When Rosalind came to find her, Farah was burying the bodies that had once been Burned Ones. How noble. But that was Farah all over. So noble, it made her ultimately ineffective.

"The story behind the Burned Ones is a doozy," Rosalind told her former mentee. "Trust me."

It seemed Farah didn't. How sad. Rosalind patted the bench beside her, inviting Farah to sit, but Farah wouldn't even move a step toward her. Farah had never been personable. It was a serious flaw. Rosalind found her own ability to make people warm to her extremely useful.

Just to tease, she let Farah know that the Burned Ones had once been soldiers in an ancient war, soldiers who were transformed by the magic known as the Dragon Flame. This same flame burned inside little changeling Bloom.

Farah said angrily, "You let Burned Ones into the school to test her.

Risked the lives of countless students ..." Yes, yes. And what was Farah's point?

"There's a war on the horizon. Burned Ones are nothing compared with what's coming." Rosalind came to her own point. "I fear you lack the

composure to lead the next generation into it."

Farah's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "And there it is."

"Don't get me wrong, you've done a lovely job," Rosalind told her condescendingly.

Farah—Headmistress Dowling, what a joke—observed, "I had a choice.

Continue your methods or learn from their shortcomings."

She really seemed to believe it. She seemed sure. Rosalind didn't remember Farah Dowling as sure of herself. Once, she'd only been sure of Rosalind.

"Look at you," Rosalind murmured. "All grown-up."

Farah looked down her nose at Rosalind. "Once I stepped out of your shadow, I saw a world filled with light. It turns out this place isn't miserable. It was just you."

Rosalind said sweetly, "If only Queen Luna agreed with you."

She hadn't even had to blackmail Luna into thinking Alfea needed new management. Apparently, Luna was cross with Farah about something to do with Luna's daughter. That was Farah, so silly, always making enemies.

Luna was eager for Rosalind to change the school. Ben Harvey would fall in line, for his precious son and daughter's sake. And Rosalind was rather delighted to inform Farah that her precious Silva was being carted off to prison. For the attempted murder of Andreas of Eraklyon.

Andreas was taking back his son. And Rosalind was taking everything.

Her castle, and Bloom.

Farah turned away, trying to hide how shaken she was at the sudden ruin that had descended upon her. But of course, Rosalind knew Farah too well. She didn't need to see. She knew the despair Farah must be feeling.

And she loved it.

"So now we just have to talk about you. I thought it'd be best if you took a sabbatical. Head to the mountains. Take a break. You've worked so hard, Farah."

Farah's voice rang like drawn steel. "I am the headmistress of Alfea now. And there is no way I'm leaving the school in your hands."

"I know that," murmured Rosalind. "But the rest of the world might believe it."

Dear Farah, always too honorable. She'd thought they were having a civil discussion. Farah turned now, drawing her magic to her, but Rosalind's magic was already let loose. It only took a wave of her hand to snap Farah's neck. Almost too easy, really.

Farah Dowling's last thought was that she should have warned Bloom, safeguarded her, taught her more. Taught her better.

But it was too late.

All thoughts ceased for Farah Dowling. The light died behind her eyes, and the earth rose to claim her. Seven new graves, instead of six for the lost Burned Ones.

Rosalind made sure flowers grew in vivid profusion over the disturbed earth. The new blooms were gorgeous. It looked like this was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

Oh, it could all have ended very differently, Rosalind supposed. But it hadn't.

There was only room in her dear Bloom's life for one mentor.

FIRE

As my friends and I strolled up the driveway of Alfea, chatting and giggling, the sunlight caught the towers and casement windows of Alfea and made it resemble more than ever an illustration from a gilt-edged book of fairy tales. The sight was so familiar by now, it made me smile. The castle looked like home, and it was a beautiful day.

We passed through the gates, Aisha and Stella and Musa and Terra and

I.

Then all talk and laughter ceased, amid the dust and ruin of Alfea.

Stella's breath hissed out between her teeth as she stared at her mother. Alongside Queen Luna stood a man I'd only seen in pictures, a man with Sky's face. A man who was supposed to be dead.

And standing in the center of Alfea as if she owned the place, smiling her sweet devil's smile, was the woman I'd freed.

"Welcome back, ladies," said Rosalind.