Free The Phredde Collection by Jackie French Page B

were BIG. About the size of a small plane but without the cabin. They were gold and silver and blue and pink—a million colours shimmering.
    The butterfly nearest to us gave me a sweet smile (I didn’t know butterflies could smile, but I got the feeling that everything smiled in Phaeryland—except Phredde, of course) and shimmered its wings at us invitingly.
    ‘Up you hop,’ said Phredde’s dad.
    I gulped. ‘On those?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘But…but they don’t have seatbelts!’
    Phredde’s dad laughed. ‘No one has ever fallen off a butterfly in Phaeryland,’ he said. ‘It isn’t done.’
    He and Phredde’s mum climbed onto one of the butterflies and I climbed up behind Phredde onto the other one…carefully, because even if those giant wings were light and shimmery, they looked BIG and Phredde’s dad hadn’t said that no one had ever been knocked unconscious by a giant butterfly wing.
    But it was okay once we were on. There are two narrow bits of body on a butterfly and Phredde straddled one and I straddled the other and the butterfly flapped lazily and we rose gently, gently…gently up into the sky.
    I thought it might be cold up there in the sky, but I don’t suppose it’s ever cold in Phaeryland. The breeze was balmy—of COURSE the breeze was balmy—and all those flowers smelt like the perfume counter down at Woolies and the butterflies just fluttered along.
    It was fun, even if it is hard holding onto a butterfly AND keeping your ball gown from riding up. Not as much fun as the Thunderwheel at Wonderland, or even the Outer Space Super Whirl, but it was pretty good.
    So on we went, flapping over some enchanted woods—you can’t tell me that in real life trees grow as tall and as straight as that, and I bet they never have a drought or an El Niño in Phaeryland—and there were silver brooks running between the trees (no, they weren’t creeks—creeks are brownish and they don’t tinkle like brooks) and clusters of red and whitespotted mushrooms just like in the picture books, and here and there a phaery perched on a log playing the flute, or two or three dancing in a Phaery Ring.
    I was starting to see why Phredde hadn’t wanted to come.
    If I had been two I would have loved it. Three even, or maybe a babyish four. But at my age…
    Gradually, this grand, silver castle in the distance drew nearer and nearer. It had spires and those chunky sort of towers that you see in Robin Hood movies, and a moat and a drawbridge—everything a castle should have. Just like ours and Phredde’s, but a million times more so, and it glowed in a way that no picture in a book ever could.
    ‘What’s it made of?’ I whispered to Phredde.
    ‘It’s carved out of a diamond,’ she said absently. ‘Just one giant diamond. Boy, I wish we hadn’t come.’
    ‘It’s not so bad,’ I said comfortingly.
    ‘Huh,’ said Phredde. ‘You wait. You haven’t seen the worst of it yet. And Mum and Dad will just smile as though I should be enjoying it. You know what Mum was doing last night?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘She was reading The Directory of Handsome Princes. Handsome Princes! “Look Mum,” I said to her. “I’m way too young for that sort of thing!” and you know what she said?’ I shook my head and the diamond flowers rattled.
    ‘You’re never too young for a Handsome Prince,’ Phredde mimicked bitterly.
    ‘“In Australia you are,” I told her. Anyhow, what if I don’t want a prince when I grow up? What if I just want a normal bloke…or a goblin or a…’
    ‘What did your mum say?’ I asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Phredde bitterly. ‘She just smiled. You know that smile that mothers have.’
    ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Hey, Phredde, what did you mean when you said things were going to be different this time?’
    Phredde winked. ‘I’ve got something planned,’ she said. ‘Something that’ll convince Mum and Dad that I’m not cut out for Phaeryland. I mean the old ways are okay for