The Flame That Never Dies

PART ONE: The Spark Before The Flame

Chapter 1, Jolie-

Dear Brant, Jolie wrote. I have thought about you every day, and my lov--

"No!" she yelled when the ink splattered, ruining the letter. She threw the pen to the ground.

That was the problem with borrowed pens. They didn't fit inside her palm, didn't flow across the page, didn't paint the picture she saw in her mind. She'd had a special one, but then she'd lost it in the mountains of homework she'd been assigned.

Lost. That's how she felt.

So, so lost.

"Is everything alright, Miss Ruewen?" Master Prentice asked.

Jolie blinked back the tears that had started to form and met the Beacon's eyes. She almost flinched, almost backed down-- Prentice always had had an intense stare-- but she gritted her teeth and held strong.

That's all she had left anymore. Strength.

And Brant.

Although she felt like she was slowly losing both.

"I'm alright, thank you," she said. She couldn't help but look behind him, where her fellow prodigies were glaring from behind their books.

Most Level Eights didn't like Jolie-- maybe because they were all pretentious and refused to accept the fact that she was in love with a Talentless--

She cut the thought off before it could fledge into hate. She didn't hate anyone, least of all these poor souls. The thing she hated was the why.

Why this was happening to her and Brant.

Why people wouldn't support them.

Why the elves had their stupid prejudices.

It wasn't anyone's fault; she knew that. She couldn't allow herself to blame others. All she could do was stay strong.

"I know you feel grounded," Prentice said, lowering his voice, "but you will take flight."

With that, he turned and moved onto the next silver table.

Jolie watched him move from prodigy to prodigy, but he didn't seem to be saying the same strange words to anyone else.

She sighed, crumpling her letter-- what she'd managed to write of it, anyway-- and standing. The Silver Tower Commons was sleek and elegant; silver-cloaked figures sitting in silver chairs at silver tables on a marble floor (that was surprisingly soft against her feet). The one tone was supposed to promote clearness of the mind, but Jolie found it impressively dull. She missed her sparkly gowns and jewelry.

And she missed Vertina. The spectral mirror was a pain sometimes, but she was Jolie's pain. One she had relied on for years when everyone else drifted farther away from the technology.

Her mother often told her she was attracted to things that were unwanted.

Jolie had never figured out if she was talking about Vertina or Brant.

She stopped in front of the bookshelves that lined the wall and pulled out The Elementing Guide To Conjuring and Translocation. She had an ability test next week, and she probably needed to study.

That is, if she could sleep that night.

She used to get things done as soon as possible, but lately she'd procrastinated way too much. She was just so distracted with the Matchmaking and her parents and Brant...

Jolie froze. She'd shuffled back to her table in a daze, so she'd missed the small scroll that had been left on her chair.

She looked around; no one was remotely near her. With a deep breath, she unrolled the paper.

Change is never seen when one does nothing.

Jolie's heartbeat picked up pace.

She glanced behind her and saw Prentice standing on the other side of the room. He was angled away from her, but his dark blue eyes pierced her own.

He knew.

Suddenly the chimes rang, and Jolie jumped. A red-haired girl waved at her from the staircase. "Come on, Jo!"

Jolie reread the message before crumpling it and putting it in her cape pocket. Then she grabbed the rest of her books and walked to class.

The Neverseen-- and the Black Swan-- could wait. In the meantime she had work to do.

If that was even possible anymore.