Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince. Natalie Yacobson

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СКАЧАТЬ is not in the city… somewhere in the province… in Adar.”

      The words from the dead lips were jumbled.

      “So you were wrong after all?” Several of the red-clad figures turned to the leader at once.

      “It’s not that simple,” he watched coldly as the dead woman’s eyelids fluttered open, the empty whites of her eyes peering out at something in the void. The bloodless lips curved, mimicking a fish mouth.

      “She wouldn’t say for sure right away. It’s all because she’s dead. Dead people are dull-witted,” the leader explained.

      “What does that mean?” Someone asked him timidly.

      “That means she’ll talk about the past first, what happened before she died. We don’t have time. I sense the chosen one is in town. But I don’t see her.”

      He sniffed as if his eyes were blind. They seemed to be covered by a veil or some kind of white film that had grown between his eyelids. What were these creatures? Were they priests or sorcerers? Is it a secret society of assassins?”

      She should run away from them, but her feet felt like they were stuck to the ground. A familiar face still stared back at her from the puddles, framed by seaweed and vipers instead of hair. An eyelid with gills winked at her. And again it seemed like a bottomless pond, and she was standing knee-deep in it, and the lilies were whispering to her.

      The rain was ceasing, and it seemed that in its streams instead of hail real pearls were glimmering. It was a rain of pearls. Desdemona put her hand under it, and the pearls settled in her hand. It was a whole handful. They could be sold. Just don’t show them to your stepmother. Candida will want to take them away.

      “The Chosen One,” the walls were humming.

      Who are they talking about? What does it mean to be chosen? It’s what they usually say about sacrifices to a sea god. Desdemona didn’t want to be chosen, because it meant being a sacrificial lamb on the altar under the priest’s knife. The word “chosen” even frightened her. It echoed in her brain like a monster hand pounding on a door with a fist.

      She was lucky that the red-cloaked figures had turned in a different direction. Their footsteps were getting farther away. Ominous voices produced echoes. The sickle-cut corpse left on the sidewalk emitted a foul odor. This corpse was definitely dead now.

      Desdemona almost vomited.

      Someone tugged at her sleeve. Beneath her feet was a low creature like the ones that climbed the walls. It was as if the rain had bred them.

      Desdemona recoiled from the one standing next to her and for nothing. He took off his green beret, like a pageboy’s, and bowed with the mannerism of an experienced servant.

      “Are you Lady Desdemona?”

      “Yes!” She was surprised to hear human speech from greenish lips. Though maybe she only thought the page had green skin and webbing between his fingers. He crumpled his beret tentatively in his hands.

      “I’ve been sent for to escort you to your rented house.”

      “They did?”

      I couldn’t believe her stepmother had bothered with her. Her father had probably come to his senses.

      “You’re not one of our servants, are you?”

      “I’m on loan. I was sent from the palace,” he explained with a hitch.

      No, his hands are definitely not hands, but paws. Desdemona was wary, but she could not escape him.

      “Come on, there’s a gondola waiting on the canal. I’ll take you to your family,” the page held out a webbed hand to her.

      He was probably one of the king’s new servants, who had come from across the sea and looked very different from the local people. There was nothing to be done! She must either accept his proposal or wander the deserted streets in the shadows, where many dangers await.

      Desdemona nodded reluctantly.

      “Lead me to the gondola!”

      She hid the pearls she had collected from the rain in her clenched fist. Maybe she could get something for them, unless they melted like rain on the sidewalk at the end of the storm.

      Counselor Morgen

      Quo crawled from the sea to be his eyes and ears in the huge foreign palace. He had only been at court a few hours, and already people were wondering why the royal counselor had several humps at once and why he limped like a maimed man. His cloak, like a spacious hood, lay over his spiky aquatic body, hiding his tentacles, spikes, and gills. A face with greenish skin, as if covered with warts, could still be tolerated. Quo was not a handsome man. But an advisor is supposed to be wise, not handsome. If some of the courtiers guessed what kind of creature the new counselor was, they didn’t show it. Moran welcomed him into the throne room like an old friend. Quo was exactly a servant.

      “Do you want to turn this whole kingdom into a water kingdom?” Quo looked at the arches and columns of the palace with envious eyes. In his opinion, water was definitely lacking here.

      “It is not now!”

      The counselor was surprised. It seemed the intentions with which they had come to Aquilania had been clear from the start.

      “What had gone wrong?”

      It was an impertinence to ask the ruler so directly, but Moran condescended to answer.

      “The mother wanted to keep this country intact.”

      “It will be difficult. Your retinue is already scattered throughout the city.”

      “See to it that they behave humanely to the indigenous people of Aquilania for the time being.”

      “You mean humans!” Quo was taken aback.

      “It is exactly,” Moran nodded. The crown of earth was pressing on his forehead, so he took it off. Let only the crown of the sea remain. You can’t take it off. It’s a privilege to be born with it on your forehead. The wine of the blue fruits of the sea, mixed with the elixirs of the fairy Ariana, was running out. One must send someone trusted to fetch a second keg. Once on land, Moran felt extremely thirsty. What if that thirst proved unsatisfying? His cronies, whom he had brought with him, had already pounced on the court ladies to drink blood. But the blood did not save the thirst either. But the body of a certain Lady Elisandra, with her throat cut by sharp gills, now lay beneath his throne. He could throw the corpse into the sea, but the family would probably want to take the body to the family crypt. The most sensible thing to say in this case is that she was sacrificed to the sea god.

      “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Moran nodded at the corpse by the throne room. The dead girl resembled a broken lily for some reason, but she had certainly not begun to turn. There were no marks on her body: no scales, no growths, no pearls growing straight out of her skin.

      “Your father will be displeased that you didn’t flood the entire kingdom at once.”

      “My father pleases СКАЧАТЬ