Burning Yves (Benedicts #2.5) by Joss Stirling Page A

him. He would be with his soulfinder, Sky. And yes, there they were, huddled together in a corner, Zed’s arm looped quite naturally round her waist as if it had always been waiting to occupy that spot, her pale-blonde head resting on his chest.
    A pang of envy shot through Yves. Savants like him and his brothers had to search for the corresponding savant conceived at the same time as them—their soulfinder—who held the other half of their gifts. Zed, the most powerful of the Benedicts as the seventh son of a seventh child, had been born lucky because Sky, a transfer student from England, had turned up in the same school. He hadn’t even had to start looking. What were the chances? Yves had begun to think that Hamlet had it right: “there’s a divinity that shapes our end, rough-hew them how we will.” Problem was, while Yves could believe that might be the case for Zed, he couldn’t see how it would work for him. He was locked onto a path of study that led to an elite academic career. The chances of meeting his own soulfinder in such a specialized field were remote, but he didn’t feel he could take the risk of dropping out now to go on what might be a fruitless search among other savant communities. He could do the research into likely candidates, but not everyone was known to the Savant Net and even with a shortlist you still had to meet the girl and connect telepathically before you could be sure. How long could he wait? He knew from his older brothers it got harder with every passing year.
    His mother bustled over to him having just ended her conversation with the principal. A little rocket of energy and curiosity, Karla made a difference to any room she entered. ‘Yves, are you feeling better?’ Bangles clinking, she reached up to smooth back his black fringe. Even though she was almost a foot smaller than her sons she had never surrendered the parental right to fuss over them.
    ‘I’m fine, Mom.’ Yves understood her better than the rest of his brothers and let her settle his cap straight. She needed to do it.
    Her dark eyes gleamed at him, shining with tears of joy. ‘Of course you are. This is a proud day for your father and me. You’ve never given us a moment’s anxiety the last few years and just because we don’t have to say much to you, doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate you.’ She pressed his hand then stepped back. ‘But you don’t need your old mother bothering you now. Go.’ She gestured to the open doors of the hall. ‘You’d better take your place on the platform.’
    Yves’ father stepped forward and gave him a man-hug—a one-armed squeeze. His long dark hair was tied back for the ceremony but his face never lost its wildness. Not that Saul was in any way uncivilized, more that he was better suited to being outside in the mountains where his ancestors had once lived, rather than bound up in a suit and made to sit on a hard chair for an hour. He was the wisest man Yves knew, his slow and steady approach to life a good foil to his mother’s erratic brilliance. Yves liked that he looked most like his father out of all his brothers; he made an exceptional role model.
    Saul dropped something into his son’s hand. ‘I’d like it if you would wear this to honour our people.’
    Yves recognized the beaded bracelet as one his father usually wore, the mark of a mature man in the Ute tribe. He knew the honour was all his. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ He slipped it on his wrist. The warm brown beads were a comfort against his skin, rubbed smooth by generations of wearers. Uriel, who had the ability to read the past of objects he touched, had said it contained so many memories it would take a lifetime to explore them all.
    ‘I have no fears that you will not do this very well, Yves. Have faith in yourself.’
    With a nod that tried to be thanks and a promise at the same time, Yves braced himself and followed the line of teachers and VIP guests filing into the auditorium.
     
    Yves discovered