* * *

A flash of lightning set a bold stop, rumbling down a new batch of leaves from the trees.

"Do you think it's visible from space?" I asked loudly, looking around at the huge inscription: "MAXIM - EMPERATOR".

Indeed, the letters in the center were a little too squished to fit into the roadway, but the drivers on the right were kind enough to clear the way. Though their departure was more like panic, just like the Guardsmen who ran off into the woods at the first blue-and-white flare... But think well of the people.

"I think so," Fyodor said with an expert look from the roof of our car.

"How are you doing in there? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just scary," Fyodor admitted, sitting down and hugging his arms around his knees.

"Me, too," I didn't hide it. What's the use if my hands are shaking...

Good for them, for those soldiers. Hop, and they're in the woods, and no one sees them. What am I supposed to do when the star above my head starts pulling power from the power lines?

The metal of the structures moaned, threatening to fall right on my head. The energy cascaded from the wires filling the sun above my head, and I felt something I was holding above me getting heavier. And there was nothing I could do about it!

Simon would probably have laughed at the attempt to measure energy in kilograms, but I was clearly holding at least a hundred, knowing with crystal clarity that if I quit, it would crush everyone. So I endured, raising my hands (it was a little easier that way), curiously calculating how long I could hold on - I confess, I would have collapsed in a very short time. But the soldiers themselves helped, throwing a fiery spear.

The decision to defend myself was a reflex - to cover my eyes and turn away. But my hands were busy with the shining burden hanging a dozen meters above my head! And when my right hand jerked to cover my face, it turned out that along with it, a glowing flare burst out of the star, literally dragging the dark red fire of the enemy attack behind it.

Noticing this, I began to experiment - I was curious. The new attack was repulsed with a playful gesture, sweeping a petal off the surface of the bright orb and covering myself with it. Then it was no fun at all - the enemy aimed a new ribbon of fire at the SUV with Fedor.

He waved his hand sharply as if he were throwing a spear at the enemy, but instead of another petal from the furious horn of energy, a blue and white discharge stabbed into the asphalt near the car, in a blinding glow, with a menacing roar slowly scratching out a line to the enemy's cars. The fellows turned out to be clever and gave a run for their lives. And I found myself alone with the huge sun overhead, continuing to drink power from the power grid. It was like getting ready for a fight, breaking out a piece of fence, and your rivals escaping. And now a tutor would walk in, legitimately asking, "What are you doing in the hallway with a baton in your hands?

"Come back here!" I shouted in their backs, but the soldiers only increased their speed.

At least I could spend all that power on them, and the burden over my head became noticeably lighter. Hm!

So I figured out where to spend it all - now the map of the country would definitely have the inscription it sorely lacked. And then the nets were de-energized, so the handheld sun began to rapidly lose mass, including visually. But there was enough for the inscription and even a dot after it.

So it really wasn't me. That's what I'll tell the electricians. I looked at the smoking wires, sagging sloppily in long waves. No, I'd better send a postcard. Although, at first, I wanted to write my apologies directly on the pavement. Then I thought the phrase in two lines, "Maxim - Emperor. Sorry." wouldn't look so good.

"Let's pack," I breathed out.

I took a step forward and collapsed in a blinding pain all over my body - as if hundreds of ants were biting every cell at once.

"Maxim!" shouted Fyodor, jumping off the car. "Ouch! The asphalt is electrocuted here!"

"D-don't come..." I asked hoarsely, stretching to my full height.

The pain, surprisingly, coursed through my body and slowly seeped through my palms, pressed to the ground. In my face, I got a whiff of molten asphalt. My fingers burned, and I could barely lift my shield in time.

"You're falling into the road with your hands!" my brother panicked.

"Now, stay back," succumbed to my intuition, through a feat of dragging my body off the road onto the grass and collapsing again - this time with my face, too. It got easier, especially when my body was against the ground.

"The leaves are wilting... like in the fall," said Fyodor confusedly somewhere nearby.

I finally ripped my shirt off my chest, and it was easy, like sour cream on a burnt stomach.

"We have a first aid kit! It's in the car! I'll get it!"

"Don't," I said calmly, feeling myself recovering.

I got the strength to think. The first thing I tried to do was to spend the excess that was stuck in my body by turning to my gift. The gift came into service, but it didn't take away an ounce of pain - something that tormented my body was foreign and unfit for use.

I don't know how long I lay there, first staring at the yellow and black grass before my eyes and then at the cloudless sky. Already the cars on the highway were rumbling, deeming the road safe again, and I waited patiently for the overwhelming power to allow me to get to my feet. Fyodor was waiting just as patiently, offering bandages and iodine and yogurt and chocolate every now and then, not knowing how to help.

"I need time," I told him.

Only there was no time.

"There's our bus!" Fyodor exclaimed.

"So it's time to get up," I pushed my body off the ground and stood up carefully, trying to keep my palms on the grass until the last moment.

And indeed, a convoy of familiar buses, with the princely coat of arms at the license plate, passed by, tumbling over the rugged asphalt, carefully avoiding the abandoned SUV on the highway. I wish I could still lie down, but we have to be on time with everyone else. It's even better than arriving first. We won't be the only source of news.

"Can I help?" Worried, my brother asked.

"I'll do it." I shook my head, kicked off my slippers, and got up.

It was tolerable - the tension that was cramping my body was going through my heels now.

"Let's go," I winked at my brother and went to the car.

At my touch, the SUV screamed its alarm indignantly and flashed its headlights.

"That's it," I stated wistfully, looking at my hand.

"And what to do?" Fyodor looked up at me.

"You drive," I scratched the back of my head and came to the only decision.

"Am I allowed to?" My brother asked incredulously.

I took my bowtie off my shirt and tossed it into his hands.

"Put it on, everything is possible with it."

He looked at the scarlet cloth petal as if it were something magical and immediately put it on his collar.

"Do you know how to drive?" I asked him.

"Of course," Fyodor replied, fixing his bow tie in a solid, completely different voice, "it's my car."

We worked together to make a place for me out of rubber mats - the leather chair was smoldering at my touch. My shirt and shorts were smoldering, too, but there was nothing we could do about it. There were no rubber suits. But there was a lightbulb! Not in terms of clothes, but it was also a way to get the excess power off. Slowly, with a dull yellow light. When I touched it with my hand, it was as if the wind blew, and when I touched it with my tongue, it was as if I drank cold kvass. Bliss!

"Do you need any help?" We were asked sympathetically from the ajar window of a car that was pulling up next to me.

"No," Fyodor squeaked from below, lowering his tinted windows.

I flashed the light bulb in a friendly way.

"Ouch, ouch!" And the man pushes the accelerator.

"Why is he doing that?" My brother turned to me.

"The world is full of strange people," I said as I took the light bulb out of my mouth. "Let's go."

We were very lucky with the convoy. First of all, they knew the way exactly, and we didn't have to wander around the old and therefore very confusing town. Second, it was convenient for Fedor to navigate by the upper edge of the back of the last bus, so he didn't have to stretch his neck to press the pedals and see the road at the same time. Third, we drove slowly enough that the consequences of the encounter with bad people burned out completely in the tungsten arc.

However, they wouldn't let us inside the station, with a threatening gesture from the traffic controller pointing to the "public transport" sign, so we had to pull out into the crowded parking lot and somehow make our way to the fence. Fedor barely even scratched our bumper, but the concrete wall didn't seem too offended and tacitly accepted the apology, thrown on the run - we were running late. And since my legs were longer and Fedor could clearly see more from the height, we ran in two tiers, each doing his own thing. I pushed the dense crowd of people aside, and Fyodor suggested which way it was more rational for me to work with my elbows.

"Shall we call?" spotting the same kiosk for the third time, I asked the sky.

"That's right!" My brother's enthusiastic face appeared against the sky.

Fyodor took the phone out of his shorts and busily dialed a number. He asked briefly, listened to the other side for a while, and gestured to the north with a warlord's gesture.

"There!"

"And why there?" I reasonably clarified, not noting any reliable signs in that direction.

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"Dad yelled that he would send everyone north if we weren't found," Fyodor readily clarified.

But then the phone rang on its own, and it turned out that other people were going north, and we had to go to the fire tower to the east.

After a while, they squeezed me so hard that my eyes went black, and then I gasped, apologized, shouted, apologized again, and hugged me in three pairs of hands. I realized that I was suffering for two people, so I dumped the happy (for now) Fyodor on the ground. He was still getting his cheeks squeezed, so I basically got off easy.

"Where have you been?!" With feigned menace, my father asked.

"Yes!" echoed Tonya, with her hands at her sides, and Katya tried to kick me in the leg.

"They wouldn't let us into the station."

"Who dared?!"

"A road sign," I pointed out the culprit of all the troubles and pointed a finger in the direction of the entrance.

"W-what road sign?" Michael was confused.

"You can't drive your personal car. And there is no space in the parking lot."

"And I scratched the bumper," a rather shabby Fyodor looked up guiltily from behind my leg.

"What bumper?" My father looked from me to Fyodor and back with round eyes.

"Our car," his brother squeaked softly, pointing to the tall silhouette of an SUV at the very end of the parking lot.

"Ahh..." Mikhail stretched out, quite baffled.

"Compensation," I stated firmly.

"Seriously?" My father said with a pleasant surprise.

"Not only that!" Sensitively catching the moment when the belt again disappeared from the near future, Fyodor proudly stepped forward.

"They gave us money back," I explained, "and jewelry."

"Ours!" Fyodor added weightily, pulling his father by the hand. "I'll show you!"

"And how did you come? Who brought you?" Father let himself be led around.

"We drove ourselves." I picked my sisters up in my arms and walked beside them.

"You're small! You can't drive!"

"With this, it's possible." My brother stroked the scarlet silk of the bowtie and added enigmatically: "Artifact!"

"Give it to me!" Tonya reached for the bowtie. "Mine! It's mine!"

I prudently stepped aside a few steps.

"There's a steering wheel and two pedals. It's not a big deal," I reassured my father, moving my head to unhook Katya's hand from my ear. "We're slow and behind the bus."

"Well, maybe so," Mikhail grumbled for the sake of order, happy beyond measure. I could see it in his eyes. "And I've already arranged transportation. But this is better, of course! It's just great! Kids, get in the car. I'll just throw the bags in..."

In two minutes, through intrigue and threats, the seats were allotted. And Fedor wasn't even involved. He clung to the bag in silence. After bribing me with a chocolate bar, I got the one next to the driver, and the sisters took the second row, peering curiously at the cargo in my brother's hands.

"Now, let's warn my friend that we're going on our own, and let's go!" Dad cheerfully outlined the program, starting the car. "Fyodor, what have you got there?

"Ours!" the brother responded.

"All right," Mikhail apparently sniggered as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Let me see," the sisters' voices hissed behind them, interspersed with Fyodor's stubborn puffing.

My father's comrade turned out to be the owner of the minibus, who at the moment of our arrival was actively discussing how to cram twenty people and their loads into the space of a not-very-large car. Our arrival was met by the group of people in silence, with a characteristic squint that made me want to lock the doors and speed up.

"Armen, we're not going," my father said, leaning over me.

The crowd cheered but was immediately drowned out by a resounding voice offering four vacant seats at a fraction of the cost.

"He seemed like such a decent man!" Looking at us, shouted a grumpily burly woman in the crowd.

"So it's compensation. They give it to everyone," my father explained guiltily.

"Yes? Isn't it just money back?" She asked, disbelieving, as she stepped closer.

There was a pained shriek from the second row and a triumphant squeal from the girls, which diverted the woman's annoyed attention for a second. But that second was enough to make the woman's eyes pop open like saucers and her mouth open wide. I turned around, sensing something unkind, and was dumbfounded. Tonya was delightedly winding up a solid armful of chains she had taken from her dead-eyed brother.

"Ahh..." The woman swallowed, unable to tear her gaze away from the jewels.

"Compensation, compensation," my father repeated patiently as he finished pouring gasoline, "We'll go, okay?"

"O-okay..."

The car picked up speed briskly, but a shriek: "Tamara, we have been cheated! Grab the axe, they're giving gold by the kilo!" I heard it clearly.

Soon we were back on the highway but on a different one going east, to the town where Mikhail had friends.

"Soon everything will be fine," my father promised, catching my gaze in the center mirror.

I closed my eyes accordingly, made myself comfortable, and fell asleep. For the first time in four days.

* * *

Even in the most luxurious palace, there is room for tiny rooms with narrow windows, a single bed, and painted walls. After all, a hundred servants for an entire building, and everyone needs a place to sleep and rest. The builders had once decided that six square meters for each servant would suffice. Almost as much as a small checkroom in the guest quarters. That was the time: if it wasn't a common room with forty beds in two tiers, it was already a luxury for a commoner.

Of course, in the present time, even the servants tried to please, setting aside empty halls for housing. Fortunately, the children's palace was always empty, and the small representatives of noble blood absolutely indiscreetly kept four in one room - so they destroyed four times less. In general, there was a place, and the servants were glad of the successful and respected places of service, sometimes not knowing that they were officially assigned to completely different rooms - at least on paper there should have been order.

Even here, however, one man continued to sleep in the tiny room. But what could one take from a strange old man who lived out his years in the service? Perhaps he had become a servant when such rooms were a joy... Only this lodger would soon be gone from the east wing, and the palace keeper might, at last, be able to seal it up. The most loyal man to the palace has decided to complete his service.

"Hi," Kseniya froze on the threshold of the small room.

There was almost no room inside - the bed and bedside table were occupied by two open suitcases, and in the small passage, the master of the room was bustling about.

"Yes, hello," the grandfather was a little embarrassed and pointed to the things he had laid out. "And I'm going to retire. I let myself be talked into it."

"Is Amir happy?"

"Here, look how much stuff he gave me," he grinned and pointed around. "I've never had so many things in my life. And here's six of the cruise, with full accommodations," he shook a handful of colorful pieces of thick cardboard that had been carelessly tucked away on the edge of the bed, "I can ride around the world for the rest of your life."

"Will you send me postcards?" A little aloof, without joy or sadness, the granddaughter asked.

"Of course! From Paris, from Mexico!" Grandpa blossomed. "You'll collect stamps."

"And where would you get them in the Principality of the Shuyskys?" The indifferent mask was replaced by a sly smile. "Maxim is there."

"Don't we have enough people in Paris?" The old man grumbled, turning back to his suitcases.

"What about me? Is my training complete?"

"No..." Grandfather took a deep breath and turned to his beloved with a guilty expression. "I'm sorry... but I have to be there."

"He won't accept you," Ksenia warned.

"I'll find the words."

"It doesn't help," she shook her head gently. "Not after our clan bombed his family's town."

"And such a family, too!" The old man went wild with his lips pressed together. "They walk, walk, and hop found a family... there's no such thing! Do you think this Samoilov is an ordinary man? Ha! There are six of them in the whole country!"

"They need him. He needs and cares for them..." Kseniya stretched out softly. "Warmth - for caring, responsibility - for trust."

"We are his family!" Grandpa didn't hold back.

"We are a bad family."

"Maybe," he grimaced as he sat down on the bed. "But I want to make things right. I have to."

"His granddaughter quietly sat down next to him and habitually put her hand on his arm."

"Remember I told you why honor is so important?" he looked up at his sweetheart.

The girl remained silent, managing to feel herself beyond the point where it is not necessary to have a conversation but rather to take a confession.

"Human beings are weak and lazy by nature. A person with a purpose is able to achieve results if his will is strong. But the will is not enough for magic, at high ranks one needs obsession. When a concrete slab falls on an infant and that multi-ton burden is held by a frail woman, it is an obsession with saving the life of a native being. When a man jumps over a three-meter wall to escape a pack of dogs, he is obsessed with survival. But that doesn't work for us - we need to save other people's lives and our own all the time. So we are obsessed with the well-being of the Clan, its honor, its glory, and its survival. These are not just words, sweetheart. It's what turns the faint breeze of the "novice" into the storm of the "virtuoso" - just something within a man that forces him to invest himself, all his strength, experience, and ability for the glory and well-being of his kin. An endless competition with oneself, in which one cannot lie..."

The old man was quiet.

Thirteen years ago, there was no worse tragedy in the world for us than throwing our son into the unknown. People died in battles, from disease and the elements, from old age or bad wounds - all of it happened, and there was no getting away from it. One can only mourn and revenge. But never, in any generation, have we given up our native blood. We are obsessed with family, and it was very hard to take this step. All I will say is that your father lost all his strength for six months. All the power. Even your mother beat him up when she found out... I lost one rank of power. Everyone else who was aware of the case was also walking around terribly depressed. But we had a purpose. We, the possessed, wished for the Clan the prosperity that a prophet could bestow. And we made that sacrifice. I don't want to make excuses. I know my guilt and your father's guilt, but let us die for it if with your help our kind will live. As the years passed, we reassured ourselves that we would find the boy and try to secure his future. No one believed that after boarding school for orphans and regular school, we would get someone adequate. Don't look at me so angrily. We would have loved him absolutely anything.

The old man thought about it.

Then you found Maxim. Your mother's prophecy came true. We received a great gift and another chance to survive in this cruel world. We seem big and strong here, but if you knew... It doesn't matter. I confess that this news has made us stronger... Tangibly stronger - your father and I have already stepped over the brink of ultimate mastery, and some of the initiates have come very close to it. One more piece of good news, and they would have crossed that line as well, and the clan would have gained a couple of "virtuosos". All we have to do is get the boy back and make sure everything is okay, and the conscience inside of us will allow us to feel stronger. But you wouldn't let it, and that's your right. To quarrel with an oracle... especially one so cute, with such a pretty nose and cheeks... All right, all right. Anyway, there are no fools to quarrel with. You can't go looking for it yourself. Remember what I told you about politics? You can't. So now we've got some non-virtuosos looking in your direction with a wistful look. Do you ever notice that? No? Well, I overdid it about the sad expression, they're a lot of killers... Your uncle Amir, for example. Is he nice?! All right, let's call him kind. And the other day you showed me your brother. A strong gifted one, who overpowered two "veteran" guardsmen." The old man pressed his face into his folded palms.

"Grandpa..."

"Who, at thirteen, started a company and earned his first hundred thousand..."

"Grandpa, don't," Kseniya became worried when she heard the old man sobbing quietly.

"Who has every right to hate us..." Grandfather raised his head and looked at his granddaughter in confusion. "We threw her future out of the family. We lied to ourselves that it was going to be a runt without gift or honor. If your father finds out about this... Ksyusha, it's the second day I can't summon the power. What will become of him?"

"We won't tell him."

"We won't," the old man echoed, "until I get it right. I'll be a servant, a janitor beside him - it's never shameful for the honor! Educating the children of the Clan is never shameful for the honor! I will not tell him who I am or where I come from, but I must be there for him when he learns the truth of his origins. There should be no enmity between us."

"Don't worry," she reassured him gently, "he's not evil."

"Maybe," the old man said stubbornly, "but you can't look into the soul. Your gift is a great treasure, but it also has flaws."

"There hasn't been a case yet..."

"Remember what I said about the prophecy of your kind?"

"That the future oracle would be a girl named Sophia? Yes, it didn't come true, but..."

"It's happened," my grandfather shook his head negatively. "Your mother is the strongest oracle in the family. She saw her mother when she was only six years old."

"But then why..." Ksyusha was confused.

"She did not believe that her beloved mother, whom she longed to find, dreamed of her love and affection, longed for her return... That her mother was infinitely happy without her daughter," the grandfather coined and added a little softer: "The girl did not know that she hated her family, not her personally. The gift broke. Then we got Sophia out of that shit hole. She had a hard time there too. Clan borrowed a lot of money and was counting on her gift... But that's not the point."

"What is it?" The granddaughter said, quite lost.

"Are you sure your brother, who is alive and well out there in the future, doesn't sincerely hate you, me, your father, and Amir?" the old man said in a subtle way.

"That's not going to happen!"

"Ksyusha, you see the future at the same speed as the present. Can you guarantee that somewhere out there, in the moments you haven't seen, he's not killing our kin?"

"My gift would have told me!" Ksenia cried out, already crying.

"Maybe. Or maybe not. Have you ever wondered why, with such a strong gift, the Vedeneevs do not rule the world?" Ignoring the tears, my grandfather asked. "Look at the Imperial Palace. Try to see it's future!" He shouted.

Kseniya even forgot to cry and fluttered her eyes at such a rebuke, but then disciplined tried to recreate the familiar image from the photos and look beyond the horizon...

"A gray haze!" She exclaimed fearfully, pulling her face away.

"And that's just one place. They didn't show you this so as not to break your faith in your powers, but I must warn you before I leave. Not everything you want to see will be shown to you. Not everything you see will be true. Look at the little things, trust your intuition, and don't leave key events to chance."

"But I saw my brother's future..."

"Your brother is already a figure," said Grandfather adamantly, "and I am afraid that this future is already being played against us..."

* * *

Chapter 28

The Secret Within