The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 73: Faerie Tales
Ravenrest smelled like too many people who’d never been told “no.”
Coffee, body spray, perfume, deodorant—everything layered until the air was sticky with it. Lockers slammed in percussion; laughter ricocheted off tile. Someone yelled about parking passes, someone else kissed too loudly against a locker door, and a pack of girls shriek-laughed about Lake Silverrow hookups.
Cassie’s shoulder brushed mine as we stepped into the tide. “Smells like teen capitalism,” she muttered.
Kael, beside us, kept her expression politely blank—the picture of a transfer student instead of the bodyguard she actually was. She had a locker too now, schedule taped up neat, her handwriting small and exact.
The noise hit all at once. My human ears couldn’t separate it: just a blur of voices and squeaking shoes and slamming metal. Muted didn’t mean quiet; muted meant
muddled.
Light bounced off chrome hinges straight into my skull. My brain tried to file every reflection, every sound, and failed.
I rubbed the seam of my sleeve—one, two, three. One, two, three. The fabric caught beneath my thumb, grounding by friction.
Cassie caught the motion. Without looking, she reached for my hand, fingers sliding between mine for half a heartbeat. “Focus on me,” she said under her breath.
The world snapped into partial order—her scent cutting through detergent and sugar fog, her voice the only one the static didn’t swallow.
“Better?”
“Functional.”
“That’s my favorite setting.”
Kael opened her locker with surgical calm. “You two realize this entire hallway is staring, right?”
Cassie smirked. “They can look. Royalty should give the people something to talk about.”
“Preferably not a public indecency charge,” Kael said.
Cassie elbowed her lightly. “Relax, Captain Professional. I can behave for at least…” She checked an invisible watch. “…thirty seconds.”
“Optimistic,” Kael replied.
We reached our lockers—side by side, chrome gleaming. Fresh schedules waited, clipped neatly to the doors. Both read:
Firebrand, Mira
Firebrand, Cassie
Not Quinveil. Not Fairborn.
Cassie whistled low. “So I married into bureaucracy.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ve achieved paperwork.”
“Does this make me your duchess-in-law?”
“Only if you handle taxes.”
“Pass.” She grinned, and the static in my head eased a notch.
Kael’s locker door shut with a metallic snap. “You’re lucky I don’t file incident s.”
Cassie shot her a look. “You’d need a full-time secretary.”
“Already do,” Kael said.
“Funny,” I said. “I didn’t see you on payroll.”
Kael smiled—barely. “Unpaid internship.”
Before I could answer, the crowd surged closer. Ashlyn Dannon waved from a few lockers down, sunshine in designer shoes. “Welcome back, Your Highnesses! The halls missed their royalty.”
Cassie gave a little half-bow. “They’ll survive the reign.”
Nate Ashborne’s voice carried over the noise. “Morning, Princesses! Save us a seat in Calc?”
Cassie shot back, “We don’t sit near lab hazards.”
Jace Withers chimed in as he passed. “Eversea’s finest grace the lockers of us mere mortals.”
“Then act mortal,” I muttered.
They laughed because they never knew when not to.
Halfway down the hall, Bree Halden appeared with her cluster of juniors, too loud, too polished, pretending not to see us. Her hair caught the light like she’d hired a PR team.
Cassie leaned close. “Still auditioning for relevance.”
“Let her,” I said. “Every show needs background noise.”
Kael hid a laugh behind a cough.
Somewhere behind us, another couple collided with a locker— half-laughing, half-moaning, his tongue half-way down her throat. Their noise was swallowed by the crowd.—and laughter broke out again. Cassie rolled her eyes. “Same circus, new year.”
The warning bell blared. My whole body flinched. Sound drilled behind my eyes; lights flared whiter for one awful second.
Cassie’s palm landed between my shoulders, steady weight. “In for four, out for four,” she whispered.
I matched her breath. Counted. One, two, three, four—
Exhale. The world slid back into focus, edges sharp again.
Kael handed me my satchel like it was part of the ritual. “You good?”
“Define good,” I said.
“Standing,” she replied.
“Then sure.”
Cassie grinned. “One down, seven to go.”
“Zero down,” I corrected, shifting the bag onto my shoulder. “All uphill.”
She looped her arm through mine again as we joined the flow toward the East Wing. “Lucky you’ve got climbing gear.”
Kael followed a step behind, dry as ever. “Remind me why I agreed to blend in with teenagers?”
Cassie didn’t miss a beat. “Because deep down, you love us.”
“Deep down,” Kael said, “I love silence.”
Cassie laughed. “Wrong school, darling.”
The first bell rang. The hallway exhaled, doors opening like floodgates. We stepped through together, three Firebrands in borrowed normality.
Room 203 glowed too bright for this early. Sunlight spilled through the panoramic windows and made the rows of desks look like something out of a museum exhibit called
Teenage Ambition.
The air smelled of dry-erase ink, coffee, and the faint ozone bite of overused electronics.
Dr. Lyra Vale was already writing across the board when we walked in—loops of chalk like runes. She was one of those teachers who carried a whole library in her posture: scarf tied like grammar, eyes quick and interested but hard to fool.
“Welcome to AP Literature IV:
Worlds Within Words,
” she began, voice even and musical. “This year we explore how stories build reality—how myths, fairy tales, and archetypes decide who we think we are.”
I nearly laughed.
Of course
this would be the first-period theme. The universe had jokes.
Cassie and I slid into seats near the window; Kael took the one behind us, blending as flawlessly as ever. Half the class pretended not to stare. Phones tilted just enough for snapshots that would never make it online—our classmates had learned that much loyalty since Gloamhearts.
Dr. Vale clapped once. “Let’s start easy. Name, something interesting about yourself, and the last book you actually finished.”
Students went around—vacations, video games, summer jobs. The usual humanity.
Cassie’s turn hit like champagne fizz.
“Cassie Firebrand. I bake when stressed. The last book I finished was
A Tale of Two Cities
— for revenge.”
Laughter rippled; Dr. Vale’s brow arched in approval.
Then eyes shifted to me.
“Mira Firebrand,” I said, wishing the words didn’t sound like a headline. “I collect antique cookbooks and forget why halfway through them.”
A few polite laughs. I almost made it through the breath that followed—until Jace Withers leaned back in his chair, grin ready.
“Come on, that’s it? You’re literally part Fae and your fun fact is
cookbooks?
Tell us something
actually
magical.”
The word
Fae
hung there—too loud, too bright. It wasn’t secret anymore, not after the dance, but saying it in a classroom still made the air shift. For a second I tasted metal.
Before I could answer, Ashlyn Dannon spoke up from across the room. “Jace, leave it. You know the rule—what happens at Gloamhearts stays at Gloamhearts.”
Michael Sandalwood followed quietly, “She’s still the same person who aced the midterm before any of us. Magic or not.”
The tension folded inward. A few students nodded—small, loyal gestures. The kind that said
we protect our own.
I found my voice again, dry but steady. “Stories about magic are overrated anyway. Most of them end with someone losing their head.”
Cassie leaned toward me, whispering, “Not yours, Firefly. You’d set the heads on fire first.”
Dr. Vale smiled like she’d caught the subtext but decided to let it breathe. “Excellent. That’s the energy we’ll need. Your first assignment: a short reflection on what makes a story
true.
Myth, memory, or rumor—convince me.”
Pens scratched; the normal sound of school resumed. Jace sank into his seat, suitably chastened. The rest of the class settled into that half-protective quiet that had followed us since the attack.
When the bell rang, sunlight hit the edge of Cassie’s desk and turned her hair to copper flame. She stretched. “See? One period down, no international incident.”
“Yet,” I said, gathering my notebook. “Physics is next.”
Cassie grinned. “Then we’ll defy gravity — in style.”
Kael murmured from behind us, “Please don’t.”
Cassie winked. “No promises.”
We stepped back into the hallway’s roar, the faint murmur of
princess
following like an echo—half reverence, half rumor, and for the first time all morning, it didn’t sting.
.
!
Chapter 73: Faerie Tales
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