Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince. Natalie Yacobson
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the courtiers think him an ugly and cunning cripple. It’s better than if they realize that as long as they live near him, they are literally in the claws of an otherworldly being.
“You may depart!”
Quo set aside a folder and a writing case with an inkwell and sharpened quills. There were traces of typhus and water all over it. No one was standing under the windows on the sea side, so they didn’t see the royal counselor crawl over the sill and climb down the arches, coiling his slippery limbs around them. As Quo crawled down the wall toward the sea, Moran played with his empty goblet moodily, wondering how Ariana would soon arrive to supply him with a new batch of the miraculous blue wine without which it was simply impossible to go on living in the lands of mortals.
Outside the throne room, laughing, a procession of maids of honor passed by. The blood flowing through their veins immediately caught Moran’s attention. He mentally beckoned to one of the girls, preparing to slit her throat, but changed his mind, remembering that the blood did not quench his subjects’ thirst. The pretty lady stood at the threshold of the throne room in surprise, not realizing how she had dared to come here uninvited. When the spell is broken, people usually don’t realize what’s wrong.
“Get out!” Moran shouted at the maid of honor.
She immediately realized he was angry and backed away. Her pretty face showed resentment. Better to be offended than to rot in her grave. Unlike his six flighty brothers, Moran respected human life.
The corpse of Lady Elisandra Quo was carried out of the palace on his ridge and dragged to the sunken temple. She would be recorded as another victim of the sea god. The relatives will find that comforting. Nothing can be done against the power of Darunon. If the Aquilanians don’t want to sink, they must pay tribute to him.
The Green Diva
The ghastly face she’d seen in the pond wouldn’t leave her mind. The nose of the gondola drew a smooth line of spray on the water of the narrow channel, and she saw the face of the green prophetess.
The gondola was luxurious, but without an inner cabin with a canopy in which to hide. She had to sit under the supervision of a page, who turned out to be a gondolier. He handled the oar very skillfully.
Desdemona was accustomed to see gondolas exclusively with a cabin, over which the canopy spread like a tent. Where else would noblemen hide from the servants if not in the closed cabin of the gondola? Apparently, it was to remain under the supervision of the gondolier’s page during the short voyage. He explained that this canal would take them straight to the house where her stepmother was staying. It was very unusual. There were no direct channels to anywhere. They branched off, flowing into others. It was hard to swim to the target. Sounds like a lie. But the narrow channel did wind in an endless ribbon, going forward. Daffodils and irises grew along the sides of the canal. The gilded face of a female jellyfish on the nose of the gondola squinted unkindly at Desdemona. Just like a living thing. Once it even seemed to wink at her.
The pageboy’s hands looked like toad’s feet with webbing between the fingers. Maybe he’s a freak.
“You’re not sailing toward your destination, you’re sailing away from it,” came a hiss from the water. A green vapor rose above the gondola, as if the water had become a swamp. Desdemona saw overboard a familiar face framed by vipers and shrieked.
“Don’t be frightened!” The henchman was paddling as if nothing had happened.
“Did you hear that too?” She almost jumped on the spot. Why is he so indifferent? Does he have a weapon on him?
“They’re green divas.”
“What do you mean?” Desdemona’s never heard that before.
“Divas are creatures of the swamps,” the boy explained coolly. “They are usually women who look like water gods and can see the future. There are also male divas, but they are dangerous monsters. They live in the jungle. It’s risky to meet them. Swamp divas sometimes crawl into the water to muddy it and foretell bad luck.”
And he says it so calmly! Desdemona’s heart grew cold.
“Can they overturn the boat?”
“They might sink it, but they won’t. I’m with you, and I know them. You’re safe.”
That’s great! She has a child bodyguard. Maybe it’s his age that makes him so brave about the fairy tale creatures he sees. Children don’t know how dangerous fairy tales can be.
“How old are you?”
“I am at least a few hundred years old. What’s it to you?” snapped at the henchman.
“Don’t take offense! I understand perfectly well that you need to eat at any age, so no one is too young to work.”
“But they tell me that I am too old to work on the land,” said the henchman sullenly. “I’m going to work at the palace for the last hundred years, and then I’m going to be a boatman. I’ll make sure that not too many Aquillanians are dragged to the bottom by mermaids. It’s Prince Moran’s decree. Oh, I mean the King of Aquilania.”
“It is the new king. You know him personally?”
“I was talking.”
The page was sadly silent. He didn’t look old at all. He was a boy with a boy’s face and brown skin. Not white skin, but greenish for some reason. He must have had swamp fever when he was a baby. It turned his skin green. Many children died of it in the cradle. They said they were stolen by mermaids.
The henchman also looked as if he’d been briefly kidnapped and then brought back to earth by watermen.
“Sometimes I forget myself,” he tried to excuse himself. “Actually, I’m not very good with my head. I can’t remember certain human traditions. For example, you should never say what you think. It’s considered impolite on land.”
“But we’re on the water now. Say what you want. What did you say about the swamp divas? How accurate are their prophecies?”
“One hundred percent,” he said without thinking.
Desdemona was frightened.
“And what motivates them to surface to predict people’s fate?”
Now the henchman wondered.
“It is common to ask about summoning them to ask them their fate.”
“There were enough fortune-tellers in the market square.”
“There are fortune-tellers everywhere. But a diva will only make an accurate prophecy if you call her across a lake or a pond. You need clean water.”
“It is curious,” Desdemona shivered, remembering the vision in the garden.
“One must throw a gold coin into the pond and drop one’s own blood. Then a green diva will appear from the water and utter a prediction. But someone in the family will die after that. The death of a relative is the price for her summoning.”
“But no one in my family has died, except for the maid.”
“Did you summon her?”
“I don’t think so. She did show up unexpectedly, just showing up in the pond.”
“Well, then why are you worried?”
“I’m afraid of everything. Especially my stepmother’s frivolity and that my brothers will drown during the long voyage.”
“All you young human ladies are so fragile and fearful,” the henchman said with a careless snicker.
So much was it for her gratitude for pouring out her soul to him. One should never be frank with servants. Stepmother was right. She often lectured Desdemona. Her admonitions made her ears ache.
“Here we go!”
The