Garden of Embers: Beneath Devouring Eyes #2

Chapter 15, Part A

"Did the Eternal Radiance carry us within its belly like a fiery she-bird heavy with eggs? Or did it sail upon the Dark Waters and cast stones down to Aquarius to form us? If you want me to preach ridiculous things, at least make them consistent."

--Princeps Worldholder Aura Adurere,
45th year before the Restoration,
from "Holey Holies",
out of A Garden of Fragrant Heresies

*~*~*~*

Daedalus stared up at the faux marble ceiling above his skychariot bed and could not sleep. Would not sleep. Must not.

His body wanted him to sleep, as did the crystal humming gently at his temple. Aix wanted him to sleep and heal, as did Valens, and it was not an unreasonable request. Most people on the skychariot slept, for it was the midst of the night. The vessel had even experienced a sort of false Dimming as it traveled over the borderlands and away from the sun, which seemed to watch like a narrowed crimson eye glaring over the horizon. The diminished light ought to have made slumber easy.

But Daedalus did not wish to sleep. Every time he so much as rested his eyes, the memories returned and each moment of his execution replayed against the back of his eyelids. And whenever he dared succumb to sleep, the memories swallowed him whole.

The crystal did not care what he wanted, only that he rest and recover. Drowsiness flooded him and darkness lurched near, but Daedalus peeled his eyes open whenever his lids sank shut and then forced himself to practice his breathing.

What once came with ease now felt like a trial. Daedalus stared and stared at the skychamber's white ceiling and struggled to stay calm, still, and awake. Focus, he counseled himself. He must not panic, or the crystal and his prometus would conspire to make him sleep. With care, he matched his shallow inhalations and exhalations to the sound of his slumbering brother's breaths beside him.

The urge to yawn tugged at his chest, and he clenched his jaw against the demand, knowing that it would fail to give him the air his body craved and would instead transform broken ribs into glass shards. But his damaged heart left him ever short of breath, and the sensation that he could never fill his lungs to his satisfaction unnerved him. His hands stung as his fingernails dug into his palms.

Would it ever fade? A foggy memory of Buccina's illusory blue-eyed boy surfaced. The Princeps's lips moved and formed a word. Words. Prognosis. Physician. Compassion filled the sapphire eyes. Reassurance. When had that been?

Daedalus groaned in frustration and his eyes sank half-lidded. He blinked to prevent the nigh irresistible descent and tried to remember, to stay awake. He had been unconscious for the first two days after... Well, after. Then early today, consciousness returned in fleeting stages until, now, he at last felt alert enough to know to avoid sleep at all costs. But when had Buccina spoken to him of the physician's prognosis? What had she said? Would he be like this forever?

Daedalus drew in another slow, shallow breath around the pressure for air, for sleep. The urge to gasp, to struggle after the deep inhalation he craved, writhed within him. Daedalus trembled in reaction and shifted in bed in search of a more comfortable position, then stilled as his injuries shrieked at him.

"Mmh," he whimpered as sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart raced and promenia hummed a soft lullaby at his temple.

He frowned up into Decus's face. The old man smiled back, lifting him under his arms to place him on the ground.