Dragonfly Maid

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 asked. “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