An excerpt from The Fireflyâs Burden.
âYou answered âlinesâ before I told you what the records called them.â
I glanced at the highlighted text. âYou said governing houses.â
âAnd you corrected me.â
âYou dislike being wrong. I was being helpful.â
âYou have never been helpful without making sure everyone suffers for it.â
âThat is unfair. Sometimes suffering is incidental.â
Cassie set her pen down with care, which was more threatening than if she had thrown it. âShow me.â
The demand hit with the same authority she used on the squad, and every instinct I had bristled. I wanted to refuse because she had ordered me. I wanted to show her because she believed I would not. I wanted to wipe that certainty off her face and replace it with something else, though I could not have said what without admitting that her opinion mattered.
âYou donât get to command access to my things,â I said.
âYou brought whatever it is here.â
âThat does not make it yours.â
âNo, it makes you reckless.â
âYou say that like itâs new information.â
âI say it like I am tired of pretending your evasions are charming.â
My hand stopped against the edge of my packet.
Cassieâs expression did not change, but she had heard herself. The silence between us tightened around the word.
âI said your evasions are not charming.â
âYou still put the two concepts together.â
âI also put ârecklessâ and your name together. Would you like to linger on that?â
âIâm deciding which one sounded more sincere.â
Her jaw tightened. Mine probably did too, because suddenly winning had become difficult to separate from making her look at me exactly the way she was looking now.
Cassie leaned closer, lowering her voice despite the glass walls. âYou have spent two days implying the curriculum is false. You knew those regions were conflict territories before I showed you the passage. You corrected âhousesâ to âlines,â and now youâre sitting there enjoying yourself because you know something I donât.â
There was no point denying the last part. âYouâre very pretty when youâre frustrated.â
The sentence escaped before I had time to decide whether it was an insult.
Heat rushed into my face, up the back of my neck, and along the hidden points of my ears. The glamour cinched around them hard enough to prickle. My brain offered no useful explanation for why I had said it, only the urgent conviction that the room needed to catch fire so I could leave with dignity.
Cassie recovered first, which I resented on principle. âThat is a transparent attempt to distract me.â
Her voice was too even. The color had not left her throat.
I tilted my head because retreat would be fatal. âThen why are you blushing?â
âThe room was warm before I complimented you.â
âYou did not compliment me.â
âI called you pretty.â
âYou weaponized an observation.â
Cassieâs eyes narrowed until the blue looked almost colorless. âShow me the source.â
The order came sharper this time, but the faint flush remained. Satisfaction slid through me, reckless and immediate. I had scored a point. I had also created a problem I could not name and therefore decided to ignore.
I made it to my car before I opened the notes app on my phone and typed the word crownlines.
The air inside the coupe had gone stale beneath the sycamore, warm leather and the faint citrus bite of the vent freshener Mother insisted made the car smell clean. I lowered the window an inch but did not start the engine. Outside, late-Infernalight sunlight broke through the leaves in shifting bands, flashing across the windshield every time the branches moved. It made the screen difficult to read, which was irritating, but not irritating enough to make me leave before I had put the library into some kind of order.
Three sovereign lines removed before the final Border Compacts were filed. Twenty-three days between armed blockades and public ratification. Property transfers recorded after the people signing them had already disappeared from office.
Mira had known what the gaps meant before I finished explaining them.
I added another line beneath the first.
Quinveil family archive. Connection to removed lines unknown.
My thumb hovered over the screen. Unknown was imprecise. Mira had not denied the connection. She had answered that her family was connected to the history, which was the kind of sentence designed to survive interrogation without offering anything useful. She did that constantly. Every answer came sharpened along the edges, technically true and deliberately incomplete, as if ordinary conversation were a contract she expected someone to weaponize later.
I should have found it exhausting.
I did find it exhausting.
That did not explain why I could still hear her saying, Youâre very pretty when youâre frustrated.
Heat climbed beneath my collar again, immediate and humiliating. I locked my phone and dropped it into the cup holder hard enough to make the case strike plastic.
It had been a distraction. A cheap one. Mira had realized I was close to forcing an answer and said the first absurd thing that came to mind. The fact that she had looked startled afterward did not matter. The fact that color had rushed into her face did not matter either. She was reckless, theatrical, and pathologically incapable of allowing anyone else to control the direction of a conversation. Calling me pretty had been another attempt to seize the advantage.
It had worked for approximately three seconds.
The Fireflyâs Burden by Sylvie L. Ashwood
https://www.wattpad.com/story/402694169-the-firefly%27s-burden