“Don’t give up.”
“I won’t,” I snapped, tail sweeping.
“I would like to meet your Seth Harris.”
“You will when we arrive.”
“I meant before then.”
I tensed. “Seth has a hard time with new people. That might not be possible.”
“I understand.” Hallonnixmin probably did. Though he had a warrior soul, I didn’t know anyone as soft or compassionate as him. “Ask him, and if not, I will keep talking to you.”
“Is that a threat or promise?”
He snorted. “Is there a difference?”
I sat next to Monqilcolnen in the corner of the canteen. Seth hadn’t come out of his room, but NAID had assured me he was fine. He’d spoken to her at least. Without a word, Monqilcolnen poured me a cup of graugg—a Barusian drink that had become popular.
“Why didn’t you tell Hallonnixmin about what I did?” I asked.
My cousin’s wings stretched. They remained close to his body, not threatening, but rather, in a relaxed position. “Hallonnixmin would, with good intentions, tell Uncle Kontolmakqilnen who would panic and tell Aunt Vyn, who would then upset your other brothers. Before the day was out, they would’ve been pinging frequently, annoyingly so. All the while, I would have known it’s because you’re in love with Seth and I scared you. Nothing more. Besides, if you wanted to hurt me, you would have. You’re a far superior fighter.”
“Thank you.”
“The family often worries about you, but I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’re lost, Kalvoxrencol, trying to find your place, but you will.”
I took a deep drink. “How do you know?”
“Sometimes I simply know things. I always have.”
“Your inner fire,” I guessed. Monqilcolnen often kept secrets from us, or rather, maybe just me and possibly Zoltilvoxfyn and Serlotminden. Inner fires as a whole were not kept secrets, butnor were they widely shared. A person had a right to keep their Crystal-given gift private if they chose to.
“Yes.”
Inner fire presented in different skill sets. Mine was one of the rarer and highly desired gifts because the legendary first empress had the same skill, though it lacked usefulness. My older brother, Zoltilvoxfyn had one of the rarest of all—he could see the souls of those who died and lingered here.
Apparently, Monqilcolnen had a touch of foresight. He was wise to keep it to himself. Zoltilvoxfyn hadn’t, because his inner fire had manifested at a young age. He’d been terrorized by many who claimed he was lying. In more than one instance, I’d protected him from such people. That was one of the reasons our parents kept him close.
“What do you sense about me?” I asked, scraping my claw around the rim of the metal cup.
“I do not see the future, Pest. I get feelings about things. You will find your way. How or why? I can’t say. But from personal experience, I will say, you won’t do it by pretending to be someone you're not.”
“You mean my soul type.”
“I’ve found soul types to be more of a guidepost than a prescriptive of our lives. You see it as a failing that you’re a creative soul from long generations of nothing but warriors, so you set out to prove you are a better fighter than anyone. That you are fiercer than anyone, especially your older brothers. That you are a bigger pain in the ass than anyone. Mission accomplished, Kalvoxrencol. You have.”
My eyes slid away from his.
“But,” Monqilcolnen continued, “do you know what I see?”
“What?”
“Change. Creators were not valued previously. We weren’t a creative species. But you, who embody the gift of the firstempress and so many of the personality traits that are venerated, have a creative soul. You can bring change. Help others.”
