must mean something different than his words implied. Dae wouldn't be so serene, otherwise. No way.
"After the coronation," Daedalus went on, "you, Valens, and Aix shall be sent to the Restoration Tower and attempt to reclaim it." His face twisted in dismay. "Your families shall remain here as the Rex's guests while you are away, to ensure cooperation. If you are successful, the charges against you will be dropped, and the Trellis will return to light the world with you as its royal bearer."
"No!" Domi cried. "I dropped it on everyone! I don't deserve to be Princeps!"
"You do." Daedalus met his gaze, brown eyes compassionate. "The Trellis did not fall because of you, Domi. It fell because there is something wrong with me. A perversion or corruption of the soul, I think. People say younger twins should not live, but I suspect it was I who was never supposed to exist. Our mother and father erred in bringing me into the world, and the Eternal Radiance has rained punishment down ever since. The massacre of our family after my birth. The escalation of the Blightlands. Mother's suicide. Father's death. The Descent of the Trellis. The deaths of Serenitas, Cercitis, and Astricus. I am the only common thread. This was a punishment, a wake-up call, and for the world, a second chance."
Domi's heart sank. Eyes devour, Dae still believed the Eternal Radiance rejected him? "There's nothing wrong with you," he pleaded. "The Eternal Radiance doesn't hate you or whatever you think. Why would it?"
"It does," Daedalus insisted with a sigh. "Or none of this would have happened, Domi." He smiled sadly. "The Eternal Radiance chose you, but instead of accepting that, in my heart I resisted it." He looked back and forth between Domi and Valens, brown eyes ashamed. "I thought if I did everything I was supposed to, then I deserved to rule. And I tried. I vow I did. But the Eternal Radiance sees beyond deeds to the soul within us." He patted his heart with his good hand. "I was undeserving, not because of what I did or did not do, but because worth is not a matter of resolve. A flaw permeates to the core of me. I was born... wrong." He swallowed. "I have begun to suspect that I was the one meant to be terminated in the womb so that you could live and rule. But I was not, and thus you and the world bore the price. But you will be the one to restore the Trellis and bring back the light. You and Valens."
Domi shook his head, pacing. "You will too," he urged, the need to make Daedalus understand igniting a frantic fire in him. "You'll see. You weren't rejected, Dae. Stop saying that. We'll go to the tower, and if we get it back, you'll be Princeps." He nodded, half believing it already. "You'll see."
Valens winced. "Alumna..."
Domi shrank away from the sorrow in his aedificans's amber eyes as the older worldholder took his arm and gently guided him to sit. The younger twin gulped, already shaking his head in denial before Daedalus spoke.
"Brother," his twin said, voice gentle. "I will not go to the tower with you." He drew a deep breath, and for the first time, Domi saw a little fear bleed into his serene face. "Tomorrow morning, I will be put to death."