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 beside 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—”
She raised her pale white palm. “There is no need for that. I kept this secret from you. But tell me, have you missed me?”
There was that familiar twinkle of amused mischief.
“Of course. You were my friend.”
She dipped her chin. “I am still your friend.”
I grinned despite myself.
She straightened to her full height. “Rise, Jane Shackle, and let us look to the future now.”
I looked at the slender white hand she extended to me.
With her nod of approval, I slid my fingers over hers. They felt like silk. Her fingers wrapped around mine, and there was surprising strength in them. Beyond that, I felt nothing but peace. No vision, no tugging, no swirling.
Simple peace.
“Now,” she said. “Take your place among the Fayte, where you belong.”
Her words resonated within me. Where you belong. I looked around. I had never belonged anywhere. But now, in this unlikely place, I finally felt like I was home.
“I don’t know what to say.” It was the truth.
“There is no need to say anything.” She held my Faytling between both of her hands and a burst of violet light emanated between her fingers. She closed her eyes and her forehead creased in concentration. When her brow smoothed again, she opened her hands, revealing the Faytling resting there. The purple glow was gone, but the gold seemed to
