Dragonfly Maid

day.”
But I didn’t want to leave the kitchen. At least here I didn’t have to speak to anyone but Mrs. Crossey. I didn’t have to be careful about what I said or did. I could keep to myself.
And char duties? It ranked even lower than scullery maid. Or was that the point? Instead of firing me, he was demoting me. It didn’t matter that I did more than just clean and stock Mrs. Crossey’s station as I was assigned. I cleaned and cut the vegetables, measured out the flour and salt, even helped with the biscuits when she let me.
It was extra work, sure, but I hoped it would lead to something better.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she reprimanded. “This will allow you to move around more freely. And to move around upstairs.”
My knife stopped mid-chop. “What difference would that make?”
“Come now. Isn’t it obvious?” At my blank look, she shook her head. “When you’re up there, you can use”—she raised her hands and wiggled her fingers.
So that was her plan? She wanted me to wander the castle in search of visions? I shook my head.
Her lips tensed in an angry line. Still whispering, she said, “You would prefer to stay down here and allow the Queen to be attacked?”
She practically spat the words, as though I should be ashamed. But why? I had nothing to do with these Guardians, or whatever they were. I was a girl hounded by visions I didn’t want who just wanted to be left alone. I stared at the onion in front of me, at the knife, at the constellation of notches and stains in the wood. I stared at anything so I wouldn’t have to meet the stare searing into the side of my skull. I wanted to tell her that, but I already knew the argument would get me nowhere.
Instead, I took what I hoped was a more practical approach. “My gift doesn’t work that way,” I said with strained control. “I see the past, not the future. Even if I wanted to do what you’re suggesting, I couldn’t. It’s impossible.”
She set down her copper bowl with a clatter. “I don’t believe it is impossible. Of course, we won’t know for sure until we begin your training.”
My head shot up. My forehead wrinkled. “What training?”
“Training that will help you learn control, for one thing. We’ll begin tonight. The sooner, the better, all things considered. Meet me in front of Mr. MacDougall’s office at midnight.”
Midnight? She couldn’t be serious. “I’ll be sleeping.”
She picked up a cleaver and a head of celery, and the blade landed with a thud, separating the white heart from the green stalks. “I understand it’s a sacrifice, but it’s necessary.” She gave me a look that drained my blood. “And not just for the Queen’s sake. Also for your own.”
I was about to challenge the point, but I stopped at the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned to see Mr. MacDougall approaching, his usual grimace aimed directly at us.
“Is everything satisfactory, Mrs. Crossey?”
She set down her cleaver and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes, I believe it is. Jane and I were just discussing her new duties.”
He skewered her with stony eyes. “As I mentioned, I don’t believe we’ll need to go to that trouble.”
She pulled her lips into a saccharin smile. “But it’s absolutely no trouble at all. Is it, Jane?”
I didn’t want to agree, but the look on her face gave me no choice. I shook my head.
His scowl deepened, and I knew he was envisioning all manner of violence against me.
“And since we’ve been so productive this morning, there’s no reason she can’t start this very afternoon.”
“Today?” Mr. MacDougall and I blurted in unison.
Mrs. Crossey clasped her hands at her chest. “Absolutely. I think it would be for the best.”
“I’m sure she isn’t ready.” The tightness in his voice caused a few nearby heads to turn.
“She’s as ready as she’ll ever be.”
How could she speak of me this way, as though I wasn’t standing right in front of her? “Don’t I get some say in this?”
A strange calm came over her, and she crossed her arms in the way Headmistress Trindle would when she was struggling to control her temper. “Of course you do, dear.” She stared at me, eyes widened, waiting for me to continue.
I shifted. I had her attention, but I had no idea what to do with it. “It’s all happening so fast,” I blurted. “Could we start tomorrow at least? So I can prepare myself?”
Mr. MacDougall’s long and spindly forefinger shot up. “Yes. Good idea. No reason to rush things. Perhaps a week would be better.”
I knew why I didn’t want to do it, but why didn’t he want me to do it? Why was he acting so peculiar?
“No,” I said. “I think a day should suffice.”
Mr. MacDougall scowled at me, but Mrs. Crossey grinned. “Very good. Then it’s settled. We’ll begin tomorrow.”
I waited for Mr. MacDougall to object, but he only gritted his teeth. “Tomorrow then,” he snapped. He turned on his heels and stalked away.
Across the room, I could hear him bellow for Abigail, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.

CHAPTER EIGHT
The rest of the afternoon and early part of the evening passed in a flurry of vegetable peeling and chopping, washing, and the usual clangor of a kitchen in the throes of preparing meals for the royal family, their guests, their household, and the legion of officers and servants who attended them. Though I was trying to keep my mind on my work, I wasn’t succeeding.
Somehow Mrs. Crossey and I managed to assemble the servants’ evening meal although she’d found fault with the dice of my carrot and the cleanliness of my station. My visits to the pantry were too long for her liking, and I’d handed her sugar when she’d requested salt—twice. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been roundly reprimanded, but today she only sighed and shook her head.
I