Unlike others who simply wished to be entertained, he’d challenge her to make intricate, difficult patterns and draw entire landscapes with filaments of fire. Master Haywood’s interest, however, had run far deeper. Everyone, from neighbors to classmates, had wanted her to show them how she made little fireballs dance upon her palm, the same way Iolanthe, as a child, had asked Master Haywood to wiggle his ears, clapping and laughing with delight.
He had not been alone in his fascination. Master Haywood, her guardian, used to love watching her play with fire. Stray droplets gleamed briefly under the sun before falling into the flame, releasing sizzles of steam. Streams of water shot up and arced over the fireball. That flame she sculpted into a perfect sphere ten feet across, suspended above the rushing currents of the River Woe. That would make Iolanthe Seabourne quite the thief, gathering millions of sparks into one great combustion.
They said that when an elemental mage called forth flame, she stole a little from every fire in the world.
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