“You start by understanding that spirituality is not something you do, but something you are. It is in the way you breathe, the way you listen, the way you open yourself to what you cannot see or control. It is not about forcing answers but allowing them to come to you.”
“But... it worked for Theron,” I say after a moment. “When he called to the goddesses, they answered him. A white dove appeared and gave him a blue rose petal.”
Aïna tilts her head. “Theron is different from you. Vólkins are inherently spiritual beings, tied to the land, the sky, and the energy of life. We see what humans often cannot, feel what they are unable to.”
Her paw touches my braid again, as if to ground me. “Theron is unique. His spirit is deeply attuned, more so than even most vólkins. He does not seek the goddesses with doubt or fear. Hesimply listens. That is why he was chosen to be mated with the leader. With you.”
“So . . . what does that mean for me?”
“It means that you must walk a different path,” Aïna says. “Theron’s connection is natural, instinctual. Yours will be harder won, but no less powerful. You are human, Noël, and humans have lost their connection to spirit over thousands of years. You must rebuild what was broken—piece by piece, step by step.”
With every passing day, I get more confused. More things come my way and nothing resolves. I...
“That is why you are here, to reclaim what has always been yours. The strength of your soul, the wisdom of your bloodline, and the balance your kind has long forgotten.”
“Your Majesty, Elder Aïna.”
I turn toward the voice and see three vólkins standing between the trees, their immense forms bowed low, paws pressed to their hearts.
They call her Elder Aïna.
“What is it, Ívar?” Elder Aïna asks, half turning to face them, her tone firm and calm. She exudes authority effortlessly. If I didn’t know they meant me when they saidYour Majesty, I’d think they were speaking to her.
Ívar steps forward, his gray fur swaying with the breeze. “We’ve been sent by Theron, Elder Aïna. He requests that you accompany us to the border. There are matters requiring your expertise.”
Elder Aïna arches an eyebrow, and I’m not quite sure if it is a good thing or a bad one. “Theron couldn’t solve it himself?” she remarks, though there’s a hint of humor in her tone. “What has him so rattled this time?”
The corners of Ívar’s mouth twitch, though he quickly stifles any sign of mirth. “It is... unusual,” he answers, choosing hiswords carefully. Is it because of me that he’s so uncomfortable? “He believes your insight is needed.”
I look between them. The border? What could be so important that they’d summon Elder Aïna so late at night?
As if sensing my thoughts, she says to me with a soft smile. “We’ll speak of this tomorrow, Ethereal Leader. For now, you need rest. We’ll begin working on your spirit in the morning.”
I nod, though unease moves through me at the mention of “working on my spirit.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, though, so I swallow my questions for now.
With a grin, she walks toward the vólkins, and I notice her crystals pulse with white light. “Let’s not keep him waiting then, shall we? Knowing Theron, he’s probably rearranging rocks in a straight line.”
The smallest vólkin lowers his eyes, a quiet chuckle slipping out. The others remain stoic, though their ears flick, betraying their amusement.
As they prepare to leave, Ívar glances at me. He exchanges a quick look with his companions before stepping in my direction. “Your Majesty,” he begins, his rumbling voice hushed. “Would you permit us the honor of escorting you to your chambers before we depart?”
For all their size and strength, there’s a gentleness in the way they address me.
Approval glints in Elder Aïna’s eyes as if she, too, is curious to see my response.
I hesitate before offering a small nod. “Thank you. That would be... kind of you.”
The vólkins bow deeply again. As they lead the way, I notice how their gazes flick to me from time to time, not with suspicion or distrust, but with curiosity. It’s as though they’ve never seen someone like me before. And perhaps they haven’t.
Four centuries trapped behind a barrier. It’s impossible to imagine what that must feel like.
I know what it’s like to feel caged, to long for something more. My years in Tárnov were nothing compared to their centuries, yet I understand the ache of it, the way it wears on you.
These warriors, strong though they are, are just as vulnerable as I am. I decide, then and there, that I won’t make things more difficult for them. For any of them. They’ve endured enough.
22
A RESTLESS MIND
