by D D Croix
He was right. Even now my back prickled like someone was watching us. I glanced around, but I could see only shadows.
Was my dragonfly buzzing in the distance?
“Jane, is that you?”
I turned to see a dark figure turn the corner.
“It’s me,” I said, not sure if I should be relieved or worried that Marlie was out at this hour and in this strange place.
“Thank goodness.” She was winded. Frantic.
“What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you in bed?”
She grabbed her side, trying to catch her breath. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you—” She stopped and looked at Mr. Wyck as though seeing him for the first time. “Oh, am I interrupting?”
“No,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “He was helping me get to Fayte Hall.”
“He helped you what?” Concern pinched her forehead.
He stepped forward. “I’m Fayte, Balmoral Fayte, actually.”
“Oh?” I could see she wasn’t sure if she should believe him, and the way she stepped backward didn’t bode well.
“It’s true, and he’s not who you should be worried about. We saw Mr. Bailey at the divining pool. He was Converging, but not with the Lady. The pool, the crystals, they were all red.”
Her features froze. “You’re sure?”
I nodded.
“They were most certainly red,” Mr. Wyck added. “You may not be aware of the significance—”
She sneered. “I fully understand the significance. Thank you.”
I stepped between them and faced Marlie. “That’s not all. I know what he’s doing, or what he means to do. I touched his coat, and it was all there. Perfectly clear in the vision.”
Her eyes glinted with fear. “Is it bad?”
I nodded. “And he saw us. Not our faces because of the robes.” I looked down and realized I still had mine on. Somewhere along the way Mr. Wyck had shed his. I shimmied out of mine, wadded it into a ball, and tucked it under my arm. “He came after us, but we took one of the doors in the tunnel. It led us here.”
“Here?” She looked around. “Did he follow you?”
“Mr. Wyck whacked him over the head with a scroll, so we got a good lead on him. But we heard him enter the tunnel. I’m sure he’s trying to find us even if he isn’t sure who we are or where to look.”
Marlie grabbed her head with her hands. “Then why are you standing here? Get to our room!”
“You two go ahead. I’m going to keep an eye out.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “He’s a desperate man.”
Marlie leaned toward me. “It wouldn’t hurt to have someone watching your back.”
She was right, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to leave him behind.
Marlie stepped toward the castle and motioned for me to follow. “We need to go now.”
“She’s right.” He looked at me as though he could see everything—my face, my thoughts, my heart.
“I know.” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t know what and there wasn’t time. I straightened and pretended to be brave. “Be safe, Mr. Wyck.” Then I chased after Marlie.
~ ~ ~
Marlie checked the darkened hallway before closing the door to our room. “Are you going to tell me what happened back there?”
I struck a match and touched it to the nub that was left of our room’s candle. “What do you mean?” I already knew, of course. I just didn’t want to have this conversation.
The walk back from the garden, where we’d left Mr. Wyck, had been a silent one. We’d moved quickly through the grounds and the castle, avoiding the guards and other nighttime staff, and all that time I knew she had questions burning within her.
“We can start with your companion,” she said, “but I suppose that’s only the beginning of your adventures tonight.” She was teasing me, but there was something else to her tone as well. Irritation.
I knew what she wanted to know.
“I know what he’s going to do,” I said, still hardly believing what I’d seen in that vision. Still not quite trusting myself. “I know how Mr. Bailey plans to attack the Queen.”
The candle sputtered, making our shadows twist and bend along the wall.
“But the masquerade is over. Didn’t he miss his chance?”
“The ball was never his plan. He’s going to attack tomorrow—” I stopped, quickly calculating the hour. “Tonight, actually. When the calliope plays.”
“The thing they brought in crates?”
“It’s an instrument that runs on steam. That’s why it’ll work.”
Marlie still looked dubious. “Unless he plans to hurl those crates at her, I hardly see—”
“He’s going to fill it with water from the divining pool and it’ll make steam. That’s how it’ll work. He’s going to use the instrument to unleash that monster from the Other Realm.” The image I’d seen was too terrible to bear. I dropped onto my bed and covered my face with my palms.
She sat beside me, to comfort me. “Listen”—she was trying to be cheerful—“we can still stop it. Before any harm comes.”
“How?” I prayed she had an answer. I had already played through every scenario I could imagine and not one ended well. “The instrument is already in the castle. The performance is arranged. And who would believe a maid with a mad story like mine?”
She thought for a moment and kicked her feet like a child. “It’ll be all right,” she said at last. “We have the Fayte Guardians on our side. They’ll help. Mr. MacDougall will know what to do.”
I bit my lip.
She rose and paced the narrow space between our beds. “First thing in the morning, we’ll find him, and you can tell him what you saw.”
“We can’t,” I blurted. “We can’t tell him any of it.”
“Don’t be silly. We must.”
“We can’t”—I gulped hard—“because he was in the vision, too. Mr. Bailey and Mr. MacDougall are doing this together. And if Mr. MacDougall’s involved, others might be as well. We can’t trust anyone.”
I knew there were only two people I could trust, and one of them was staring back at me like I’d lost my mind. The other lay unconscious in a bed somewhere in the castle. “I need to see Mrs. Crossey. Before we do anything, I need to find her.”
“I don’t see how much help she’ll be if she isn’t awake.”
“Maybe. But I have to try.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
At dawn, I forced myself to dress, collect firewood from the cellar, and get myself to the Queen’s sitting room without screaming at the top of my lungs that traitors were inside the castle.
At least when I entered, Abigail was nowhere to be seen. Only Lady Bassey and Lady Wallingham were in attendance, sitting together near the window with knitting already in their laps. They glanced my direction when I opened the door and quickly glanced away again.
For a moment, I considered telling them what I knew. I could ask them, I reasoned, to beg the Queen to skip the evening performance, to tell her that her safety was at stake.
But they’d never believe me.
I had to get to Mrs. Crossey, and the faster the better. I dropped a log onto the grate, dumped the rest into the brass basket, and slipped out to the corridor again.
To my relief, it remained empty and silent. This was my chance.
Mrs. Crossey had to be in one of these rooms, but which? I went to the closest door and leaned my ear to it. Nothing. I tried the knob. It turned easily, and I pushed in to find the shades pulled wide and morning sunshine streaming in. The bed stood empty, untouched.
I moved to the next door and found the same.
At the fourth, I peered in to find an occupied bed. The drawn shades made it impossible to see who it was, but I took the chance. Quietly, I closed the door behind myself and tiptoed to the edge of the bed.
What a relief to discover those familiar fleshy cheeks resting against the pillows, that ruddy nose, and coils of silve
ry hair escaping from beneath her sleeping cap. Mrs. Crossey looked so peaceful, yet still so weak. I sank beside her, comforted by the nearness of her and realizing in a rush of emotion how much I’d come to depend on her and how close I’d come to losing her.
I forced back tears as I found her hand beneath the linens and removed my gloves. Then, lifting her Faytling from my neck, I cradled one of her hands with both of my own and the talisman nestled between us.
“Show me something that will help the Queen,” I said to her or the Faytling, or both. “Something, anything to stop the attack.”
Then I was falling. Spinning. Everything around me blurred until an image took shape. A hulking shadow that slowly resolved into a man. Tall and strong, with wide, hulking shoulders. Black hair, straight as a blade and long. The ends nearly reached his narrow waist, which was a stone-like gray, like his bare back and arms. From a wide leather belt hung a scabbard, his sinewy fingers wrapped around the hilt. Coal black trousers tucked into boots that skimmed his knees.
He was waiting, I knew, but for what? I sensed his impatience like heat from a flame.
He pivoted, slowly, revealing a smooth and muscular chest, the hard line of his jaw. Sharp chin. Sloped nose. Then, the fiery explosion of raging red eyes. Murderous eyes.
“Come closer, Jane.” The voice was a low rumble that shook me to my core. “Come to me.”
The spell broke.
I don’t know how.
Had he done it?
Had I?
I dropped Mrs. Crossey’s hand and pulled my fists to my chest, the Faytling still in my grasp.
Tears flowed down both cheeks faster than I could wipe them away, so I gave up, hung my head, and let them come.
“What’s all this now?”
The voice was soft and cracked from disuse.
Mrs. Crossey looked at me, her eyelids heavy, her lips twitching almost to a smile.
“You’re awake. Thank goodness you’re awake.” The words erupted in gasps. I wanted to grab her around the shoulders and bury myself against her. I wanted her to protect me from that vision, that man or creature or whatever he was.
“Who could sleep with so much racket?” This time she did smile, just a bit but enough that I knew she was teasing.
“Everything’s gone wrong, Mrs. Crossey. The Queen is in danger, and I was wrong—about Mr. Wyck, about the ball, about all of it. It’s all so much worse than I imagined.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed on me. “Slow down, dear. What’s the trouble now?”
Her calm stilled the tempest within me. I tried again. “The man, the one who attacked you, did you see him? Was it Mr. Bailey?”
She closed her eyes. “I didn’t see him.” When her lids fluttered open again, she stared past me. “By the time I knew someone was behind me, it was too late. I awoke in this bed last night with Dr. Holland hovering over me. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. Only that I’d fallen. Of course, I knew it was more than that, but he would say nothing else.”
“Were you hit? Were you pushed?” I was imagining all manner of violence.
“Pushed, I believe. There’s quite a bump where my head may have struck the edge of a step. Could have been worse, Dr. Holland said. I’m inclined to believe him, though the headaches are quite something. He told me to stay in bed for a couple of days to be sure nothing else develops.”
“Develops?”
“A fever, I suppose? Perhaps a rash? Honestly, I have no earthly idea what he meant. I can tell you I’ve had my fill of this room, though. I’d like to get back to my own, but he says that’s out of the question.” She looked from the bedpost to the vanity with the cabriolet legs and the matching wardrobe with inlaid mother-of-pearl roses adorning the doors. Furnishings befitting royalty, but I could see she wasn’t impressed by any of it. She shifted against the mattress. “One prefers one’s own things. I’m not even allowed my magazines,” she added almost as an afterthought.
“I can bring you anything you need.”
“I know.” She tapped the top of the bedlinen. “But what I need isn’t what’s important now. Tell me what you need.”
A simple question. Such a difficult answer.
I looked up at the coffered ceiling so she wouldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes. Emotion locked my throat. I shook my head. What had happened to me? How had I been reduced to a blubbering fool?
“Can you tell me what you saw when you held my hand?” Her voice was hesitant, as if she feared the answer.
I wanted to tell her about the shadowy man, but something told me I shouldn’t. I tightened my grip on the Faytling and did it anyway. “I saw someone, I think it was a man, but he had horrible red eyes.” The words came out in a gust, and once they were out, I could breathe. I felt free, but from what?
Her expression darkened. She stared at me, her expression blank. No, not blank, but intentionally void of the emotion I sensed churning within her. “Who was he?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I’ve seen him before. His eyes at least. At the tree on the Slopes. And I’ve seen them in dreams.”
Her fingers fluttered to her lips.
I sensed her fear, but I couldn’t stop. I had to tell her everything. “I think Mr. Bailey was Converging with him in Fayte Hall.”
She swallowed hard and maneuvered herself up until she was sitting upright, facing me. “Do you think? Or do you know?”
The blackness returned, the emptiness that wanted to swallow my words. And then I realized. I hadn’t seen him in Mrs. Crossey’s mind. He was inside my own. I could feel him there still.
But he couldn’t stop me. I wouldn’t let him.
My determination had the opposite effect on Mrs. Crossey, however. She shrank where she sat. Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed the saddest of sighs.
“Do you know who he is?” I whispered.
She didn’t look up, but she nodded. “He’s the one who came before. From the Lady’s world. But he’s not like the Lady. He’s… I had hoped never to hear of him again. I’d hoped he couldn’t hurt us. But it’s my fault he’s here. I allowed him into this world once long ago. And now he’s back.”
She opened the door? What Marlie had told me came back: the little girl scrying on her own. The monster she released. “You were the child…”
She looked past me, into the distance, over miles of time and heartache. I could imagine she was seeing the moment she had cracked open the world and let a monster in. A malevolent figure with flaming eyes. She had been the child who had changed everything.
“It was me. I started all of this. I betrayed the Lady of the Fayte. That must be why she turned her back on us.”
“But you were a child. You couldn’t know.”
“I was foolish. My scrying ability was still new, and I was so confident. So sure of its power. The Lady came to me easily in those first days. She filled me with her knowledge and her purpose. My parents warned me to be careful, especially my mother. She was the Windsor Scryer before me, but my ability quickly surpassed hers. It frightened her. She told me not to use my power, to wait until an Elder could properly train me. I didn’t listen. I thought she was jealous of my power.”
She winced as if that memory pained her most. “She was trying to protect me,” she said at last, “but I was too ignorant to know it. So, I scried in secret. In the woods. That’s where he tricked me. If only my mother hadn’t followed me that day—” She broke off, squeezed her eyes closed, and pressed a knuckle to her lips.
I waited as patiently as I could until she continued.
“If she’d let him take me, perhaps that would have saved her. But she broke his binding—powerful though it was—before he claimed me. She was strong enough to do that, but it took everything she had to force him back to his world. He must have found another way. I should have known it that day on the Slopes. I felt him, I just didn’t want to admit it.”
My memory shot back to that moment with her on the path. That’s what had happened. Th
ose red eyes, those smoky tendrils. I had felt him invading me. Wrenching me apart from the inside, claiming me.
“Is that what he was trying to do to me? Possess me as the Lady possesses you? Is that what he wants to do to the Queen?”
“Whatever he wants, he will take it and keep taking it. He could take this entire empire, if he chose.”
I thought of the dead girl on the Slopes. “The village girl?”
“I believe so.”
I sat still, too stunned to speak. Too stunned to move.
She straightened again, as if filled with new purpose. “But why did you go to Fayte Hall? Did you know he would be there?”
I looked away. I had never told her of my dragonfly, and I wasn’t sure I should now, but there had already been too many secrets. “A dragonfly told me to go.”
The look that came over Mrs. Crossey was something more than surprise. She tilted her head to the side as though considering my words carefully. “A dragonfly told you to go?”
I nodded. “I know it sounds silly, but—”
She raised her palm to stop me. “A dragonfly speaks to you?”
“In a way. She comes to me when I’m outdoors.”
Mrs. Crossey’s eyes widened. “This wasn’t the first time?”
“She visits often. She always has.”
“Always?”
I nodded, suddenly sheepish.
“Since Chadwick Hollow?” she asked.
I nodded again.
“When was the first time?”
“I can’t remember exactly. I’ve never told anyone about her before.” I thought of Lucas. He had guessed it, but that wasn’t the same. Was it? “She was my secret. One of them…”
“I see,” she said in the way Headmistress Trindle used to when I would explain that I preferred to read in the library instead of playing with the other girls. Or when I would rise before dawn to walk among the trees in the early morning light.
“What does she say to you?” she asked.
“She doesn’t speak exactly, but I understand her.” At least I thought I did.
“Has she told you to do other things?”