Бесплатный фрагмент - Youngest Son of the Water King

Bottomless pond

Desdemona’s mood was gloomy in keeping with the overcast day. The clouds had gathered too quickly. An hour ago the sun had been shining, and now a storm was approaching. The waves would not slip into the garden behind the stone fortress, no matter how high they rose. But rumors that the sea creatures, when raging, could flood even the mightiest fortress, had long frightened the people of Aquilania.

That’s probably why her stepmother is so eager to give her to the sea god. They say the more girls they give him, the more merciful he’ll be. Or maybe the stepmother is just in a hurry to get rid of her. Candida hated the young stepdaughter at first sight and her dislike only grew stronger with time. It was impossible to placate her neither politeness, nor gifts, which Desdemona embroidered, or even playing the harp.

However, the father Candida also did not like and did not want to see. Barely married her, he was forced to become a merchant. Although for him, an aristocrat, it was shameful. But love requires sacrifice, especially when an older man in love with a young and seductive woman, which was Candida. She was almost the same age as her husband’s daughter and a rare beauty.

Desdemona sometimes felt that her stepmother was a bit of a witch. Ever since she had settled on the estate, everything here had fallen into disrepair. Most of the servants had to be dismissed, her mother’s jewelry sold off. Her father had tried like hell, even made a strange pact with some creatures. They were in charge of navigation. Desdemona never realized what these creatures were, but her father regretted that he had tangled with them. The stepmother, on the other hand, did not. She was not discouraged by the neglected estate or the deplorable state of the garden. Why should she? If her father died, she’d find a new wealthy fool to take her as a wife, or at least as a mistress. With her looks, it wouldn’t be hard. In confidence, the housekeeper tells her that Candida dreams of being the new king’s favorite. The news that the rightful heir, who had reached the age of majority, was coming to Aquilania had everyone in a tizzy.

Candida dressed up in her best dresses, while Desdemona watched in despair as moss grew between the stones of the bastion walls and weeds sprouted in the garden. Mother’s roses were almost withered. Without a gardener, there was no one to tend them or pull the weeds. But the lilies in the pond were blooming and fragrant. They did not care about anything: the fact that the pond had not been cleaned for a long time, and even the poisonous fumes that came from the stepmother’s fireplace, in which something was constantly burning. She was probably a witch.

Father was seriously ill. On his last sea voyage, he’d contracted some rare disease that crippled his entire body. Superstitious servants said he turned into a sea creature after a run-in with the Morgens. He should have reprimanded them, but his stepmother wouldn’t let him. Her father’s death would only benefit her. And if there was some sea-dweller who could be paid to drag her annoying stepdaughter to the bottom, the stepmother wouldn’t care.

Ever since he married her, her father had become practically a merchant, forgetting his high birth. Because of this, Desdemona’s family was almost not accepted at court, except in rare cases, when they called everyone to announce some special decree. And now there was such a case, because from the royal palace came an invitation that took the form of an order. All the neighbors received the same invitation. All those of noble blood were commanded to attend the coronation festivities.

“He’s choosing his victim!” The maids whispered. They saw the letter. Desdemona must have misheard. Or they were playing some kind of game of horror stories again. After all, Desdemona’s father’s castle was said to be haunted. She herself had never seen ghosts here, but some people swore they had witnessed them.

Ghosts are too dark a subject. Better to think of something soothing. Desdemona looked at the delicate lily heads floating on the water. The sight of them made her feel a little better.

Dad hadn’t come to his senses for a week. There was nothing to fix his damaged ship now. The holes in the stern and sides looked like the marks of monstrous paws. That’s when you start to believe in legends.

“It’s her! It’s definitely her! We finally found her! We’ve got to get her to him! He’s been waiting for her for so long!”

Were the lilies whispering? Or maybe she’s just dreaming. Desdemona felt the persistent scent of water flowers making her dizzy. She began to think that all the lilies in the pond had women’s faces. There was too much water around.

The pond overflowed into the whole garden. She stood waist-deep in it. Someone was looking at her from the water instead of her own reflection.

“And you’re going to marry a waterman!” A green clawed hand, playing, stuck out of the water and threatened her. “You can’t be drowned yet. Too bad! I need a victim! I’ll have to choose someone else.”

When Desdemona woke up, the pond was the same. No bigger than a large fountain. The lilies had been plucked and woven into a wreath lying on the ground. She must have dreamed the whole thing. It wasn’t until the evening at dinner that she learned that one of the maids had drowned in the garden pond this afternoon.

An heir from the sea

He was named after the state his father had invaded and destroyed. That was probably why in Moran’s presence it felt as if the fortress around him was crumbling and the walls were fiery cracks.

The former Viceroy of Aquilania and now First Minister Ramiro felt insecure in his presence. The young man himself had nothing to do with watermen, though he was rumored to be of their kind. From head to neck he was definitely human, and quite handsome. His hair, the color of ripe rye, hung over the collar of his purple robe. They barely reaching his shoulders. His snow-white skin was completely free of tan and blush, which was unusual for the local climate. But the heir had returned from faraway lands. And right on the night of his return he was crowned by the priests from the temple of the sea god, who had now become the main one in the country.

Ramiro was not made aware of the appearance of the new king until the morning of his awakening. Not that it was a surprise to him. He, like everyone else, had been expecting the appearance of an already grown-up heir. But it had come too suddenly. No one had been notified of Moran’s arrival even a day in advance.

When Ramiro dressed in ceremonial attire and came to see him, the young king was already seated on the throne, and the intimidated archivist was familiarizing him with all the important records of the past years. The royal guards at the door were replaced by some ghastly giants with their faces covered with shields. In their presence Ramiro felt trapped.

“Do they wake so late in Aquilania?” The king had dumbfounded him with his first question.

“We are not awake at night, if that is what you mean, Your Majesty,” Ramiro said with a stammer. His tongue was not listening well, and dawn was just breaking outside the window. In its rays, the new king of Aquilania looked like a perfect marble statue that someone had placed on the throne as if in mockery of human imperfection. The luxurious coral crown, too, would have been the envy of any earthly ruler. It certainly didn’t come from the royal treasury. Only the gods could create such a thing.

Moran drank wine from a precious goblet that he had obviously brought with him. The walls and stem of the goblet were decorated with a ringed sea dragon made of pure gold. As far as Ramiro had heard, sea dragons were only blue, but blue gold was obviously not even found underwater. The large pearl in the middle of the cup resembled the eye in the dragon’s forehead and appeared to be sighted, as did the tiny stones on the rim.

“You have been expected for a long time,” how else to start a dialog with the king.

“So here I am,” the king tapped the armrests of the throne with long, graceful fingers studded with unusual rings. His hands were so strong that the powerful jade throne was cracked by his touch. Ramiro would have to call in the craftsmen to fix it. Would it be worth it? Ramiro noticed the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Is the castle collapsing or is it magic?

“You’re just in time. The armada from the Black Shores is closing on us.” Who doesn’t know that the Black Shores is home to tribes that practice evil magic? “We can’t handle it on our own. We need a ruler who can negotiate with the elements.”

“Is it with the elements or with those who dwell within them?” The king’s piercing gaze pinned Ramiro in place.

“Well, how can I put it more precisely?” The First Minister felt as if he were growing to the floor and the floor itself was turning to ice. “You have a whole family in the sea.”

It’s a touchy subject. Is it possible to speak directly to the young king? And how young is he? He looks like a young man, but it’s been over a century since the last heiress of Aquilania disappeared into the waves.

“I am the only one allowed to come,” Moran ventured a revelation. His long, frosty stare made Ramiro uncomfortable.

“But the others in your sea dynasty… They can be called in to help.”

“Forget the others!” Moran rose from his throne without letting go of his wine goblet. He looked magnificent in his royal robe. He was yery statuesque, tall, well-built, and strong. And they said he was a monster, the offspring of a union between a princess and a water monster. He didn’t look like a monster at all. He didn’t look like a water monster either. Except for the golden plaque like fish scales on his ears, and the coral crown that seemed to grow out of his head. Otherwise Moran was perfect, except for one minor point.

“You are the youngest son,” Ramiro reminded him gently. “The Almanac of Kings records that you have six older brothers. Their names are even listed. It is customary for the first born to inherit the throne. It is as long as he’s alive.”

“The elder brothers are still in their domains,” the heir did not deny it.

“Would they come to your aid if you called them from the abyss?”

“They don’t walk at all. But if you need them to come…” he arched his beautiful eyebrows meaningfully. Moran had expressive violet eyes beneath a rim of gold lashes, but his gaze gave Ramiro a chill.

“Shall we officially record them as cripples, to explain why you are the ones who inherit the inheritance?”

“Officially they don’t exist!” Moran objected emphatically. He glanced at the archivist’s nimble hand, which hovered in the air above the paper like a frozen thing.

“I think it’s broken,” whispered the young man, who could not move his own arm. But he dared not call for a physician. Under the heavy gaze of the new king, both health and willpower were drained from everyone.

“You have only me! Rely only on me! There’s no one else to protect you, and the sea is right under your windows,” Moran grinned wryly and moved toward the Viceroy. There was no sound of footsteps. Does he have no legs? Or is he floating above the floor?

Who knows what kind of body he has under his robe. Moran steadfastly refused to try on the doublets and caftans that had become fashionable at the court of Aquilania. He doesn’t follow fashions. But his face is divinely beautiful. Not surprising, considering that his mother, the officially deceased Princess Lilophea, was famous for her beauty.

Ramiro thought that if he didn’t prefer women, he would be wildly in love with the young king, despite the fear he felt in Moran’s presence. His proximity felt as freezing as a desert of ice. So did he really come from the sea? Probably he is some powerful wizard pretending to be the son of a princess who disappeared into the waves. But then where did he get Lilophea’s signet ring? That ring was supposed to be for the heir to the throne.

“The father won’t protect you,” Moran relented before explaining in detail. “It’s because of a long-standing conflict over a bride.”

“I remember! It was an unpleasant affair,” agreed Ramiro. He had not seen it himself, of course. The story was old. But all the details were recorded in the archives and chronicles of the kingdom. It was a pity that the paper in the local repositories got wet in some places, and some lines could not be restored later. What can you do, the humidity here is too saturated. But Ramiro was aware of the events, though not in detail. So he appreciated Moran’s remark:

“If you don’t concede a small thing to someone, it’s hard to count on their generosity.”

Ramiro had to account to him for the mistakes of those who had died long before Ramiro was born.

“The thing is,” Ramiro shifted from foot to foot. Is it just his imagination that there are slippery tentacles beneath the king’s robe and wet footprints on the floor? No, probably not, considering whose son he is.

“I don’t know what it’s like on the seas, but here in Aquilania, you don’t hand over your only princess to just anyone at the drop of a hat.”

“To you, a powerful king is just anyone?” Moran took a sip of wine. If only the purple liquid in his glass could be called wine? If it was a type of wine, it was definitely a sorcerer’s wine.

“Besides, the Lord of the Seas had complained that there had been over a hundred demands before he had to use force.”

Ramiro’s heart sank. He had called his father by his official title. Apparently their family relationship wasn’t so friendly that Moran could call on his relatives for help.

“I’m afraid the state is in a sorry state right now. We’re down to ten ships at most. And the enemy’s armada is almost at the fortress walls.”

Moran gave him an expressive look. It is clear under whose supervision we are so impoverished, said his eyes from under half-lidded eyelids.

“Come!” He beckoned instead of judging, and fish scales glistened on his hand. “I’ll show you how to deal with your enemies without a fleet.”

A shattered fleet

Desdemona watched from below the crowded square. It was dangerous here. The enemy’s armada was approaching the coast. Now the foreign ships would start firing their cannons. We must run away from here, headlong. But the beautiful silhouette of the young king, as if stuck to the side of the tower arch, fascinated her.

“So this is our new king?” She exhaled in amazement.

Too young! But how majestic is he. He is standing tall, without fear of falling. And there is no barrier under his feet. You’d think he was winged. No fear of crashing at all.

Everyone, like her, came to see him, but the others had already fled the square. The first cannon volleys came from the harbor.

“The young king didn’t even tell us to assemble the fleet,” complained one of the panicked men running through the square. “We’re all going to die!”

“We will die not from our enemies, but from the monster who came to rule us,” shouted an old woman. The first volley hit her as if for a lie. The bloody body fell at Desdemona’s feet.

She herself was too shocked to run away. And where would she go? They’re firing all around. The ships of the enemy are already under the fortress wall. At the side of the harbor is burning and smoking real hell, and the newly proclaimed king of Aquilania stands in the opening of a high tower arch and silently watches. His kingdom is about to be crushed, and there is no emotion on his beautiful face.

Could it be a statue up there, dressed in a royal robe for distraction? No, it doesn’t look like it, because he’s moving. He stretched his hand out toward the sea, whispered something, and the square immediately became dark. It’s the storm coming. And a moment ago the sky was clear except for the smoke from the cannons.

The king’s ominous whisper travels over the land like a spell. It sounds like the mutterings of the sea priests, only it’s frosty.

Desdemona looked at her wrists and palms. They were covered in hoarfrost. Some creatures of water were crawling across the square and biting the flesh off the corpses left by the enemy’s heavy artillery. She looked down at the king again, as if he were a deity. To those watching, he probably was now, for he stood in the place where he was most likely to be killed. With his scarlet robe fluttering in the wind, he was a perfect target for the enemy. Probably he was a madman, but definitely not a monster. No matter what they say about him! He looked more like an angel with a golden head, but the pattern of tentacles of some sea animal stuck to the wall near his feet spoiled the impression. One of the tentacles rubbed his cheek, touched his crown.

The king was no longer whispering, but the echo of his whisper, like an infernal hiss, hung over the square. It rained. It washed the corpses, washed the blood from the sidewalk. Desdemona, holding her long hem with her hand, stepped over crushed skulls and disfigured bodies. What a joke of fate: she came to the festivities of the coronation, and got right into the middle of the massacre. Hell washed by the salty sea. Suddenly a storm broke out so that the enemy ships began to sink.

The king, who stood tall as if ready to sacrifice himself in case of defeat, seemed like a hero to many.

“He is the one causing the storm,” whispered one of the survivors.

“Or it is the monster beside him,” Desdemona stammered.

Someone’s tentacles were hugging the young king from behind, clutching his shoulders and torso, and the shouts from the sinking enemy’s armada were already replacing the roar of the cannonade. The enemy is sinking. This is victory! But what had the king given for it? Was no one but Desdemona willing to see that he was in the arms of a monster? Why not in her own? She suddenly felt a burning jealousy.

“And this is the girl who wanted to go to a convent and spend her life serving the sea god,” came a mocking voice from behind.

Desdemona turned around. In the corner, shabby children were clustered in the rain, looking more like river monsters themselves.

“You know that the sea god makes his novices drown during initiation, and then they come back to life and serve him as slaves,” the children, scales sprouting on their faces, said in a chorus.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Desdemona backed away, stumbling over dead bodies and moaning wounded. She would have helped everyone, but she didn’t have the strength to even run herself. And a group of strange children were picking up anything of value left from the dead. Children or fish were biting off fingers with rings instead of removing them, tearing off women’s hands with bracelets that glittered on them, pulling earrings from the corpses’ lobes.

“Better become something other than a priestess. If you are drowned, the light in you will go out, and you will be of no use to us. You’re not meant for any other service.”

What can I say to them? She’d love to. But her stepmother wants to get her out of her home as soon as possible. And the only way for a homeless woman is a convent. Do they really drown and then resurrect all the initiates as will-less zombies?

The children laughed, playing with someone’s severed head like a ball. The head belonged to a beautiful girl. The carnelian hoop could not be removed from her.

“We’ll take her with us,” said the fish girl, all purple scales like armor.

Who did she mean? Her gaze wandered eloquently over Desdemona’s own dress. There was no need to wear her best for the feast. The velvet dress, woven with silver lilies, had been hers since her mother had been alive. The tiara in her hair was also her mother’s. Desdemona would have given it to the children to keep them behind, but they wanted something else. They surrounded her in a ring. Where to go? All around were the ghastly faces of half-children and half-fish. Their mouths chattering with needle teeth. It’s like a nightmare! That’s how dangerous it is to walk alone in a storm! There’s no telling what the rain and waves will bring from the sea. She had been warned that Aquilania was a dangerous country, after all, because of the elements surrounding it.

The scaled hand reached for Desdemona, and then a menacing shout sounded from the sea. Was it either a voice or a trumpet sound?

The fish girl cursed through her teeth in some incomprehensible language.

“We have to go! But we’ll come back for you!” She wagged her finger in farewell. The creepy children, like a host of ghosts, drifted away into the mist of smoke and rain. Did they dissolve in the rainwater?

Desdemona’s heart was pounding with fear, but she wanted to look at the majestic figure of the king in the high archway one more time. She raised her head high, exposing her face to the merciless rain. He was still standing there. The arch itself was braided with a network of tentacles. The raging sea was subsiding, taking with it the wreckage of ships and the corpses of warriors. It seemed as if the king would step down and follow the sinking enemy fleet, but he was only talking to someone invisible in the heights. Could he really be mad? But madmen don’t control the elements. Though there’s no guarantee he caused the storm. It could only appear that way from the outside. The formidable figure that looked like a dragon drained entirely from the water that hovered over the archway was also an illusion. The young king saw it and even spoke to it about something, and then suddenly he laughed so loudly that everyone in the square was horrified.

Desdemona shuddered. The thunder of an enemy cannonade, capable of destroying the whole country, was nothing compared to this laughter. It made her blood run cold. It echoed ferociously through the alleys. Her ears ached unbearably. It was as if a dark specter was trailing its tentacles through the streets of Aquilania. It was no longer an illusion. Desdemona barely had time to break free when some gray limbs grasped her shoulder. There were many of them here. They braided the walls and friezes and arches. It seemed as if the fog had become a sea monster with many limbs that crawled through the streets, grabbing and strangling people. There was nowhere to run, but Desdemona picked up her skirts with her hand anyway, and ran.

Voices in the mist

The king’s gaze pursued her.

“It is this one!” He was heard to shout. His ringed hand pointed somewhere in the square. Immediately something tore from the towers and rushed after her. Or was it flying on all wings? The rustling of many pairs of wings could be heard from behind.

After running a few meters, Desdemona stopped and turned back. Nothing! No one was flying or even running after her. But the fog had grown thicker. It’s an unusual fog. It’s green, like swamp sludge! Clawed and webbed limbs reached out to the surviving townspeople. She must be seeing double. She’d heard too many horror stories about sacrifices to the sea god. Those who had glimpsed the god himself at rites and sacraments where only a select few were allowed described him as a monster the size of a bastion. He had many eyes and tentacles, they said. He wore on his slimy forehead a chain studded with the crowns of those rulers whom he had drowned with all their armadas. He strangled those he did not want with his slimy limbs right in the temple. And the ancient temple, located on the outskirts of the city, was half sunk. It was dangerous to even be in it.

Desdemona believed all these tales only partially. She was too sensible to believe that a real monster had taken up residence in a temple on the border between Aquilania and the sea. More likely, some priest had deliberately disfigured himself during rituals and staged mysteries to impress the congregation. Priests are always hungry for power. People’s fear of the sea could be well capitalized on. But the sacrifices, even to an imaginary god, were real. Innocent and beautiful girls were said to be consecrated as priestesses in batches every new moon only to be drowned later.

Not long ago, she had trembled at the thought of being consecrated as a priestess to the sea god. But now that the streets were full of corpses, that thought no longer frightened her so much. It was easier to die from the volleys of enemy cannonade, or from the strange green creatures that scurried about in the fog. They bounced hastily into the alleyways if she caught a glimpse of them.

“She is special!” They hissed, pointing their webbed fingers in her direction. “You can’t touch her. Run away from her!”

Desdemona was shocked. Even the creepy freaks were running away from her like a leper. Maybe something happened to her face. But if she’d been hit by shrapnel, she would have felt pain. There was no pain. Could her skin have gotten a rash from the poisonous green mist? She didn’t even have a mirror with her to look. The other ladies had companions who carried hand mirrors, purses, and a whole host of little things they might need to make themselves pretty. But Candida’s extravagance made hiring a companion an unacceptable luxury. Even Desdemona’s governess was dismissed a year ago without references. Stepmother and all hurried to raise a scandal and chase them out of the service. The family estate because of her became increasingly empty, and now the capital of Aquilania was also empty. But the stepmother’s intrigues had nothing to do with it. It was as if a plague from the sea had come to the city, bringing war and horror.

There were corpses and wounded people moaning in the corners of the streets and squares, and the green creatures that had come out of the mist were leaning over them gently, whispering and running their hands into their wounds. She must be dreaming because of the fog. Everything becomes so blurry in its greenish puffs.

It never stopped raining either. Sometimes it alternated with hail, hitting the roofs like a scattering of white pearls. One hard hailstone bounced under her feet. Desdemona stooped, picked it up, and marveled. It was a real pearl! It lay in the palm of her hand like a white tear.

If all hail is made of pearls, then it would be time for children to climb the sidewalk and collect them, but there were no uninjured people around. Who could run away, who could not walk moaned on the sidewalk. Desdemona had to step over the remains of bodies on the road. The cannon volleys dismembered the bodies. Here at her feet was someone’s hand with a precious ring. It could be removed, but it seemed to move and become covered with green scales.

The fog made her eyes water. From the corners came groans, short screams and labored sighs, as if someone was being strangled there.

“It’s chaos out there,” said muffled voices outside the windows of the locked tavern. “The sea is about to overflow. The creatures of the deep are already here.”

“That’s to be expected. If one of them sits on the throne, the others will come to the city and behave like masters. How long has it been since we’ve heard of the Morgens?”

“Since they were given a princess they wanted to sacrifice.”

“Now, we have to find the girl they want, and then they’ll go back to the depths and not come out for the next hundred years.”

Desdemona pressed her ear against the binding of the window. It was still so fogged up that nothing could be seen through it, inside or out. The muffled voices were alarming. What were they talking about? It was some nonsense, but there was some truth in it. Even Candida knew the story of the heiress to the throne. She was forced to marry a sea king. And the stepmother was very sorry that she did not find such a groom. He might be a monster, but he was a king! Desdemona thought otherwise. To be given to a monster, even with good intentions, is the worst thing that can be thought of.

“Princess Lilophea willingly sacrificed herself and saved us from the watermen for over a hundred years. Conclusion: sacrifice must be voluntary. Where to find such a girl, who will be very beautiful and so stupid or selfless that she herself will go into the abyss?”

“It’s a pity that Aquilania doesn’t have another princess. The old king had a niece, but it seems she died without leaving offspring.”

There were several voices talking. They were all nasally, deaf, and obviously drunk. Desdemona could hardly distinguish one from the other.

“This trick won’t work now,” someone intervened next. There was the clatter of a mug placed on a wooden table. “The king himself has come from the sea to rule over us. One girl to go back to the abyss with him will not be enough for him. Even all the maidens of Aquilania won’t be enough for him. Mark my word, he’ll rule us for a while, he’ll get bored, and he’ll flood the whole kingdom.”

“And how can he be the son of the very Lilophea, if so many years have already passed?” asked someone sensible.

“Maybe he is a grandson, not a son. He could even be a great-grandson by counting the years.”

“It is because you are a stranger, did not live near the sea and did not know that all the maidens who survived in the abyss, gain immortality,” said a creaky old voice.

Now that’s interesting! Desdemona wanted to intervene in the conversation. She jerked the handle of the door. Locked on the latch! No one inside had thought to let her in, even after knocking.

“It’s the Morgens fooling around!” Someone spit over their shoulder inside the pub. “They want to kill us, but they can’t get in here. I drew symbols of protection at the door. An old fortune-teller taught me. Aren’t I clever?”

“What if there’s someone in there seeking refuge?”

“All the survivors have already gone home. They’re the only ones roaming the city.”

Who are they? Desdemona listened, but couldn’t figure it out. Who are the Morgens? The word was repeated many times and was clearly associated with creatures that crawled out of the sea. But who but crayfish and crabs could crawl ashore?

There were shouts behind her. Desdemona looked back and could not believe her eyes. The tentacles of fog were really choking people. They clung to the throats of the runners like green twine with claws and webbing, squeezed, and people fell, gasping for breath. Finished with the passersby, they reached for her.

“Unlock it!” Desdemona banged on the door. “I’m a lady here for the coronation from Adar. I have nowhere to go. My home is far away.”

“Don’t believe it,” someone inside said in a monotone. “They can even pretend to be your loved ones if they want to. Morgens are masters of sorcery. If it hadn’t been for my signs under the threshold, that lady would have leaked a torrent of frothy water under the door and drowned us all.”

They are mad! Desdemona kicked the door with her foot in frustration. No one reacted. But the sounds of the same monotonous conversation resumed.

“The rain doesn’t stop for too long. The streets are already turning into channels of sewage. If it lasts more than a day, we’ll be in trouble.”

“We were told that a king from the sea was coming who would turn the country into a sea hell. We didn’t believe it.”

“He’s going to flood the whole place.”

“He’d better find himself another Princess Lilophea like his father did and go away with all his watery hordes.”

“And then who would be king of Aquilania?”

“There will be some. The late king’s distant kin (seventh water on the vine, but still kin) rule Sultanite.”

“But none of them can keep us safe from the creatures of the sea. They will come with the surf if the next king fails to make a treaty with them for the coming century.”

“I heard there was a treaty, but it’s no longer valid because of the passage of time.”

Desdemona was no longer interested in eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. Green tentacles of mist clung to her hair, pulling the curly strands. Something wrapped around her neck like a necklace, squeezed it, and began to choke her. Her eyes rolled back, and her breath was cut off. Desdemona felt weakness in her knees, but the pearl became warm in her hand.

Suddenly the fog let go. Out of the blue! The tentacles darted farther down the street. Why did the creeping fog remind her of monstrous claws? A necklace of bruises remained on her neck.

Knowing that the beer hall patrons would not let her into their unpretentious hiding place, Desdemona wandered forward. The carriage with her stepmother had long since left. She would not make it home on her own. It would take either a swift horse or a rook to reach Adar by water canal. It was only before the water that Desdemona began to feel as much fear as before the fog. From the large puddles in the road voices called out. They called her by name or title. Once it even seemed that her late mother’s voice was calling her.

There were whispers in the fog, too.

“Was it she or was she not?”

“Is it his destiny?”

“Is she surely not the new priestess?”

Desdemona looked around helplessly. In one large puddle that covered half the street, she saw her reflection. There seemed to be nothing wrong with her face. No rash. So why were those creatures looking at her as if she had horns growing out of her head instead of a graceful tiara?

The water rippled in the breeze. Raindrops seemed to be folded on the surface of the puddle into a fanciful inscription. A moment, and instead of her own reflection, Desdemona saw again the face that had already frightened her in the pond. It was entirely green, framed by worms instead of hair. Two pearls grew in the nostrils of the hooked nose and another on the chin. A third yellow eye burned in its forehead. There was no pupil in it, nor were there any in the pair of orange eyes at the bridge of his nose.

The green lips quivered at the sight of Desdemona. The creature in the puddle saw her, and so did she see her. So was the witch in the water just a reflection, or was she really sitting in it? Desdemona made a desperate gesture and dipped her hand into the water. She found no one under the water, but the vile face laughed. The laughter was real. It carried down the street.

“Remember my prophecy!” The witch’s face grinned. “I usually take payment for prophecies in the form of a drop of blood, but I told you in advance. And don’t forget me when you’re visiting powerful people.”

The unpleasant voice cut through her ears like a drumbeat.

Desdemona wanted to go around the puddle, but there was no dry space around her. She had to turn back and walk into the gloomy alley. Green creatures of small stature crawled along the walls there. They resembled toads. Desdemona was not touched by any of them. She slipped past.

The streets ahead were not yet flooded, though even here the rain pounded on the windows, knocking out the shutters. The hail left puncture holes in the mica windows. Not so long ago, Aquilania had been a sunny kingdom. Now darkness was descending.

Desdemona stopped before a turn. There were men armed with sharp sickles. Their intentions were clearly malevolent, and their robes were suspicious. Only priests would wear such robes. Hoods pulled low over their foreheads to hide their faces, but she could see hoops on their hardened foreheads that seemed to have grown into the cracked skin. In the center of each hoop was a sign of some kind.

What the strangers were doing was like a ritual. The disfigured remains of bodies came to life and squirmed at the touch of the tips of their sickles. More than a dozen figures in red capes with brown claws stood in a circle over the body of the drowned woman. At any rate, by the looks of it, the dark-haired woman looked like a drowned woman. Her corpse swelled with water and turned blue. Seaweed dangled around her neck like a ligature, coiled like knots, as if someone had tied them on purpose.

The figures in red were also arguing about something. But their voices, unlike those in the tavern, were somber. The conversation resembled a funeral service.

“Is it she or isn’t she?”

“She’s the one, but it’s all too easy.”

“No hunting! No sacrifice! No magical intervention! If it had been the right one, it would have cost us dearly. This one fell right into our hands. More like a clever ruse to lead us astray.”

“But from the looks of it, this is the one. Even the markings on it are in the shape of the symbol of Darunon.”

“It could be artificially carved, not a birthmark. It’s done with magic or even needles.”

“But how precise the lines are? And the appearance fits, and the age, and the position of the stars, both celestial and nautical. This could be the maiden.”

“Let’s check it out!”

In the ringleader’s hand was a sickle with runes. The blade itself was frighteningly sharp. How well it was sharpened, how ominously it glittered!

Desdemona covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to keep from screaming. But she wanted to scream. The leader whispered something, tracing the wounds on the face and neck of the deceased. Then he swung the sickle as hard as he could.

Did he want to cut the corset of the dead woman’s body with it? But he drove the tip of the sickle into the flesh and cut her open from the genitals to the neck, studying the insides as if they were writing on paper. He is so indifferent, and the female body before him now resembles a gutted fish. From his whispering, something was happening. The corpse was coming to life and moving under the pressure of the sickle.

“It is no marks inside her,” he concluded. “So the external markings were a hoax. Why don’t you tell us yourself!”

Is that what he says to a dead woman? Desdemona was taken aback. She might as well be calling to the wall. But contrary to her expectations, the dead body suddenly opened its pale mouth and spoke, struggling to move a white tongue that resembled a worm that had crawled into the corpse’s lips.

“She 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 my mother in every way, and she is against it,” Moran drained the cup. He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to go back to the sea. It was because of someone or something that had flashed across the square recently. It had the same delicate scent as the earthly flower his mother had once brought underwater. It seemed to be called a rose and possessed sharp thorns. Could the same fragrance have come from a girl?

“The brothers said that women always drown underwater, even those who reciprocated their passion.”

Quo remained dutifully silent. His spiky tail peeked out from beneath the austere robe of the counselor.

It was worth searching for the creature that gave off that scent if it was mortal and could not survive underwater. And was it possible to rule here without sending the entire palace underwater?

Moran glanced at the cracks in the ceiling and walls where algae had sprouted. His servants were too fussy.

“Darunon wants to see you, but the situation is delicate.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t an underwater world, if he crawled into the palace, the building probably wouldn’t accommodate him. Not to mention the terror that would befall the courtiers.”

“Aren’t they the ones who sacrifice their youngest daughters to him?”

“But they themselves have never seen him, or they would have fled from this island where he is lodged like scalded men.”

“So bloody sacrifices suit them, but the sight of someone demanding them might shock them? Funny creatures, people! At odds with themselves in everything they do.”

“They have a weak nature, your naval majesty. They have to adapt to survive. Hence are all their fears, doubts, and inadequate behavior.

Moran grinned crookedly.

“It is a weak, cunning race,” he commented. “No match for us! Then their women are no match for us.”

He should forget about the delicate creature.

It is better to think of the sea monster. He pretended to be a god and began to speculate on people’s fears and ambitions. It was sacrificed to, asked for help and protection, and paid tribute. It was doing a fine job of running the country before Moran came along. You didn’t have to come here. Darunon had already taken control of the minds and feelings of the nobles of Aquilania. And the nobles depended on his will.

The path to the half-sunken ancient temple was paved with the skulls of virgins, golden offerings, blood and bones. A scarlet path stretched to the coast between thorns and mass burial sites. The people of Aquilania were too morally weak to rally and fight back against the bloodthirsty god. They could have killed him with fire, but they took no chances, continuing to nurse the slacker who promised them protection from the floods. He can’t even give them that protection. It was up to the king of the sea, not the monster who not so long ago had dwelt in the pyramid of the underwater kingdom and fawned before its king. Now Darunon has gotten cocky. Soon he will demand that half the country be sacrificed to him. It’s time to nail him. But other matters come first. First he must assert our power in the eyes of a people intimidated by years of sacrifice.

“Where have you been before?” Moran asked the former Viceroy in his thoughts. He was not to be blamed. He didn’t know Moran could read minds. And there was no point in telling him that the period of maturation in higher beings lasts much longer than in humans. Humans were already dying in their first century of life, while Morgens were only gaining strength. In the eyes of the people of Aquilania, an entire era had passed while one of the underwater princes had barely had time to grow up.

“What does Darunon want?”

“He only wishes to pay his respects to you as the long-awaited ruler of an underwater race close to his heart.”

Very high-minded! Moran grinned again.

“Let him wait.”

“Shall I tell him so?” Quo even trembled. He was afraid of being caught like a fly in a spider’s web in a half-flooded temple.

“Tell him I’ll come to him myself when I need him.”

Quo tilted his bald head obediently, fish scales growing on it. The elaborate peacock feather beret barely concealed his terrifying head. Let 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 canal, oddly enough, flowed right to the doorstep of the small cottage. The water collected in a small pool around the steps leading up to the porch. The base of the staircase was underwater, and on the door instead of a handle hung a ring embedded in a bas-relief in the shape of some terrifying sea creature. Desdemona was even frightened.

The gondola docked at the half-submerged steps.

“That’s it! I must go back to the palace,” the page helped her out of the gondola.

What hands he has! Desdemona shuddered at the touch of webbed fingers partially covered with scales. Even swamp fever doesn’t leave marks like that.

“Thank you for bringing it,” she said forcefully. You have to be polite.

“Thank the king. He’s the one who told me to escort you home.”

“Who did it?”

That sounds too fanciful. More like a corny boy’s joke. Who doesn’t know that every poor provincial girl dreams of attracting the king’s attention? Desdemona turned sharply with the intention of reprimanding the pageboy for his insolence, but both he and the gondola were already gone. The canal they had come from had somehow disappeared with them. Only a path overgrown with daffodils led to the cottage. There was not even a puddle near the cottage.

Swamp Prophetess

Candida rented a small but cozy two-story cottage. There was somewhere to stay while waiting for the official festivities after the coronation, which all the nobles were expected to attend. Those who were richer either had their own houses in the capital or rented entire mansions. This was not their case with their stepmother! Their cottage was surrounded by wild honeysuckle, balsam and rose hips. It was a picturesque place, but too far from the city.

Desdemona thought someone was hiding in the attic windows. It was all imagination. She pulled the ring. The door creaked nastily. The cramped hallway was dark. None of the servants greeted her.

But Desdemona mistook a green horned silhouette with many octopus-like limbs standing at the window, blocking out all the light, for a coat rack. And when she realized who was in front of her, she recoiled like a scalded woman.

The green diva, erect at full height, resembled a giantess from the swamp. Snakes swarmed in a halo around her head. There were several arms. From her back grew something like numerous slimy tails. They were fanning over her neck.

Desdemona did not know what to think. The creature in front of her was both magnificent, like an ancient deity, and horrible, like a character from children’s horror stories.

“You ate my whole family? Why is this place empty? It’s not a swamp! Go back! Or crawl away!”

The green face grinned snidely. Yellow eyes glittering yellow stared at the girl.

This was not the diva who had spoken to her from the pond. The face, though similar, was different. It would be beautiful if it weren’t for the frightening lumpy growths, like gills, and the predatory gaze. In addition, a third eye suddenly opened on her forehead beneath her snake hair. It was not yellow, but red.

“You are nineteenth Priestess,” the diva held out one clawed green hand. “As soon as you join us in the temple, the whole country will sink. All you need to do is perform the ritual.”

Desdemona staggered back, hit a large floor candlestick with her back, and knocked it over. It was better than if she had fallen herself. The floor beneath her feet was slippery. A viscous green sludge coated the floorboards.

“Do you know you’ve been prepared as a sacrifice?” The diva moved all her long octopus limbs, but she dared not touch Desdemona. “If you are opened and refreshed during the ritual, with your death the canal will close for us for another nineteen years, and the country will not sink. But a new ruler has come. Darunon has the right not to sacrifice you, but to perform another ritual. Then everything will sink, but you will survive and become the favorite priestess of the sea god.”

“Go away!”

Desdemona didn’t believe her anymore. It sounded too much like nonsense.

“If you don’t get to the temple on time and stay alive, the whole country will sink before the new moon. If you find a lover instead of becoming a priestess, the country will sink too. No choice!”

It doesn’t make sense. Desdemona was about to say so, but the diva’s silhouette began to fade, as if the paint had been wiped away with a rag.

The diva vanished as if the damp air had absorbed her, but a large muddy puddle remained on the floor, just where the guest had been standing. So it wasn’t a dream.

“What are you doing here?”

The sudden appearance of the stepmother behind her back was even more unpleasant than the visit of the swamp creature. Desdemona was suddenly enraged at her arrogance and disdain. How could you abandon her in the square in the middle of a storm!

“Actually, I live where my family does, which is, for the moment, you alone.”

Brothers at sea can be left out for now. As soon as they return, Candida will send them somewhere else. She usually chooses them to go where it’s more dangerous. Stepchildren are a burden to a young stepmother. A stepdaughter is a double burden.

“How did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“Was it?”

“Do you lock yourself out from me?”

No answer to the rhetorical question. Candida grumbled unhappily.

“Why is there a puddle on the floor? Didn’t you dry your dresses after you got caught in the rain?”

“I almost drowned. It was a mess in the square when you left me there.”

“It’s a shame you came back alive,” Candida said sincerely. “This house is cramped without you.”

There was no reason to resent her stepmother! At least she speaks sincerely. Lies — that’s what offends.

Candida was always short of money. This time, although it was enough to rent a cottage, it wasn’t enough for a maid.

“Come on! You can help me unbuckle my corset now that you’re here.”

Desdemona brushed her wavy blond hair with a brush and grudgingly recognized her stepmother as a beauty. Although it was hard not to be pampered and luxurious, sitting idle at home.

Candida seemed to have read her mind.

“Rumor has it that the young king is very handsome. He’s looking for a worthy bride right now. Do you think he might like me?”

“Don’t forget you’re already married.”

“Yes, to your sickly father,” Candida said with a bored look. “He may not last long, but the trouble is that kings are only suited to innocent maidens. It would be good to pretend that you are my stepmother, not the other way around.”

Desdemona almost dropped her brush in surprise.

“We’re almost the same age. And you have such a lean look, as if you were almost a widow.”

How like Candida to sin and be hypocritical, even though she doesn’t realize she’s doing wrong.

“The King is no petty aristocrat from the provinces. If the deception is discovered, you will be executed for such an adventure,” Desdemona informed her in a mentor-like tone. Usually it is the heads of families who teach their children and stepdaughters wisdom, but it is the other way around. The stepmother’s head is as naughty as a five-year-old girl.

Candida shivered as if she was cold.

“I’ve heard that execution in Aquilania is a gruesome process where the criminal is tied up and left by the water, from which something crawls out… Well, not even a corpse is left on the shore.”

“You will probably be dragged away as a traitor by the sea king and put on the throne instead of execution, breaking the treaty with the Earthlings and not drowning you. Legends say it’s happened before.”

“Do you think it exists?”

“Is it a sentence where a traitor is handed over to the sea creatures for execution?”

“No, you are fool! Is it a sea king?”

Candida polished her already polished fingernails.

“I don’t know him, so I can’t guarantee it,” Desdemona cut her off.”

“You’re so boring.”

“And you, having a stepdaughter of the same age, wanted to get a girlfriend?”

“Well, at least an interesting companion. You’re a mess. You’re good enough to sacrifice to the sea god.”

“Are you sure they sacrifice priestesses?”

“Only a few, I think.”

Desdemona’s heart sank.

“Have they done something wrong?”

“Probably,” Candida shrugged her lily-like shoulders. “I do not know exactly, I am not particularly religious.”

Surprising! Only an immoral person could cling to a wealthy old man. Faith and dignity aren’t always the same thing. Isn’t it immoral to sacrifice human beings to the sea? That’s what believers do, isn’t it?

There was a knock at the door. The brass ring was jingling.

“Come down and see who’s there,” the stepmother commanded her, as if she were a servant. “But first look out of the window, and don’t unlock the door at once, or you’ll let in a gang of robbers.”

“Robbers don’t usually knock on doors. We don’t have anything to steal, except outfits.”

Candida just hummed something. The sight of sea creatures crawling through windows and doors didn’t bother her. Desdemona, on the other hand, dreaded the reappearance of the divas.

But this time it was someone in menial livery. He stood at the door. A triangle with armorial patches made him look like a royal ambassador. Well, well! He had come from the palace, and his fist had dented the door as if a sea monster had knocked on it.

As it turned out, the messenger brought news from the king’s castle. His hand was indeed ugly and overpowered. Blunt black claws pierced the glove. Desdemona took the letter with distaste. There was a dirty mark on the parchment. But the seal at the bottom was definitely royal. It was an invitation to an event that looked suspiciously like a viewing! She was taken aback.

“Put on your evening dress!” commanded the messenger in an unpleasant, husky voice.

“Is it right now?” Candida, who had come downstairs, yawned with the urge to sleep.

The creature grinned at the sight of her. The stepmother herself also had a frightened look. She wasn’t used to lackeys that looked more like the underwater race.

“Such ambassadors would be delivering letters now? It’s immoral. I will complain.”

“To whom do you complain? They say the King is like them.”

“It is slander!”

“It is as you wish!” Desdemona shrugged her shoulders.

She herself had always felt like a servant. They told her to pack, so she had to choose the best dress and hurry to the palace.

The royal council

The king’s tentacles braided the table. They were his tentacles, not the monster that had supposedly been there when the young king had crushed the foreign armada. Theon looked at the new king with distaste. The handsome face resembled a mask that had been placed over the slimy body of a morgen. Moran could tame with a single glance, not to mention long, strong tentacles that had knocked the weapons from all the conspirators who were unhappy that the king had crawled in from the sea. All those who had something against him instantly shut up and pretended not to be familiar with their own bodyguards, who were just preparing to use swords and sabers. The corpses of several assassins sent to kill the king were found disheveled under a balcony on the coast.

Theon was merely the keeper of the royal seal, not a minister. He had no claim to coup or power, but a ruler with an angel’s head, a monster’s body, and superhuman cruelty immediately became deeply distasteful to him.

It was as if the sea itself had been let into the council chamber. The round table, covered with the arms of Aquilania, was entangled in a net of tentacles that crawled out from beneath the floor of the royal robe. Moran’s face would have resembled a frescoed angel, were it not for the penetrating gaze of blue eyes beneath heavy eyelids. It looked as if the head of a living statue had been sewn onto the body of a monster, hastily covered with a purple silk robe.

Theon didn’t want to give him the royal seal, but the king’s hand was incredibly strong, even stronger than all his tentacles.

“This is now mine!” He unceremoniously took the seal away.

It was just a toy to him, like a rod and scepter. They must have different symbols of power in the sea.

Theon wouldn’t be surprised if his honorable position as seal keeper was abolished right now, but Moran was in no hurry to introduce the brutal mores of the Undersea Kingdom to the court.

Strangely, he breathed air just like everyone else and was in no hurry to take a dip in the water. There were no water tanks in the council chamber, by the way. So water creatures are capable of living on land like humans. Curious, how long could they go without water? Theon glanced at the clock above the entrance to the hall. It had stopped, and the hands were covered in tarnish. The same thing had happened to the chimes on the castle’s main tower. Had time stopped? Or did creatures crawl inside the clock, braiding the gears with algae? Moran brought with him an unholy entourage. Creatures had appeared in the palace, weaving webs of algae, turning dry halls into pools of slime, dousing passersby with a torrent of water just by opening their mouths. Theon himself had stumbled upon one such creature, its needle-like back slithered back like a hedgehog, right in his bedroom. How many of those things had crawled out of the sea after Moran? So far, it was impossible to count.

The new ruler was viewed with fear and suspicion. On the one hand he could single-handedly sink a whole armada of enemies. On the other hand he brought fear. Many mutilated corpses began to be found in the palace.

Lancier, the fiancé of the maid of honor, who had recently been found dead in the throne room, looked at the king with hatred. He could not accept the rumors of Elisandre’s murder by a man from the sea. The corpse had rotted away with tarnish, and something like coral had sprouted in it. In fact, the corpse itself disappeared very quickly.

Nevertheless, Lancier raised a scandal with the king himself and found himself pinned to the floor by a tangle of black tentacles, which drew wet from pus wounds on his face and chest. The defeated and disfigured young man had to shut up, but he held a grudge.

On the solemn occasion of the first gathering of counselors, Moran was supposed to make a speech, but given the situation, he refrained. Those who were just about to overthrow him would hardly be interested in his speeches. They were much more impressed by his strength.

“Words are for the weak, I prefer action,” his cold gaze communicated as his omnipresent octopus tentacles strangled the conspirators. He did not, however, choke them to the end. The terrified advisors surrendered and recognized him as ruler before they died of suffocation. Politics is the main thing. Sometimes you have to be humble, even if you’re unhappy about something. Everyone was dissatisfied with the monster king, except a few unpromising lazy people from noble families, who saw their positions at court as a burden, so they were happy with any ruler who would not bother them much. If the king alone can sink the enemy fleet, then he is a hero to them, because they themselves will not have to call the defense. And it did not matter that the enemy would not have attacked at all, if they had not learned that the king of Aquilania was a native of the abyss.

The people under the windows shouted with joy, because they were allowed to collect the expensive things left from the broken armada, which the waves had miraculously thrown ashore.

“You are a hero to the poor people, but not to us,” the Chancellor rubbed the marks on his neck left by Moran’s tentacles. Moran himself looked on indifferently, as if he’d never touched the venerable old man.

“I have protected my shores. That’s all. No thanks necessary,” he said icily.

“If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have been attacked at all,” Lancier interjected.

“Well, now they know it’s dangerous to attack,” Moran stood up and straightened to his full height. All his tentacles slid off the table and laced the hem of his robe. If you don’t remember what he’s wearing underneath, he’s as handsome as a deity.

“In case another armada arrives, call me,” he said as he left.

His new advisor, hunched at the entrance to the hall, looked like a creature of the sea himself. Apparently, all officials would soon be replaced by such creatures. What else can one expect when the country is ruled by an assembr? Or what else do they call the children of marriages between sea-dwellers and earth princesses?

Theon stared after him with only one thought. He must be overthrown before he floods the place.

The Union of Nineteen

She dreamed she was already in the temple of the sea god. The priestess’s outfit was like a robe, and for some reason she was wearing a crown with sharp prongs and large pearls on her head. The pendants of the crown rest on her forehead.

The place is empty, except for the statues. There are nineteen of them. She didn’t count, but she knew the exact number from somewhere, as if someone had whispered it to her. The sea god himself was nowhere to be found. There was on the mosaic walls, only a ligature of symbols. The interior of the temple is circular, surrounded by powerful columns. Statues are nestled between them, each in its own niche on an elevation. They all depict slender girls with scales and fins sprouting from their bodies, like mermaids. Or are they statues of mermaids standing with their tails on pedestals? Desdemona squinted, trying to see. All the statues are half-fish, half-woman. Their faces are all beautiful. Marble lips rounded as if in a whisper, marble fingers making some sign. The statues seem to be trying to tell her something.

In the middle of the hall is a large deep pool, also round. Something is moving in it. The water inside it is murky and greenish, and suddenly a voice calls out from it.

Desdemona wants to move towards the water. The voice urges obedience. It is indeed the voice of a deity. She rushes to the call and suddenly discovers that instead of legs she has a scaly mermaid’s tail. It’s impossible to stand on it. She falls, tries to crawl forward to the pool, but for some reason her fins are bleeding. A bright trail of blood is left on the floor of the temple. It folds into some kind of symbol. And someone in a scarlet cloak and carrying a sickle appears nearby. The sickle is swung in an attempt to kill the only living mermaid in the temple, and the statues watch.

Desdemona wakes up from her nap. She must have dozed off in the luxurious royal carriage that had been sent for them. Somehow its body resembled a giant shell. It was probably hence the dreams, inspired by associations with the sea.

On the way Candida was talking non-stop about the new king’s love for all things related to the sea and the depths of the sea: shells, coral, even dried jellyfish. Where had she heard such nonsense? Desdemona could not imagine how one could be fond of collecting dried jellyfish or starfish. One old man-neighbor was into it, and it ended in tragedy. His corpse was found covered, not with dried, but with live jellyfish.

The sea is not to be trifled with. And it is especially with the natives of the deep. The dream of the mermaid’s tail wouldn’t go away. Desdemona even lifted her skirts to check if her legs were not fused and not covered with scales.

“Have some decorum!” The stepmother was indignant.

Who would have heard such a thing from a woman who goes to all sorts of lengths to arrange a lucrative marriage?!

The carriage stopped at the front entrance to the palace. Desdemona was glad she was wearing her best dress, green with yellow trim and puffed sleeves. Of jewelry she had only enamel medallion with a portrait of her mother and a simple diadem with a pendant-pearl, falling on the forehead. Candida was covered in jewelry, but she could not outshine the other guests arriving at the palace.

It was difficult to get out of the shell carriage. The footman sent to fetch them had to put his arm around Desdemona’s waist. His hands turned out to be sharp and cold. They even scratched the corset slightly. It felt like he had blades under his gloves.

Among the guests, Desdemona noticed several of her friends, who had also come from the province. They didn’t even nod to her.

“It is competition,” the experienced Candida explained to her. “All the girls of your age are vying to be the young king’s bride. If he doesn’t choose one, there will be a fight over him.”

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t properly marry a princess from another state to gain the support of some neighboring power. Aren’t dynastic marriages in fashion anymore?”

“What support does he need, simpleton? He just defeated an enemy fleet himself! With such skill, he’ll conquer all the neighboring states and take their princesses as concubines. But to establish himself here in Aquilania, where he has not lived for many years, he needs to marry a local noblewoman.”

And Candida, it turns out, was well versed in politics. Apparently this was required to catch the next husband at court. Her husband hadn’t died yet, but Candida liked to say that in his condition he didn’t live long anyway, which was true. The healer warned that it was dangerous to go near her father. There is a great risk of contracting a deadly marine contagion. Desdemona had to avoid visiting him. At the last visit to the bedroom of her father, she was able to notice the puffy, like a toad, eyelids, puffiness of the limbs, as if drowned and scales on the skin.

Indeed, it looked like a sea sickness. That was the name given to all the unknown but fatal diseases brought by aquatic life. She doesn’t want the brothers to catch something like that while swimming.

The approaches to the palace were illuminated by rows of torches fixed in brackets on the walls and parapets of the bridges. They resembled an orange-colored milky way.

“Once they used to leave torches here even in the daytime and light fires on the shore to scare away the aliens from the sea,” someone whispered in Desdemona’s ear. “And now the guest from the sea himself rules in the royal palace.”

Desdemona turned around. It was not to her. She heard bits and pieces of someone else’s dialog, and the speakers were standing far away from her. Both wore the robes of counselors.

“He is a son from the sea, not a guest.”

“What difference does it make? He is not of the humans. He will bring doom to us all.”

“So far he’s brought victory.”

“The evil spirit first pleases people into believing him, and then he will unleash his claws. We must be on our guard.”

“For now, we all revel in his triumph. From the wrecked armada, the waves have carried piles of precious things ashore. They’re being collected to be taken to the palace. Had the king not been a sea demon, all the riches would have sunk with the armada. Even pearl divers can’t retrieve the sunken treasure. One must make friends with the sea-dwellers. They’re good for you.”

“They’re also bad. The Armada wouldn’t have attacked us if they hadn’t known about our king. He will attract many enemies here.”

“It’ll flood everyone. And we will collect the bounty carried away by the waves.”

Desdemona did not listen further, for some hunched creature in a pilgrim’s cloak suddenly separated from the guests and made a sign to her to be silent. It had creepy, scaly, gaunt fingers. There were six on each palm. It held one of them up to its greenish lips.

Who let a pilgrim into the palace? Surely he must have come from the temple of the sea god. What if he had been sent for her? It’s too soon. She has a little more time before she’s officially summoned there. Yes, and even then she might not qualify, and then she’d be replaced by another chosen one. Desdemona wanted to say that to the strange pilgrim, but he had already disappeared somewhere.

There were many guests around. It was easy to get lost among them. Desdemona still looked for him. Something about the pilgrim intrigued her. He smelled of mud, seaweed, and all the mysteries of the sea floor. It would be nice to talk to him a little. Maybe he really did come from beneath the water. But how reliable are the tales of sea creatures?

Bridges spanned between the reservoirs and the plaza, leading to the loggias of the palace. Below them, the city’s gawkers were gathered below, gazing rapturously at the dressed-up guests. Desdemona was surprised to notice that there were bridges spanning to the sea. She wondered where they led to. It felt like there was a bridge over the sea too. One lady who wanted to check it out was suddenly splashed with water.

“Somebody won’t let me go in there! There’s some invisible barrier!” She screamed as they tried to dry her outfit.

“She’s probably drunk,” Candida said with her usual sarcasm. Stepmother was sometimes sharp-tongued. It seems to be a favorite of losers to speak ill of. Could Candida be one of them? Or did her marriage to an old man make her bitter?

Is it possible to invent a law that would forbid women to choose their husbands according to the thickness of their purse and not according to love? If Desdemona had an audience with the king, she would have asked for a law to prevent marriages of convenience. There are too many problems with ambitious women like Candida who have decided to get ahead in life by making marriage deals.

It would also be nice to ask the king to repeal the law on sacrifice to the sea and the choice of priestesses, but this is unlikely. After all, the sea needs tribute to keep the country from flooding. And Desdemona is unlikely to be admitted to an audience. Her meeting with the king alone is nothing but a dream.