Dragonfly Maid

by D D Croix

  “Why do they care so much about our Queen?”

  Marlie shrugged. “It’s the promise she made to Queen Boudica. As long as there are Fayte Guardians pledged to serve, the Lady will offer her guidance and gifts. It’s the Fayte Covenant.”

  “Gifts, like talents?”

  “I suppose. But honestly, most Guardians can’t even remember how to use their talents, if they ever had any at all. Mostly what we do is keep the Queen healthy and in good spirits. When more is required, a properly placed guard usually suffices. The time that fellow tried to shoot the Queen when she was pregnant with Princess Vicky, for instance.”

  My head snapped up. “I heard about that. Edward Oxford was his name, wasn’t it? The newspapers said he was too simple for ill intent.”

  Marlie rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Sure, that was the story. The Fayte Guardians made sure he didn’t succeed. Same thing with that boy Jones, and there were a few others. But this threat, the one Mrs. Crossey has seen, is so vague. It’s strange.”

  I turned the Faytling over in my hand. It was all very strange, indeed. “So, after I wear this, what will it do?”

  “Hard to say. Some people say they don’t do anything anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  She yawned and shrugged. The late hour was catching up to her. “Supposedly the stones are cut from crystals in the Lady’s own realm. They’re supposed to amplify the natural gifts of those with Fayte blood, but like I said, no one really believes that anymore. Mrs. Crossey is about the only Guardian left who does. Most of them think the magic died away when the Lady stopped Converging with us. Some don’t believe it ever existed.”

  I held up the jewel and stared. “What do you believe?”

  After a long pause, she answered. “I know the legends and I’ve heard the stories, but I’ve never seen anything like what happened at the divining pool today. I don’t think I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. How did you do it?”

  The awe on her face startled me. “I don’t know. I didn’t try to do anything. I just did what Mrs. Crossey asked me to do.”

  She nodded, as though my answer made sense to her. I wish it made sense to me. “So, your Faytling doesn’t do anything?” I asked.

  Gently she took hold of her talisman and cradled it in one hand. A dreamy look came over her. “I think it does. When I’m collecting roots and herbs for a remedy, sometimes it sort of glows and I can sense it, as if it’s guiding me somehow.” Then she snapped out of it. “I’m probably just imagining it, though.”

  “Maybe, but who’s to say? You can’t be too careful when the Queen gets indigestion.”

  That made her laugh, and I laughed, too. It felt surprisingly good. When had I last laughed like that? I couldn’t even remember.

  When the room was quiet again, Marlie asked, “If tonight was any indication of the kind of Fayte power inside you, it will be very interesting to see the effect the Faytling has on it. Whatever strengths you already possess, I imagine they’re going to get stronger.”

  “My strengths?”

  “The things you’re good at. Your gifts.”

  I nearly laughed again at that. What was I good at? Not much, unfortunately. Maybe lying. Stealing. Keeping secrets. I smirked but said nothing, just closed my fingers more tightly around the jewel. The visions were already getting stronger, and Mrs. Crossey had already warned I might lose control. Cold fingers scraped down my spine. “Do you think it could be harmful?”

  “I don’t think so.” She stepped away from me and went to her bed. With one hand, she pulled back her covers, and with the other, she again touched the place on her chest where her own Faytling rested beneath the fabric. Was it for comfort or courage? “Just wear it,” she said. “Then we’ll see.”

  “You’re right. We’ll have to wait and see.” I lowered the black leather lace around my neck, dipped the pendant beneath my collar, and slipped into bed.

  But something else tugged at my thoughts. “Before the ceremony, when you tried to leave, why did Mrs. Crossey stop you? Why can’t she do the ceremony by herself?”

  Marlie rolled onto her side toward me. “I’m sure she can, but it’s against the rules. Not just for her, but for anyone.”

  “Why? Is it dangerous?”

  Her lips twitched. “I’ve never seen anything that was dangerous, but something happened a long time ago. No one talks about it, but I’ve heard stories about a young scryer, just a little girl still new to her talent, who was trying to communicate with the Lady but who welcomed in someone—or something—else by mistake.”

  “Who was it?”

  Marlie shook her head. “No one knows, but it frightened the Council enough that when they found out, they prohibited any scryer from ever Converging alone after that.”

  “It’s never happened again?”

  “No, it can’t. But like I said, we shouldn’t be talking about it. Please don’t mention it to Mrs. Crossey. I’ve probably said too much already.”

  Why did everything have to be so secretive? I knew it was an argument I wouldn’t win, so I wished her a good night, closed my eyes, and tried to fall asleep.

  Despite my efforts, all my questions still burned like flames within me. There was so much I didn’t know, but there was knowledge in the Faytling. I sensed it.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but at the sound of her soft snores, my resolve weakened. I ignored the common sense telling me to be patient and the voices of Mrs. Crossey and Marlie telling me to leave it alone.

  Something else whispered, go on… touch it.

  So I did.

  With my bare fingertip, I stroked the cold metal filigree once and waited.

  I ran another finger across it, then two.

  Nothing.

  I wrapped all four fingers and my thumb around the talisman, nestling it in my palm. I half braced and half begged for a vision.

  Absolutely nothing.

  I let it go and rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling, disappointed and frustrated, until sleep finally took me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My new daily routine deviated little over the next few days. Wake with the first morning bell, collect firewood for the Queen’s sitting room, help Mrs. Crossey prepare the servants’ morning meal, start the servants’ evening meal, return to the Queen’s room to collect the afternoon tea service, and finally help Mrs. Crossey finish the servants’ evening meal before being released for the day.

  Then, after snatching a couple hours of sleep, the real work began at midnight.

  The first night we descended to the Library and spent our time testing the accuracy of my visions. I’d never had reason to doubt them, but Mrs. Crossey wanted to be convinced.

  To begin, she produced an assortment of items from her pocket that belonged to individuals I’d never met. An ivory pipe that had belonged to her father, a silver spoon from a neighbor, and buttons that were the property of various royal attendants. She seemed relieved, if not outright pleased, when I correctly identified each owner.

  The second night she pulled out the same items with new instructions: instead of sifting through the past to discern an identity, I was to look into each owner’s future. That effort proved less fruitful. With each attempt, the visions only led to the past, no matter how much I tried.

  “Let’s try something different,” she said after several failed attempts. “What does the belonging tell you about the owner? Do you sense any emotion? Happiness or sadness? Anger or frustration?”

  Although thoughts, feelings, and occasionally sensations had been accompanying the visions produced from my memory box trinkets for weeks now, those produced by Mrs. Crossey’s items were scattered at best, even with the Faytling gripped tightly in my fist. Her father’s pipe rendered only a vague, forlorn feeling. The spoon, a surge of eager, happy thoughts centering on the sweet smell of ripe strawberries. The buttons produced nothing discernible at all.

  The one emotion all the tri
als shared, however, was Mrs. Crossey’s disappointment—in me—though she tried to hide it behind kind and encouraging words.

  After two hopeless hours, she sent me back to bed with a reminder to keep the Faytling close and not to be discouraged. “Even a natural-born gift requires practice to master,” she said. “You have only begun to master yours.”

  Perhaps if she hadn’t been so agreeable, I wouldn’t have lain awake wondering what I was doing wrong. And perhaps if I hadn’t lost so much sleep, I wouldn’t have stumbled on the edge of a rug the next day and nearly dropped the tray that held the Queen’s empty teapot and cups. I watched in horror as a handful of silver teaspoons bounced over the tray’s edge and tumbled across the carpet.

  Luckily, the Queen was already off to the stables for her afternoon ride, so only her ladies and Abigail witnessed my mistake. The latter wasted no time rubbing it in.

  “Do pay attention,” she whispered harshly when she came up beside me.

  “Of course,” I said, embarrassed and angry at my clumsiness. I already suspected she’d been placed in the sitting room for the sole purpose of spying on me. I imagined the delight she’d take in relaying this bit of news as I bent to collect the scattered spoons.

  As I was on the floor, the door opened. I shot up, expecting to see the Queen, but it was only a page. At least I assumed it was a page, for I could see nothing more than the top of a black cap over a tower of dress boxes.

  “What, pray tell, is that?” inquired Lady Bassey, who looked up from her knitting needles where she sat beside the window.

  “A special delivery, madam,” came a boy’s voice from somewhere behind the packages. “Costumes for the ball.”

  “Our costumes!” Lady Wallingham jumped up from where she sat across from Lady Bassey.

  Before the boy could set down the stack, she was beside him, searching for a tag.

  “Which is mine? Oh, I hope the dressmaker used the golden silk. A proper Cleopatra must have golden silk.”

  She lifted a box and read the card. “Lady Merrington? But she’s not even here. Why does she get a costume?”

  “Set it aside,” Lady Bassey instructed in her usual matronly way. “Now let’s have a look at what we have.”

  The two of them pounced on the remaining boxes like kittens with a new ball of string.

  Soon, both were holding up exquisite gowns—a white and pale rose ensemble suggesting a Greek toga for Lady Bassey, and for Lady Wallingham, one of golden silk studded with turquoise and carnelian jewels around an Egyptian-inspired collar.

  Both costumes were such marvels of construction it was difficult not to stare, but as Abigail was preoccupied with tidying a cabinet on the far side of the room and the ladies were engrossed in their gowns, I gravitated toward the mantel and the photograph of the Queen and her mother.

  If ever there was an opportunity, this was it.

  My fingers drifted to my chest, where the Faytling rested beneath my white pinafore and black frock. I tugged it over my collar and held it tightly in my gloved hand. After trying all night with Mrs. Crossey’s random belongings, I couldn’t resist the urge to see what I might learn from something that belonged to the Queen.

  I told myself it was in Her Majesty’s best interest. I’d pledged to protect her, after all, and to use my visions in that effort. Having a better understanding of her past would only help in that pursuit, wouldn’t it?

  At least that’s how I justified my trespass, even if I couldn’t quite silence the part of myself that knew I wanted to do it anyway.

  I checked behind me. The women were still engrossed in the costumes, so I carefully pulled the cord from beneath my collar and freed the talisman.

  “What should I do with Lady Merrington’s box?” Lady Wallingham asked as I worked off both gloves and wrapped my bare right hand around the golden cylinder.

  I reached for the silver frame with my left, watching both ladies and Abigail over my shoulder to be sure they paid no attention to me.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Lady Bassey pressed her gown to the front of herself and swayed back and forth. “The Queen can sort it out later.”

  “The Queen can sort out what?”

  At the sound of that feminine yet commanding voice, I whipped around. Yet I had neglected to remove my hand from the talisman, and in my haste ripped the cord from my neck. Horrified, I watched as the golden Faytling dropped to the floor. Quickly, I stepped in front of it to hide it from view and curtsied with the others.

  The Queen frowned and straightened to her full yet still diminutive height. “So, you approve of the dresses, do you?” A shadow of a smile tugged at her pale cheek.

  “Oh yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Wallingham gushed. “The Cleopatra gown is exquisite.”

  “And you, Lady Bassey? Does your costume meet with your approval?”

  Lady Bassey, composed as always, lowered again into a formal curtsy even as she continued to hold the gown to her breast. “A splendid and unexpected gift, ma’am. Your generosity is most appreciated.”

  The compliments brought satisfaction to the Queen’s lips, and since she didn’t look my way, I managed to shuffle the talisman and its cord along the floor with the toe of my boot to a place behind the table until I could retrieve it.

  The Queen turned to the page standing beside the door. “Is there something you require, young man?”

  The boy stared straight ahead, straining not to make eye contact with his sovereign. “The Lady Merrington’s gown, Your Majesty. Shall I remove it?”

  The Queen glanced at the unopened box and waved her hand. “Yes, take it to her room. Thank you.”

  The boy bowed, collected the box, and disappeared through the door. But as the door closed behind him, someone on the other side caught it and pushed it open again. It was a man sporting a bushy rim of black hair that dipped down into an impressive pair of mutton chop sideburns. He bowed deeply.

  “Your Majesty, you summoned?”

  “Mr. Galding. Yes, do come in. I understand you have been making inquiries at the Crystal Palace on our behalf, yet I don’t recall asking you to do so.” She proceeded to a deeply cushioned chair with a pleasant view of the Quadrangle, then settled into it with a good degree of fussing and shifting of her voluminous skirts.

  When she was done, she appeared entirely at ease, but the same could not be said for poor Mr. Galding. The man’s cheeks had turned crimson and his forehead slick with perspiration. The way he gripped and abused the brim of his top hat, I wondered if it would ever recover.

  Somehow, despite his shaky demeanor, the man managed to approach her and bow. “Your Majesty, I have done so at the request of the Master of the Household by way of his deputy.” His voice wavered. “I was asked to secure an entertainment that I was assured would please you and His Royal Highness. A sort of a surprise, you see.”

  While all eyes remained on the Queen and Mr. Galding, I bent down and grabbed the Faytling. I tucked it out of sight before rising quickly, thrusting my hands into my pockets, and scanning the room to see if anyone noticed. Mr. Galding still stared at the Queen. The Queen stared at Mr. Galding. The ladies-in-waiting stared at them both.

  Abigail, however, stared directly at me.

  She fixed me with a venomous glare. “What did you pick up just now?” she whispered.

  “Nothing,” I whispered back and prayed the fiery burn on my cheeks didn’t give me away.

  She appraised the tea tray—the cups, the teapot, the sugar bowl, the silver spoons. She frowned when she discovered nothing missing. “I saw you pick up something. Is it in your pocket, you good for nothing thief?”

  I froze. I couldn’t tell her about the Faytling. She’d never believe it was mine.

  “Girls!”

  We both whipped around at Lady Bassey’s reproach.

  “What’s this?” The Queen’s question was directed at us.

  Abigail and I hung our heads and muttered apologies. Lady Bassey motioned Abigail closer and whispe
red something in her ear, which sent the girl off toward the door. She shot me a final sneer before departing.

  Then the ladies’ attention went back to the Queen, and hers returned to Mr. Galding.

  “Tell me of this entertainment.” She held the man in her icy gaze.

  “It’s an instrument, you see.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “A remarkable machine that transforms steam into music. The inventor calls it a calliope, and he intends to debut it at the Crystal Palace. I was asked to, I mean, I was rather hoping to persuade the Palace’s director to allow me to borrow it for the ball.”

  The Queen frowned at first, then her eyes grew wide. She clasped her hands to her chest. “It’s a capital idea,” she gushed. “Did you hear that, ladies? An instrument that creates music from steam. Won’t His Royal Highness be pleased?”

  Lady Bassey set aside her gown. “Yes, two things he loves so dearly: music and machinery. I’m sure he will be delighted. Don’t you agree, Lady Wallingham?”

  The younger woman perked up from where she was standing in front of a mirror with her golden gown pressed to herself. “Oh, yes, Your Majesty. I do agree, indeed.”

  “It will be a marvelous addition to our masquerade,” the Queen said with smug satisfaction.

  Mr. Galding raised a short, chubby finger with some hesitation. “If I may, ma’am. I did express that wish to the director, but there is a problem.”

  The Queen’s amiability slid away. “What problem?”

  The ladies looked up from their preoccupation with their gowns. Mr. Galding again worked his hat brim through his fingers.

  “Be assured both the instrument’s owner and the director are eager to arrange the command performance,” he said. “But, you see, a pipe was damaged during the voyage from America. A replacement has been commissioned, but it will not be ready in time for the ball.”