Dragonfly Maid

by D D Croix

  Tonight my roommate was full of surprises. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about cooking.”

  “Not so much about cooking, but plants and herbs? Those I know a bit about. That’s where I can do a bit of good.”

  Her pride was evident, and I wanted to know more. “Chef sets the menus. Doesn’t he decide what Her Majesty eats?”

  She giggled. “He thinks he does. That’s all that matters.”

  The twinkle in her eye didn’t betray her secret, but it told me enough.

  When we emerged from the ring of towers, I saw the Library—grand as it was—was still just an anteroom to an even more remarkable space. A temple of sorts, but where an altar might be, there stood a fountain formed of white, nearly translucent stone.

  Beside it stood a lone figure in a robe, which wasn’t indigo like Marlie’s and mine, but a rich and vibrant purple. The hood was up, obscuring the face, but I knew those thick wrists reaching out from the ends of the bell sleeves and the reddened fingers that gripped the fountain’s edge.

  It was Mrs. Crossey.

  As we neared, she raised her hands from the fountain and lifted her hood to reveal a long and loose shroud of silvery hair I had only seen in wisps that sometimes escaped the muslin cap she usually wore. She held out her arms, lowered her chin, and said, “Welcome, Jane. Welcome to our sanctuary.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  At the sight of Mrs. Crossey behind the fountain, my courage faltered.

  “Come, child.” She motioned to me. “Come closer. Don’t be afraid.”

  But I was afraid. I had no idea where I was or what I was doing here.

  Marlie nudged my elbow, urging me onward.

  Hesitantly, I followed her along the path of black and white stones laid into a braid along the polished floor until we reached the fountain’s pedestal base.

  “What is this place?” I whispered when we reached Mrs. Crossey.

  “It’s many things,” she replied, amusement teasing her lips. “Tonight, however, it’s where we’ll see what’s what.”

  I nodded as though that made sense, but it made nothing of the sort. Instead, I searched for answers along the gently curved walls, taking in all the long and narrow tapestries. There were a dozen or so weavings, some depicting people in indigo robes engaged in household tasks and others portraying more pastoral scenes.

  The grand weaving behind the fountain, however, stood taller and wider than the others, and in the foreground, a woman in a purple tunic with her auburn hair pulled back behind her shoulders had lowered herself on bended knee beneath the glowing touch of a pale woman as tall as the oaks and as slender as a reed whose white hair flowed to her waist over a diaphanous gown that seemed to shimmer even as I stared at it. It was her ears, however, that drew my attention. They were too large for human ears, protruding as they did through her cascading hair, and their tops were not round, but pointed sharply toward the sky.

  “Who is that?” My voice was hardly more than a breath.

  Mrs. Crossey’s lips spread into an affable smile. “Legend has many names for her, but to us, she is the Lady of the Fayte. In this moment, she is creating the first Fayte Guardian, bestowing her gifts on the Warrior Queen herself.”

  I had never heard of the Lady of the Fayte, but I knew about the Warrior Queen. Queen Boudica of the Iceni tribe had been a frequent topic in Chadwick Hollow’s history lessons. That Queen’s rebellion against the Roman invaders failed in the end and the woman lost her life, but her fierce loyalty to our homeland inspired an enduring pride in the hearts of Britons—especially Headmistress Trindle.

  I pointed to two girls in the background. “Who are they?”

  “Boudica’s daughters,” Mrs. Crossey said. “Some say they have played an even more important role than Boudica in our history. They appear in that weaving as well.” She gestured to a smaller tapestry to the right that showed Boudica standing between the girls. “Do you see what she’s doing?”

  “Offering them wine?”

  “Not exactly.” Mrs. Crossey looked away and smoothed her robe. “Perhaps that story, the story of our legacy, is a subject better left for another time. If you would, please remove your gloves and dip your fingers into the basin.”

  I pulled back. “Why?”

  “No harm will come to you here, Jane,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “But you must do as I ask. We’ll move slowly. If there’s anything unpleasant, we’ll stop. Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

  Marlie scoffed. “But you can’t. It’s not a New Moon and no one’s here.”

  Mrs. Crossey held out her hands. “We’re here.”

  “But it’s impossible,” Marlie railed. “The rule—”

  “I understand about the rules,” Mrs. Crossey said in a way that made it clear Marlie should stop. “I’m choosing to break this one. And while we might not have the benefit of a proper moon, we do have Jane. If she’s as powerful as it would seem, it could prove useful.”

  Marlie fidgeted. Her gaze darted back toward the Library. “If that’s what you think is best. I should probably leave you to it, then.” She inched back from the fountain.

  Mrs. Crossey hung her gaze on my roommate. “I would prefer you didn’t leave.”

  Marlie froze.

  “I need you here. Jane isn’t initiated. You must be the witness.”

  Marlie threw up her hands. “But you’re the Master Scryer. Can’t you initiate her?”

  Mrs. Crossey’s stony expression gave way to a soft chuckle. “I’m already breaking one rule, I’m not going to push my luck.”

  Marlie trudged back to the fountain’s edge. “Fine. What would you like me to do?”

  Mrs. Crossey straightened. “Prepare your Faytling, and we’ll begin.”

  At that, Marlie and Mrs. Crossey each pulled a black cord from beneath their collars. At the end of each hung a small cylinder, a golden filigree cage wrapped around a pinkish stone. They laid the jewels over the front of their robes before lowering their fingers into the fountain’s basin.

  Mrs. Crossey caught my eye. “Now, if you would, dip your fingers into the pool.”

  Slowly, I tugged away my gloves and slid them inside my robe, beneath the waistband of my skirt. I held my hands over the water then lowered them in.

  At that moment, the clear water turned a soft lavender hue. Startled, I yanked my hands back and the color disappeared.

  The rise of Mrs. Crossey’s eyebrows told me the change had surprised her, too.

  “What happened?” I clasped my dripping fingers to my chest.

  “Did you feel something?” Mrs. Crossey asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Then it must be an indication of your gift. Let’s try again,”

  I didn’t want to, but I did as she asked and lowered my fingertips into the pool. The water again turned lavender.

  In that instant, my fingers seized, my arms seized, my whole body seized. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think.

  But as quickly as that paralysis set in, it passed. I could move and breathe, only the racing of my heart remained. “What was that?”

  Mrs. Crossey ignored the question. Her eyes were closed, and she dragged her fingertips in lazy figure eights along the water’s surface. “Great Lady of the Fayte,” she intoned, “please hear us as we humbly seek your counsel.”

  There was a long silence, then Marlie whispered, “It’s happening.”

  I glanced up to see the pendants resting on Marlie’s and Mrs. Crossey’s chests pulsing with violet light, weakly at first then stronger and in perfect unison.

  For a full minute we remained that way—Mrs. Crossey twitching at times, frowning at others. When she pulled her fingers from the basin, Marlie and I did the same.

  Marlie leaned forward, her fingers gripping the fountain’s edge. “It’s never felt like that before. What does it mean?”

  “I believe it’s because of Jane,” Mrs. Crossey said.

  “What do you mean?” I ask
ed. “What happened just now?”

  Mrs. Crossey wiped the water from her hands. “I was trying to communicate with the Lady. That’s the pool’s purpose. The water forges the bond and opens a doorway of sorts. We call it converging. It’s how she alerts us to potential hazards and dangers.”

  “Or used to anyway,” Marlie grumbled.

  I looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  She glanced at Mrs. Crossey. “She just stopped. For years, there was nothing. Then a few months ago, out of the blue, she returned. Sort of. But it’s different now. The messages are vague and confusing. Sometimes they don’t make any sense at all. The Supreme Elder warned us that something was wrong. That perhaps we’d displeased her. Some are even saying his firing is proof of it.”

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Crossey said. “It’s certainly unfortunate that he was let go the way he was, but it doesn’t mean his interpretation was the right one. It was only a theory, and until the Council of Elders assigns his replacement, we are free to explore other explanations.”

  “I suppose,” Marlie said, though she hardly seemed convinced. “Then did you sense the Lady just now? Did she convey a message?”

  Mrs. Crossey shook her head. “Not a message, not exactly. But the threat is present and getting stronger. It’s closer than before. Perhaps even within the castle.”

  I didn’t know anything about a Lady of the Fayte, but I was beginning to understand something about threats within the castle. Again, my mind turned to the peculiar Mr. Wyck.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” Marlie said, her frown lines deepening.

  “Perhaps, but I’m not sure what to make of it,” Mrs. Crossey said. “The message is: A face is not a face. Or rather a false face. It’s a bit confusing.”

  Again I thought of Mr. Wyck. Perhaps he wasn’t who he said he was. An impostor?

  Marlie shook her head. “As vague as ever.”

  “I’m sure it’s not intended.” Mrs. Crossey rubbed the water from her hands. “We are communicating with another realm after all. Words and symbols are not always so clear.”

  I looked up from drying my own hands. “What do you mean another realm?”

  Marlie frowned. “What would you call it?”

  An odd fear gripped me. “Call what, exactly?”

  Marlie turned to Mrs. Crossey. “You said she was Fayte. How can she not know—”

  “Enough, Marlie.”

  My roommate stopped, but whether it was Mrs. Crossey’s reprimand or the woman’s glare that did it, I couldn’t say.

  “The Lady’s realm is a hidden world,” Mrs. Crossey said by way of an explanation, “a world beyond our own.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  Marlie scoffed.

  Mrs. Crossey sighed. “I can see how it would seem so, but I assure you it’s not. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  Marlie’s head shot up. Her eyes sparked. “Mrs. Crossey! I know what the message means.”

  “You do?” The elder woman looked skeptical.

  “The false face? It’s the Queen’s masquerade.”

  Mrs. Crossey tapped her lip. “Of course! The masquerade…” She nodded, the idea sinking in.

  “It has to be,” Marlie said. “And if we know when the attack is to take place, we can prepare. We can put everyone on alert.”

  There it was again. Everyone. “How many Fayte Guardians are there?”

  “Not as many as there used to be, unfortunately,” Marlie said. “Not since the efficiency campaign began.”

  Mrs. Crossey was pacing, still tapping her lip. “We can’t tell anyone, at least not yet.”

  “But we must,” Marlie wailed. “I know she isn’t initiated yet, but the message came from the divining pool. So it shouldn’t matter.”

  A deep crease split Mrs. Crossey’s brow. “It could matter a great deal to some. They’ll question the message, or worse. Many believe as the former Supreme Elder believed. Once we find the threat, once it can be confirmed, then we can share it with the others. Until then, this information must remain between us. For now, at least.”

  “But we can’t do this alone,” Marlie wailed.

  “With Jane’s gift, I think we can,” Mrs. Crossey said. “And this should help.” She lifted the cord with the golden pendant from her neck and offered it to me.

  I stared at the dazzling cylinder. It was still glowing faintly. “What do I do with it?”

  “Just wear it. For now.”

  Marlie shifted and touched her own pendant. Reverently. Protectively. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Jane is going to need all the help she can get,” Mrs. Crossey said. “At the moment, a Faytling is the best we have to offer.”

  Faytling. It was a beautiful name for such a treasure. I reached for it, my fingers itching to wrap around that delicate vessel.

  Perhaps Mrs. Crossey sensed my eagerness because she pulled it back and said, a bit sternly, “With the gloves, I think. At least until we have a better idea of what you can do.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. I tugged on my gloves, and she extended the jewel once again.

  Taking it gingerly into my palm, I held it up for closer inspection. Its inner light brightened then faded again. “What an odd little thing,” I whispered as I stared, transfixed by the jewel.

  Her eyes twinkled. “It appears to like you. That’s a good sign. A very good sign, indeed.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  I glanced up from the edge of my bed, where I was admiring my new treasure. “I did. You told me to put the Faytling away and get some sleep.”

  She stood at the mirror over our wash basin and tied off her night braid with a ribbon. “Lucky guess.”

  It was a lucky guess. Nothing she’d said since we returned to our room had registered. Ordinarily I’d be happy for the conversation. It would be a welcome break from the usual silence that filled our room. But I couldn’t tear my attention away from the Faytling.

  I lowered my gaze back to the jewel and marveled at its smooth edges. Its delicate curves. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “When did you get your Faytling?”

  “Not till I was eighteen, at my initiation.”

  “Did you already know about the Guardians by then?”

  “I was eight or so when my mother first told me. I didn’t really understand it, though. She told me we had special jobs in the castle to take care of the Queen. I thought she was talking about being a maid in the kitchen.”

  “That’s all she told you?”

  “A little later, when I started collecting herbs, she told me that might be my special job, just like it was for her. She also told me it was fine to talk about herbs and the things we did with them at home but that I shouldn’t mention them to other people.” She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head, remembering. “She told me I knew so much about herbs people could become jealous and that it would be a kindness to spare them that. It’s embarrassing to admit that I fell for it. I was so gullible. I guess I just thought it was normal to have cabinets full of twigs and dried leaves and a mother who could whip up a special tea or poultice when you were sick. She knew so many recipes, and they were all up here.” She tapped her temple. “Never wrote down a single thing.”

  “Couldn’t you write them for her?”

  Marlie slumped forward and clasped her hands together. “I wish I had. I guess I thought she’d always be around.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wished I’d kept my question to myself.

  She smiled to reassure me. “It’s all right. It’s been years now. She and my father were both taken the same winter. They were older, you see. My mother used to call me her Twilight Child because I came so late.” She chuckled to herself. “I never cared about that, though. They loved me more than any parents ever loved a daughter, I’m quite certain of that.”

  “You’re lucky.” I meant it kindly, but there must have
been something in my voice that made her shift and change subjects.

  “Faytlings are wondrous things, aren’t they?” She was watching me gaze at the one in my hand. “So beautiful, and yet—”

  “Mysterious.”

  “Exactly. Such wondrous little things.”

  “I can’t stop looking at it. I’ve just never seen anything like it. The metal is so delicate, as if it’s woven somehow. And the stone. Does it look like it’s getting brighter to you? Does yours do that?”

  She flipped her braid to her back and strode toward me, her ivory chemise billowing behind. I thought she was going to pull her own talisman from her neck so we could compare, but instead she covered Mrs. Crossey’s Faytling with her hand. Careful not to touch me, but still blocking my view.

  “I’m serious about putting it away. It needs to get used to you before it’ll work properly.”

  Mrs. Crossey had mentioned the same thing, but it didn’t make sense. “How does metal and stone get used to someone?”

  “Don’t ask me.” She flipped her hand away. “It’s just how it works.”

  It wasn’t logical, but nothing about the Fayte Guardians seemed logical. Mrs. Crossey had told me not to fuss with the Faytling. To simply wear it overnight then to wear it to the Queen’s room in the morning.

  I’d agreed, but what I really wanted to do was take the thing in my bare hands and see what secrets I could pry out of it. These past few weeks, as my visions became clearer and more intense, the subtle yearning to peer into a past that didn’t belong to me, that desire to borrow a few fleeting moments of comfort, now clawed at me with ferocious hunger.

  I tried to get my mind off it by changing the subject. “That ceremony, it’s been happening like that since Boudica’s time?”

  Marlie dropped onto her bed. “They used to be far more interesting. The old stories say there were once threats from the other world that required the Lady’s direct intervention, but not anymore. The modern world pushed the sprites and pixies and all their kin too far out of reach.”

  “Sprites? Pixies? Is that what the Lady is?”

  “Of course not.” Marlie laughed. “Sprites and pixies are dull little things, barely smarter than troll or a goblin. No, the Lady is one of the Ancients. That’s what we call them. Others call them fairies or fay. She told us her people used to live on the island, long ago, before men arrived. They left before Boudica’s time, or at least most of them did. It’s hard to say. She never spoke much about it, and now she hardly speaks to us at all. Just enough to keep the Queen out of harm’s way.”