The night air bit my cheeks and my nose. I hugged my arms around myself but ventured on despite the cold.
The nearly full moon was high and illuminated the crisscrossing pathways to the fountain. I walked without a destination, without a purpose, simply trying to think of nothing at all.
Then I heard that familiar soft buzz. The one I had been hoping for. I stopped at the fountain’s edge and waited for her to settle.
“I’m happy for the company,” I whispered. I couldn’t see her yet, but I knew she was close. I could feel the familiar prickle of her attention.
But there was something else, too.
I searched the shadows and saw only the usual forms. The shrubs and statuary. The benches and paths. Were there still guards stationed beyond the wall?
“It’s probably just something drifting in the air,” I said to her.
There was a pause, then a silent question.
“I know it’s late. But I don’t expect I’ll sleep tonight.”
She dipped her head.
“I’ve made such a mess of things—” My voice caught. Again the image of Mrs. Crossey lying unconscious on the stairs vexed me.
I expected a condolence or some reassuring sentiment.
What my dragonfly conveyed was more like a slap.
“What do you mean you already knew?” I blurted. “How?”
What followed was a frantic dance.
“Slow down. You aren’t making sense. What about Mr. Wyck?”
“Why don’t you ask me yourself?”
I froze at the sound of the throaty voice behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find him standing not ten feet away, his head cocked to one side, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his wool coat. A regular coat, I noted. Not the velvet costume I’d last seen him in. The hat was gone, and his hair was tucked beneath a cap, not a tricorn. “I didn’t know you were there,” I mumbled.
“So I gathered.”
He chuckled or scoffed; I didn’t know which.
“What I mean is that…” I stopped. What did I mean? Before I could decide, my dragonfly alighted from her spot and flew away.
No, she was doing something else. I stared with increasing horror as she flew directly at Mr. Wyck and circled his head.
He ducked and bobbed and tried to avoid what he was interpreting as an attack. And he laughed. A full belly laugh to which I couldn’t help but smile.
“Is it always like this?” He dodged another pass.
“No, actually. She’s never like this. Dragonfly, stop this instant.”
To my surprise, she obeyed and came to rest on my shoulder. I stared at her and waited for an explanation. But she only sat primly, stared at me, and sent one simple message: “Listen to him.”
“What is that? Your pet?”
Mr. Wyck’s questions weren’t unreasonable, but I sneered anyway. “She’s hardly a pet. She’s a dragonfly.”
As if that explained anything.
“I can see that,” he grumbled. “Yet she seems rather fond of you. I’ve never seen a dragonfly act like that before.”
Was she fond of me? I suppose she was, just as I was of her. Did that make me her pet? The prospect might have amused me if my heart weren’t so heavy.
“You know they call you the dragonfly maid behind your back.”
“Who calls me—” No, I wasn’t going to let him goad me into an argument. I had no wish for one, not tonight. “Why are you here, Mr. Wyck?”
He looked away, to the darkness beyond the castle wall. “Not sure exactly. I thought I might find you here, though.”
“You did?” I bristled.
“Why are you out so late?”
He was trying to sound sharp and disapproving, but I could hear hesitation in his voice.
“I needed some fresh air. It helps me think.” I hugged myself, though it was admittedly a futile attempt to stave off the cold.
He noticed. “You must be freezing. Here.” He shook off his coat and covered the distance between us in long, brisk strides before draping the coat around my shoulders.
My breath stopped at the nearness of him. The warmth and the smell of dirt and hay that clung to him. Stable smells I hadn’t noticed in the ballroom. When he moved back, I stared at the ground. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He was watching me, and for the first time, he didn’t look to be on the verge of grumbling something sarcastic. For the first time, he looked… kind.
My dragonfly buzzed at my ear, urging me, in her way.
“I suppose I owe you an apology.” I fumbled with the edges of the coat. Holding it close like this reminded me how it had been with him on the dance floor. The two of us moving in unison, so effortless, so… I winced. I couldn’t—shouldn’t—think that way. I did not enjoy this closeness. I couldn’t let myself.
“Oh?” His curiosity was piqued.
My dragonfly buzzed again. Just say it. Say it and be done with it.
Fine. Stop hounding me.
I met his gaze. “I believed you wanted to hurt the Queen.” The words rushed out of me. “I thought you wanted to hurt her, and that you were the one who killed that girl, and that maybe you wanted to kill me, too. I know it sounds crazy, but Mrs. Crossey told me… It doesn’t matter what she told me. But I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
My dragonfly flew a full circle around my head then paused, giving me a good long look. You did the right thing. Then she flew away.
She might be pleased, but I was quite sure Mr. Wyck felt differently. I expected him to be angry, or at least annoyed. Instead he let his head drop back, and he stared at the stars above.
“Did you hear what I said?”
He looked at me. “I heard you.”
Was he angry? But he looked more perplexed than angry.
“I was just thinking it was strange because I owe you the same apology.”
“You do?”
He stared off to that faraway place again. “I thought you intended to hurt the Queen. That’s why I was sent here, to
