Читать книгу The Fairytale Trilogy - Valerie Gribben - Страница 12

“I must admit, Marianne, there is no better way to travel,” said Robin, grinning broadly as he lay on his back. Above them, luminescent stars and silver clouds moved silently in a timeless ballet with the bright, full moon. “By the way, where do you suppose we are headed?” asked Robin, propping himself up on one hand.

Marianne shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea, and I really don’t care. All I know is that I’ve been blessed with good company,” she said.

“Did you even bring anything?” Robin asked, sitting up. “I’m not all that materialistic, but money has this annoying tendency to be important when you’re traveling.”

“Whatever I packed doesn’t matter now,” said Marianne, righting herself as well. “My belongings are sitting in my bedroom, which is now scores of miles from here.” Marianne looked around at the passing sky. “Thank goodness,” she murmured.

“I take it that your upbringing was similar to mine. Long on demands on their part, short on results on my part. I don’t think anybody’s ever told me that I was good for anything,” said Robin, staring listlessly at his boot.

“Such a departure from the loving, nurturing relationships I’ve experienced,” replied Marianne drolly.

Robin gave a hollow laugh. “The last time I visited Kingbriton Manor, Neville and Beatrice spared no words in expressing their total dissatisfaction with me. This time, their displeasure reached new lows. In two years, I have failed to grow a foot taller, befriend the heir to the throne, court five ladies simultaneously, sprout blond hair, or change my name to Edward II. All told, I’m a failure.”

“In Neville and Beatrice’s opinion, the king himself would not have measured up sufficiently. To me, though, you’re a hero to commandeer a dragon and fly us to safety,” Marianne countered. “You are undoubtedly the most fearless person I’ve ever met. And I’m not saying that because in a flash you could fling me off this dragon.” Marianne gestured dramatically.

“Don’t joke like that,” said Robin seriously. Marianne furrowed her brow. “I’ve always known that you were my only real kin. I won’t ever take you for granted. I guess that comes from nothing in my life ever having been certain. Except criticism, of course. And rain on the days when I want to take a ride,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Robin’s words hung drearily over their heads until Marianne piped up, “Robin, do you remember what our real parents were like?”

Marianne’s abrupt question caught Robin off guard and before he could restrain himself, pent-up words found their way out. “I don’t recall very much. I’ve always wished I could summon back more than the fuzzy images and scattered voices that come through my head like short flashes of lightning,” said Robin, sadness creeping into his voice. “I sometimes wake up at night with these pictures of Mother and Father that are so realistic, I feel like I can talk to them. But at dawn, they fade away like the dreams they are. I remember that Mother had this lilting voice like mist over flowering fields. She had black hair so long that it came down to her waist, and I could reach up and pull on it when I wanted something.” Robin smiled at the recollection. “Father, on the other hand, always had his light brown hair cut short because of his military service. I can remember him practicing his swordsmanship while dinner was cooking. He’d take me out to the bridge behind our house and I’d sit on the post while he fought with imaginary foes. Once he handed me the sword, and it was so unexpectedly weighted, I fell over backwards and skinned my arm. Mother gathered me up in her arms and doctored my scrape.” Robin carefully stroked his left arm. “There isn’t even a scar.” Robin gave a small laugh.

“I wish I were old enough to remember them,” said Marianne. Robin then pretended to find something remarkably interesting in the night sky so as not to see Marianne wiping away her tears.