Alma and the Fairy by A. G. Marshall

Author:A. G. Marshall [Marshall, A. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avanell Publishing
Published: 2015-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

Roses are red, violets are blue

Salara’s eyes reflect indescribable hues.

Violets are blue, and roses are red.

Everyone here agrees with what I said.

Violets and roses. Red, purple, and blue.

Colors mean more when reflected by you.

He stepped back into the crowd. Lady Alma came forward, shorter than everyone in the room and as wide as she was tall. Her four chins jiggled as she walked.

Two courtiers pulled back my velvet blankets and satin sheets, and I stepped onto the carpet. Lady Alma raised an eyebrow at my wrinkled nightgown and tangled hair. I ignored her questioning gaze and walked to the center of the room. Light from every window blinded me as I stepped into the sunny spotlight. My hair reflected even more colors onto the wall, a dark rainbow of blue, purple, and green that drowned out the pink light from the wig.

Lady Alma snapped her fingers. Silver sparkles swirled around me until I could see outlines of the crowd, but no details. My nightgown disappeared. A red breakfast gown with a high collar and frilly sleeves replaced it. I gained two inches in height as shoes materialized under my feet. Jewelry appeared on my wrists, neck, and ears. My hair rippled in a breeze until the tangles from the sea wind became gentle waves hanging down my back.

The sparkles dissolved, and the courtiers gasped and applauded. Sir Quill pulled the feather from his cap, dipped it in the inkwell balanced on top of his head, and wrote. I followed Mother out of the room. Everyone bowed as I passed. Lady Alma walked directly behind me, and the courtiers trailed behind her in order of importance. The string quartet’s music faded as we walked down the hall, and a trio of flutes replaced it when we entered the breakfast room.

Father stood in the doorway. Mother took his right arm, and I took his left. Courtiers pulled out chairs for us at the breakfast table. We sat next to each other, facing a wall of windows with a view of the sea.

“I trust you had productive meetings this morning, Nicholas?” Mother said.

Father nodded and took a bite of oatmeal.

“Because you missed waking our daughter. Again. On the eve of her birthday.”

The low murmur of a crowd entering the room obscured his mumbled reply. Mother glared at them, and everyone fell silent. They stood behind a velvet ribbon held by guards and watched us eat.

“Is there any news from the Colonial Delegation?” I asked.

Perhaps they were delayed by bad weather and sent a message?

Father shook his head.

“I insist you sanction them if they do not arrive in time for our treasure’s birthday celebration,” Mother said.

“It isn’t their fault they’ve been delayed by the Dragon!” I said.

“Piracy is hardly suitable breakfast conversation, Salara,” she hissed.

Father ate his oatmeal and read a scroll of parchment.

A courtier escorted the crowd out of the room. A new group replaced them. I pulled a rose out of a vase and twirled it between my fingers. The Dragon was

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