Read Online The Spinner and the Slipper by Camryn Lockhart - Free Book Online
Authors: Camryn Lockhart
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so strange that he should be able to guess her name? She decided not and decided as well to trust him. After some silence filled only with the sound of the treadle and the wheel, she said, “I think it only fair that you tell me your name in return.”
He did not look up from his work but rather concentrated still more intently upon the tension of his whirling golden thread. “I do not have a name,” he said at last with some reluctance. With a mirthless laugh, he added, “I’m afraid my parents forgot to name me when I was born.”
Eliana frowned. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite serious,” he said, speaking through a forced smile. “I do not have a name.”
She looked sadly at his skillful hands quickly twisting the straw fibers into a strand to be spun into delicate gold. “That’s a shame,” she whispered. “Everyone should have name.”
The whirr of the spinning wheel filled the silence. After a thoughtful pause, Eliana said, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I have a home anymore. We’re both missing something important.”
He smiled. “So we are.”
They worked on through the night until Eliana began to grow weary. Eventually her yawns made her more of a hindrance than a help. The faerie paused in his work to give her a gentle push toward the bed.
“Go lie down, lass,” he said. “You have done enough for one night, and I will finish all this with time to spare.”
She could not find the will to protest, but stumbled over to the bed and nestled into the pillow and blankets. As she closed her eyes, the sound of his voice reached out to her, gentle and sweet as a lullaby:
“Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!”
CHAPTER TEN
Abandoned
Just at the brink of dawn, before the pink of the rising sun edged the rim of the sky, the green-eyed man rose from the spinning stool, stretched his back, and looked around at his handiwork, satisfied. He had done well, if he did say it himself. The piles of spun gold gleamed with their own otherworldly light, the richest, purest gold ever seen in all of this kingdom. If Hendry wasn’t contented by this wealth, well . . .
Satisfaction faded from the faerie’s eye as he turned his gaze from the golden bundles to the girl lying deeply asleep on her humble bed. Her dark hair fanned about her face, messy and yet somehow beautiful. She should be safe now. He had fulfilled his vow.
But this thought darkened the faerie’s brow, and his heart moved with some emotion he feared to name.
He stepped lightly over to the bed, looking down into Eliana’s peaceful face. Should he wake her to bid her farewell? King Oberon had forbidden him to return to her again, so this must be their final meeting. Surely it could not hurt to speak her name softly, to see those gentle eyes of hers flutter open and gaze at him one last time . . .
Somehow he knew that if she did wake, if she did look at him, he would never find the will to leave.
So he put out a hand, light as the gentlest breeze, and gently touched her soft cheek. “Good bye, Eliana,” he whispered, lingering as long as he dared.
The next moment he was gone.
When the king and queen entered her gold-filled chamber, Eliana was awake and prepared. She stood quietly by the wall even as the door burst open and the queen rushed in, exclaiming loudly and plunging her hands deep into the largest of the gold piles. Eliana bobbed a curtsy to the king, but he did not seem to notice, standing thunderstruck in the doorway.
“You did it again!” he breathed at last. “You really, truly did it!”
No answer seemed to be required, so Eliana offered neither confirmation nor contradiction. She merely bobbed a second curtsy and stood with her hands folded. Her quiet demeanor belied the pounding of her heart, however. Would the king be satisfied with this abundance and let her go at last? Would she be permitted to return home . . . if she could even call
He did not look up from his work but rather concentrated still more intently upon the tension of his whirling golden thread. “I do not have a name,” he said at last with some reluctance. With a mirthless laugh, he added, “I’m afraid my parents forgot to name me when I was born.”
Eliana frowned. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite serious,” he said, speaking through a forced smile. “I do not have a name.”
She looked sadly at his skillful hands quickly twisting the straw fibers into a strand to be spun into delicate gold. “That’s a shame,” she whispered. “Everyone should have name.”
The whirr of the spinning wheel filled the silence. After a thoughtful pause, Eliana said, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I have a home anymore. We’re both missing something important.”
He smiled. “So we are.”
They worked on through the night until Eliana began to grow weary. Eventually her yawns made her more of a hindrance than a help. The faerie paused in his work to give her a gentle push toward the bed.
“Go lie down, lass,” he said. “You have done enough for one night, and I will finish all this with time to spare.”
She could not find the will to protest, but stumbled over to the bed and nestled into the pillow and blankets. As she closed her eyes, the sound of his voice reached out to her, gentle and sweet as a lullaby:
“Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!”
CHAPTER TEN
Abandoned
Just at the brink of dawn, before the pink of the rising sun edged the rim of the sky, the green-eyed man rose from the spinning stool, stretched his back, and looked around at his handiwork, satisfied. He had done well, if he did say it himself. The piles of spun gold gleamed with their own otherworldly light, the richest, purest gold ever seen in all of this kingdom. If Hendry wasn’t contented by this wealth, well . . .
Satisfaction faded from the faerie’s eye as he turned his gaze from the golden bundles to the girl lying deeply asleep on her humble bed. Her dark hair fanned about her face, messy and yet somehow beautiful. She should be safe now. He had fulfilled his vow.
But this thought darkened the faerie’s brow, and his heart moved with some emotion he feared to name.
He stepped lightly over to the bed, looking down into Eliana’s peaceful face. Should he wake her to bid her farewell? King Oberon had forbidden him to return to her again, so this must be their final meeting. Surely it could not hurt to speak her name softly, to see those gentle eyes of hers flutter open and gaze at him one last time . . .
Somehow he knew that if she did wake, if she did look at him, he would never find the will to leave.
So he put out a hand, light as the gentlest breeze, and gently touched her soft cheek. “Good bye, Eliana,” he whispered, lingering as long as he dared.
The next moment he was gone.
When the king and queen entered her gold-filled chamber, Eliana was awake and prepared. She stood quietly by the wall even as the door burst open and the queen rushed in, exclaiming loudly and plunging her hands deep into the largest of the gold piles. Eliana bobbed a curtsy to the king, but he did not seem to notice, standing thunderstruck in the doorway.
“You did it again!” he breathed at last. “You really, truly did it!”
No answer seemed to be required, so Eliana offered neither confirmation nor contradiction. She merely bobbed a second curtsy and stood with her hands folded. Her quiet demeanor belied the pounding of her heart, however. Would the king be satisfied with this abundance and let her go at last? Would she be permitted to return home . . . if she could even call
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