Dragonfly Maid

by D D Croix

  At no time was there a mention of what ailed me, and my questions about what had happened were outright ignored.

  By the third day, I was too restless to remain in bed, so I rose and was happy to discover my limbs were up to the task. As a precaution, I moved slowly and kept hold of the side table.

  The room shifted and tilted at first, but it steadied soon enough. I counted it a victory when I released the table, lifted my chin, and squared my shoulders. Up and out of bed for the first time in days. A victory, indeed.

  The longer I stood, the stronger I felt.

  I made my way to the vanity table and lowered myself onto the tufted velvet cushion in front of it. I hardly recognized the reflection in the mirror. Tendrils had worked themselves out of the long braid that fell down my back and curled into frizzy coils at my cheeks and forehead. My face was so pale it might actually be gray, and there were shadows beneath my eyes and the hollows in my cheek that hadn’t been there before. I looked like someone had wrung me like a wet dish towel, and I felt as limp as one, too.

  That had to change.

  I pulled my braid forward and untied the ribbon keeping it in place. I loosened the curls with my fingers then went to work with a silver hairbrush that sat beside the mirror. I hoped its owner wouldn’t mind.

  A knock at the door stopped me.

  It was too early for Mrs. Crossey or Marlie, so it must be Dr. Holland. “Yes. Come in.”

  The door opened and when I turned to greet the good doctor, I was stunned into silence at the sight of the wide and dark wool skirt of a diminutive woman. I scrambled to my feet and lowered into a clumsy curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

  My mind raced with reasons why she might enter this room. Was my stay unauthorized? Was I trespassing? I chided myself for getting so comfortable in a place where I certainly didn’t belong.

  “I’m so sorry,” I added hastily.

  She guided the door closed and waited for it to latch before saying, “What on earth do you have to be sorry about, child?”

  For being here, for not being in the kitchen, for the calamity in the Rubens Room. A thousand answers tumbled through my mind, but nothing passed my lips.

  She moved to the window and pulled back the curtains, then muscled the lever that pivoted the glass so the afternoon breeze flowed in. “That’s better. You cannot recover in stale air.”

  A chill filled the room. I pulled the sleeves of my sleeping chemise down to my wrists and peeked up between my brows to see she was standing at the end of the bed, taking stock of the food tray on the table and the pillows pushed haphazardly around the bed. She frowned. “Are they keeping you fed and comfortable?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” My head still tilted downward but I tried to gauge her expression.

  “And Dr. Holland? Has he kept an eye on you?”

  Again I nodded and replied yes.

  “Is there anything else you require?”

  The way her fingers laced and unlaced at her waist, I was quite sure she was as uncomfortable as I.

  “No, ma’am. I’m quite well.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then I was rather hoping you could answer a few questions for me. I’m having some difficulty understanding certain events.”

  Her gaze probed mine.

  I held my blankest look. If no one else had told her the truth, I surely shouldn’t be the one. Who was I, after all?

  But all the lies and secrecy had put her in danger. They had put all of us in danger. Something had to be said. “What do you wish to know, Your Majesty?”

  For the next half hour, I told her what I knew of the Fayte Guardians who protected her from the shadows and the monster who had come after her—leaving out the fact he had called himself my father. I half expected her to dismiss my words as the ravings of a fevered mind.

  She didn’t.

  She merely settled herself on the edge of the bed, folded her hands gently in her lap, and took in every word.

  It was cathartic, in a way, to share these burdens, even if it didn’t lighten them.

  When I finished, the Queen rose and moved to the window again. She stared out over the eastern view, the early afternoon sun making a halo over the smooth sweep of her sandy-brown hair, ornamented with a simple square of lace pinned above her chignon.

  I shifted on the stool as the silence between us lengthened. “Perhaps I said more than I should have,” I muttered, wishing I had been more judicious in my telling.

  “No.” She turned back, and the light from the window silhouetted her features. “I appreciate your candor, however much it may strain one’s understanding. And rest assured, the Prince and I will be discussing this efficiency campaign of his.”

  A sound at the door stopped her. When the physician opened it and saw her, he stepped back.

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty. I shall come back.”

  “No, Doctor. Your timing is fine. I was just leaving.” She turned to me. “I am pleased to know you are recovering well. If there is anything you require, do let it be known, and it shall be provided.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered. I rose and curtsied again.

  The doctor watched the Queen until she disappeared through the door that he held for her. He closed it, and his weighty gaze returned to me. “So, Miss Shackle, how are you feeling?”

  The Queen had come to see me. Me! I was at once elated and panicked. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  The man smoothed the few strands of hair he had left at the freckled top of his head and scrutinized me for a long moment. “I see you’re out of bed.”

  I stared at the vanity table. Recounting what I knew to the Queen was like reliving the ordeal all over again, but there was still so much I didn’t know.

  “If you would, Doctor, would you tell me what’s wrong with me? Why am I here?”

  He fished around in his satchel and pulled on the pair of black leather gloves he’d taken to wearing during his visits. I’d never said anything to him, so I could only imagine what he’d been told. “Just a precaution after your swoon,” he said. “Nothing more. Are you in any pain?”

  Not that I could pinpoint. Just the same familiar ache where my heart should be. “No, I feel fine.”

  He bent over me and took a long look into my eyes. Asked me to follow his finger. Asked me to lift my arms, bend my elbow, extend each leg and bend it. Then he held his chin and sucked in his lips. “I would say I’m looking at a perfectly healthy young woman.”

  Healthy? Maybe. But perfect? Not even close.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The next morning, I arrived early to our familiar corner of the kitchen, hoping to avoid any commotion or questions about my absence. Mrs. Crossey was already at the stove, stirring a batch of what smelled like porridge.

  A line of freshly baked loaves lined the worktable. I took up a knife and went to work slicing them for the Servants’ Hall breakfast table.

  “Welcome back,” she said when she noticed me behind her. “You’re in quite fine order this morning.”

  “I tidied up before I left the room. Stripped the bed and left the linens for the chamber maid. I can collect them, though, if you think I should. I didn’t know what was appropriate.”

  “Calm yourself, dear. It’s all right. You needed the rest. Everyone agreed.”

  Who agreed? I wanted to know but the morning cooks and kitchen maids were drifting in now, so I focused on the loaves and then, when they were done, moved on to a mound of potatoes that needed peeling for the servants’ evening stew.

  When I reached the bottom of the pile and set the pot of water and potatoes on the stove for Mrs. Crossey, she frowned at me. “Perhaps this is a bit too much too soon. Why don’t you take a break?”

  “I feel fine.” The truth was, I didn’t feel fine. Not at all. I was going through the motions, but nothing felt right. It was as if I were moving underwater. Sounds were muted. My thinking was muddled. “Maybe a bit of fresh air would feel good.”

  “Of course it would.
Take as long as you need.”

  I removed my apron and hung it from a handle on the worktable before making my way out to the terrace.

  The outside air was crisp, and the sun was beginning to break through the gray blanket of clouds. I settled on the bench and looked out over the field and wished for my dragonfly.

  I missed her.

  I knew she was so much more than my dragonfly now, and I knew I should be happy that she’d been freed from her curse. She was back where she belonged.

  But would I ever see her again?

  At the creak of the door, I wiped away the tears that had invaded my eyes and tried to breathe.

  “Mrs. Crossey said I might find you here.”

  It was Marlie.

  “Yes, I’m here.” I coughed away what was left of that stray emotion.

  “It’s good to see you up and about. It’s been lonely in the room without you, though I’m sure it’ll seem quite humdrum to you now that you’re accustomed to such luxurious accommodations.”

  “Honestly, I’ll be happy to be back in my own bed.”

  It was true. I’d even missed Marlie’s company, and no one was more surprised by that fact than I.

  “Is something wrong?” She looked at me like I was keeping a secret, and perhaps I was.

  A month ago, I wouldn’t have considered asking her the question that was nagging at me. A month ago, I never would have breathed a word about anything to anyone but my dragonfly, and on this topic I probably wouldn’t have breathed a word even to her.

  But there was a smile and an understanding in Marlie’s eyes that somehow made it all right. And she knew so many of my secrets now. Nearly as many as Mrs. Crossey. Still I couldn’t quite meet her gaze when I asked, “Have you seen Mr. Wyck?”

  The look that came over her told me she knew it was not the casual question I was pretending it to be.

  “He’s made himself quite scarce. Even Abigail hasn’t seen him since… and, well, you know she tends to follow his whereabouts quite closely.”

  Actually, I didn’t know that. And now that I did, I regretted saying anything about him.

  “You should probably try the mews, though, if you need to speak with him. Do you need to speak with him?”

  She eyed me with that funny look of hers.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I was only thinking I hadn’t seen him since… I wanted to thank him is all. He was a great help. To all of us.”

  She sucked her lips against her teeth, trying to hold back a grin. “Just thank him? Are you sure that was it?”

  “What are you implying?”

  She shrugged without conviction. “I’m not implying anything.”

  “I should get back.” I stood and brushed imaginary dust from my skirt. “Mrs. Crossey will be wondering where I am.”

  Marlie scoffed. “That’s one way to change the subject.”

  I ignored her and grabbed the door handle. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of Mr. Wyck anymore anyway.”

  “Who knows what the future will bring?”

  The friendly glimmer in her eyes eased my consternation. “You’re right. Thank you.”

  “It’s what friends do,” she said.

  Friends, indeed. Perhaps for the first time I truly believed it.

  I went back to my table to find a bowl of white onions waiting, and I got to work.

  The afternoon passed in the blur of dinner preparations. Then later, as I wiped the table, cleaning away the accumulated residue of another day, Mrs. Crossey pulled up close.

  In a whisper, she said, “Meet me in Fayte Hall at our usual time, if you would.”

  I looked up, not without disappointment. It had been such a long day, and I was eager to slip into my own bed. Our mission was done, after all. The threat was gone. Couldn’t training take a night off? “I’m not sure what use I’ll be to you or anyone. It’s all I can do to stay on my feet.”

  The regret on her face looked sincere. Still she shook her head. “It’s necessary. I can’t say more, but I’ll explain tonight. I promise.”

  A promise? From Mrs. Crossey’s own lips. Well, that was something.

  ~ ~ ~

  I slept soundly that night, so soundly I nearly slept through my meeting with Mrs. Crossey. Marlie jostled me awake.

  “C’mon, sleepyhead. We have to get you-know-where.”

  “You’re coming, too?” I asked, half-awake.

  She answered by handing me my coat and putting her own around her shoulders before ushering me out the door.

  When we neared Fayte Hall door, I could hear voices within. A lot of voices.

  Marlie pulled it open, revealing robed figures everywhere. Twenty? Thirty? I tried to tally them all, but there were too many.

  Marlie removed her coat, grabbed a robe, and pulled it around herself. “Have you guessed why we’re here yet?”

  I shook my head dumbly.

  “C’mon.” She urged me toward the divining pool.

  “Wait.”

  We both turned. It was Abigail.

  I froze.

  “She’s going to need this.” Abigail took a robe from a hook and handed it to me.

  I looked at Marlie.

  She nodded as if she knew my thoughts. Yes, she’s a Fayte Guardian, too.

  I took the robe and tried to meet her gaze but only managed to stare at her hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I expected sarcasm, but there was none. And no bitterness. She turned and strode away.

  I hurried to catch up with Marlie.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  “I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her about you, either.”

  I glanced around. How many other faces did I know?

  Mrs. Crossey stood behind the pool in her purple robe. Beside her was a towering lanky man with his hood pulled low, but I knew him instantly. Rage burned inside me. “Why is Mr. MacDougall here?”

  “I know what you must think,” she said quickly. “But he was deceived along with the rest of us, perhaps even more so. There was a gathering while you were away, and it was decided he should become High Councilor, the position Mr. Bailey abandoned. People make mistakes, and they should be allowed the opportunity to atone for them.”

  I could hardly believe it, but who was I to question? “So Mr. Bailey is gone? What happened to him?” The last I’d seen of that man, he’d been chasing me down to the castle wall. “Was he forgiven, too?”

  Her expression clouded. “He fled that day. No one has seen him since, and it’s probably just as well. What he did—what he meant to do—could never be forgiven.”

  I took solace in that, but instead of saying so, I occupied myself by searching for other familiar faces. I recognized Pierre, the night cook, along with a few maids and footmen. And standing at the very edge of the temple room—watching me intently—was Mr. Wyck.

  I nearly stumbled over my own feet.

  “Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Crossey called over the pool. “Our guest of honor.”

  “I told you I’d get her here on time,” Marlie said.

  I leaned closer to Marlie. “Did she say, ‘guest of honor’?”

  “Yes, Jane, that’s exactly what I said.”

  My cheeks burned.

  “Come closer. Let me tell you why you’re here.”

  I looked again at Mr. Wyck, but he’d moved. I searched the room, but all the hoods were now pulled low.

  I gave up and moved to the pool.

  Mrs. Crossey clapped her hands loudly three times and the dozen or so people milling about straightened and, in near unison, formed a wide circle around the pool. Others quickly joined, filling in the empty spaces.

  Marlie left my side and took a place in the circle as well.

  “Come here, Jane,” Mrs. Crossey said.

  It was like being summoned to Mr. MacDougall’s office, only tenfold. My palms moistened beneath my gloves.

  I moved besid
e her. “What is this?” I tried to steady my voice, but I could hear it quaver. I was sure others could as well.

  “Haven’t you guessed?” Mrs. Crossey said. Her sly smile confused me.

  “Should I have?” I glanced at Marlie. Her eyes were obscured by her hood like the rest, but I could see her nibbling her bottom lip. She knew.

  “This is your initiation,” Mrs. Crossey said.

  I could say nothing, only stare dumbly at my mentor.

  “With your eighteenth birthday nearly upon us, I believe it’s time you had this.” She raised a Faytling in her hand. Was it the one I had thrown at the calliope? No, I could see that one—somehow repaired or duplicated—hanging from her neck.

  The one in her hand was a golden cylinder like her own, but its metal braided and swirled differently around the rose-colored crystal it encased.

  Mrs. Crossey lifted the talisman over her head and spoke words I didn’t understand, intoning them like prayer.

  Suddenly, a lavender mist rose from the pool and cascaded over the side to the floor. Mrs. Crossey dipped the Faytling into the mist then lifted it again above her head.

  “Through the pure wellspring’s touch, may the Lady grace the stone with guidance and wisdom, and allow it to protect our new Fayte sister in her…” A shimmer at her left stopped her and from that shimmer a form resolved. It was the Lady of the Fayte herself. Her long, white hair and the edges of her diaphanous gown floated weightlessly like smoky tendrils.

  Every Fayte Guardian dropped to one knee and bent their heads, including Mrs. Crossey.

  I did the same.

  I heard no movement, but I soon saw the swaying hem of her luminous gown in front of me.

  “Stand, Jane Shackle.” Her voice brushed over me like a feather.

  I glanced up and a corner of her rose petal lips quirked. “Do not be shy. You know me, remember?”

  The image of my dragonfly flashed through my mind. That steadfast, though sometimes exasperating friend who accompanied me on walks. The one who cheered me and consoled me and even chastised me at times.

  My cheeks and neck burned with shame as I thought back to how I’d treated her. “I don’t know what to say, but I should probably start by apologizing... I had no idea—”