Venya Nightwing's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Venya carried the amulet to the academy the next morning. She held it out to every student she passed. A girl with silver wings stepped back. A boy turned his shoulder and walked on. No one would look at the dark blue stone or the three scratched letters. No one would answer her questions. By midday her hand ached from holding the amulet up to faces that refused her. She tried the healers in the great hall. One older student glanced at the flame carved in the stone. Her mouth tightened. She pulled her robes close and hurried off without a word. Venya watched her go. The quiet she had always lived in now felt like a wall. She could not learn where she came from if no one would speak the name of what she held. She climbed to the library alone. Tall windows threw colored light across the floor. Rows of books rose above her like cliffs. She did not know where to begin. She set the amulet on a table and sat, defeated. "That's a bold thing to wave around," a voice said. Venya looked up. A boy leaned against the shelf behind her. He had dark tawny skin and red eyes. His wings were black, veined with gold, the same gold that laced her own. She had never seen wings like hers on anyone. Her breath caught. "Daemon Fenrye," he said. He smiled like he already knew she had no friends. "You've been shoving that under everyone's nose all day. They won't tell you anything. Cowards." "You know what it is?" Venya stood too fast. Her chair scraped. He pushed off the shelf and crossed to the table. He did not touch the amulet. He only studied the blue flame inside the stone. "Shadowflame," he said. "That mark isn't healer work. It's old. The teachers here won't say the word out loud." He glanced at her wings, then at his own. His smile faded. "They look at you the way they look at me. Now I know why." Venya's face went hot. "Why won't they speak of it?" "Because it isn't theirs." He turned the amulet over with one finger. His eyes fixed on the three letters. For a moment his cockiness dropped. "I've seen these letters before," he said. "Carved over a door. Not here. Far from here." Venya gripped the table. "Where?" Daemon leaned close. His grin returned, but softer now. "That's going to cost you more than a blush, Nightwing." He straightened. "I'll take you there. But not today. Someone's already watching you carry this around." He nodded toward the gallery above. A figure stood in the shadow between two shelves, still, facing them. Then it was gone. Venya's heart pounded. For the first time, someone had named her thread. And for the first time, she knew she was not the only one holding it.