I grinned, and his expression didn’t change. Unusual. Most people were affected by my smile. Ihadwon the Most Charming Smile award on Tamkolvanloknol for the last three cycles. I was an exceedingly popular racer because of my smile and aspect. That helped on my diplomatic assignments. Many species found me attractive.
Bartholomew was the exception apparently.
My soul throbbed. I didn’t like the thought of that. Perhaps drakcol did not interest him anymore than humans interested me.
Thatdidn’t comfort me.
Letting it go, I answered, “I am fire.” I lifted my hand and pushed up a single ember of the roiling wildfire in my gut.A flickering flame grew in my palm until it became a perfect sphere.
“You can create fire?”
“It is a rather boring gift,” I admitted, wishing I didn’t have to confess it to him, but Bartholomew deserved the truth. “All of my brothers have more exciting, not to mention rarer, inner fires. Mine is the most common, but it’s the same gift as my mother, so I think that’s rather nice. Also, in this situation, it’s quite helpful.
“Every drakcol has an inner fire,” I told him, even though he didn’t ask or appear the slightest bit interested. “It develops in…” I trailed off. I couldn’t think of the correct word. This was far harder without Edith, Caleb, or NAID to rely on to translate for me when needed. “When we grow.”
“Hmm.”
“Mine was boring when it appeared. I lit a bush on fire. Zoltilvoxfyn yelled at me for destroying the plant, then he sobbed. Kalvoxrencol had been so mad at me for making him cry. He’s extremely protective of Zoltilvoxfyn.”
“Ah.”
Bartholomew wasn’t talking at all, but he was nodding along or making encouraging noises. The longer I stared at him, the more I wanted to never look away. I could study the flecks of deep green and bits of gold in his eyes for the rest of my life and not be bored, which was new. I often got bored. Deep inside of me was an urge to run, play, fight, and never stop moving.
That urge wasn’t present right now. Maybe it was the injury to my stomach, but perhaps not. The only other time I’d felt something similar was with my cousin Monqilcolnen. He could calm me with a glance, but he was the purest spiritual soul ever recorded.
Bartholomew didn’t react to me staring at him; he simply watched me back. I smiled, and he didn’t return the gesture.
“I’m a warrior soul,” I said, hoping to impress him for some reason.
“Okay.”
Not the reaction I was hoping for. Maybe he didn’t understand. “The Crystal reveals our soul type. We get tested when we’re little. Drakcol have four soul types: warrior, spiritual, seeker, and creator. I’m a warrior soul, and it’s deep red.”
“Ah.”
“That means I’m a…” What was the word? “Full warrior. Warrior and seeker souls grow darker the more… of the soul they are. Seekers are blue.” Stars, how did I explain that the purer the soul, the deeper the color was. “Spiritual souls, which are white, and creator souls, which are green, grow lighter.”
“Interesting.”
He didn’t sound interested. I continued, “Warriors are very important to drakcol. The most important. I am an excellent one. I can and will protect you.”
“I can keep myself safe.”
My tail flicked. This wasn’t going well. Bartholomew looked bored and unimpressed. I took his hand, and he didn’t fight. I placed it over my thrumming soul, in the center of my chest. “I will keep you safe.”
“Fine.”
That was something. I smiled, and he didn’t return it, but neither did he try and pull away from me. I kept staring at him, tracing the planes of his face. This human was special. I wasn’t sure why, but I planned to find out.
“I’m thirty-one in standard or twenty-eight in Earthen age,” I said.
“Hmm.”
My tail twitched. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
He wasn’t that much younger than me, which relieved me for some reason.
