DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Roslin

Roslin and Blodwyn walked hand-in-hand through the cemetery. The grass was high and green and unshorn. The dirt path worn through the centre of the field was orange with clay. The world smelled of rain, but the sky was blue to the east and orange to the west. They walked, the two of them, side-by-side and hand-in-hand. Roslin carried a book in the hand that wasn't holding Blodwyn's, and Blodwyn carried a large stick crudely fashioned to a spike at one end in the hand that wasn't holding Roslin's. The air was cool and wet but filled with the song of crickets and cicadas. Summer was ending.

"RAMONA SMITH" read the tombstone beneath the great white tree. Neither girl knew who Ramona was, or why her headstone had no date (which was a topic of much speculation between the two of them), but it was next to the most perfect spot for sitting in all the cemetery, so the girls oft sat with Ramona and pretended Ramona joined them on their picnics. There were times they'd sit by Ramona and tell their stories while Roslin wove dandelions into their hair or Blodwyn sharpened little twigs into defensive spikes out of sheer habit.

Today, Roslin sat in the grass behind Ramona's stone and smoothed her skirt. Blodwyn sat beside her, cross-legged in her brother's oversized hand-me-down trousers, and took great care in laying her stick in the grass between the white roots of the tree.

When they were settled, Roslin opened the book. Page seven, the same page they always turned to. "The Prince was as handsome as a Prince could be, with twinkling blue eyes and hair like spun gold. He wore silks of blue when he rode through the town, and the crowd cheered to see him." In truth, Roslin no longer needed to look at the pages. She knew the words by heart. "But the Prince wasn't just handsome; he was also kind and gentle. He would greet each Princess with a warm smile and a friendly wave, making them feel special and happy."

Blodwyn rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you," she said, "a Prince worth two coppers wouldn't care about a crowd cheering to see him or greeting Princesses!" They had this same debate no less than eight times a week. It was intentionally done so they could spend the rest of the evening giggling and kicking their feet and designing their own Prince Charmings in their minds. "He'd care about important things."

Roslin rolled her eyes. "And what important things are those?"

"Things actually worth caring about, like jousting. And hunting."

"He's a Prince. Princes are supposed to dance and ride horses and...and sweep maidens off their feet!"

Blodwyn giggled. "Maidens like you?"

Roslin tossed her hair. "Maidens like me, yes. And you!"

"No Prince with hair like spun gold is sweeping me anywhere!" Blodwyn declared.

The two girls flopped back into the grass, then, and Roslin turned her face to Blodwyn. "What do you think your Prince would look like?"

Blodwyn always had this vision that a real Prince would be dark and mysterious and foreboding, like the vampire Lords and werebears the men at the tavern told stories about. He'd recognise that she was special and different, and think it was very smart of her to carry that stick everywhere they went. "Not like the one in the book," she said.

She'd said so a hundred times.

And a hundred times more, Roslin would sigh dreamily, hold up the book, and look at the faded, painted picture of the Prince. "I don't care what he looks like, or how big his castle is, or how good he is at jousting," she'd say every time, "as long as he's kind. The books always say the Princes are kind."