Forgive My Fins
Page 68
“She’s safer than a wakemaker,” he counters.
He has a point.
“Okay,” I say, trying to be diplomatic, “I’ll learn to drive Princess on one condition.”
“Shoot.”
“I get to wear a pink helmet.”
He groans, like this is the biggest imposition ever. Finally he says, “Okay, but no streamers on the handlebars. She’d never live down the embarrassment.”
“Deal,” I say as I slip my hand into his and we start digging her out of the mess.
I bet I can renegotiate the streamers later.
Epilogue
Dosinia Sanderson slipped through the open doorway to the king’s office, her heart flutter-kicking despite knowing that the palace guard had retired when Uncle Whelk went to bed a few hours ago.
Still, the thrill of danger coursed through her. It wasn’t fear of getting caught—she’d face whatever consequences the king threw her way—but excitement over what she was about to do. She’d pulled a lot of crazy and daring stunts in her sixteen years, but this was by far the boldest.
Having been an unwilling visitor here often enough, she didn’t bother to snoop around. Muddy old scrolls and portrait mosaics of her ancestors were about as exciting as sand. And just as useful. Instead, she headed directly for her prize. Perched on a stand behind the king’s desk, like a hydra waiting for the ocean current to whisk it away to a new home, stood the royal trident. It looked common, useless. But in the hands of a merperson of royal descent it would wield great power.
It just so happened that Doe was a merperson of royal descent.
As she wrapped her fingers around the staff, she felt a small burst of electricity, a charge that tingled through her wrist and forearm. An ancient magic. Finally, she thought as she swam back out the way she’d come in, she would get her revenge on those responsible for her parents’ deaths: humans.
He has a point.
“Okay,” I say, trying to be diplomatic, “I’ll learn to drive Princess on one condition.”
“Shoot.”
“I get to wear a pink helmet.”
He groans, like this is the biggest imposition ever. Finally he says, “Okay, but no streamers on the handlebars. She’d never live down the embarrassment.”
“Deal,” I say as I slip my hand into his and we start digging her out of the mess.
I bet I can renegotiate the streamers later.
Epilogue
Dosinia Sanderson slipped through the open doorway to the king’s office, her heart flutter-kicking despite knowing that the palace guard had retired when Uncle Whelk went to bed a few hours ago.
Still, the thrill of danger coursed through her. It wasn’t fear of getting caught—she’d face whatever consequences the king threw her way—but excitement over what she was about to do. She’d pulled a lot of crazy and daring stunts in her sixteen years, but this was by far the boldest.
Having been an unwilling visitor here often enough, she didn’t bother to snoop around. Muddy old scrolls and portrait mosaics of her ancestors were about as exciting as sand. And just as useful. Instead, she headed directly for her prize. Perched on a stand behind the king’s desk, like a hydra waiting for the ocean current to whisk it away to a new home, stood the royal trident. It looked common, useless. But in the hands of a merperson of royal descent it would wield great power.
It just so happened that Doe was a merperson of royal descent.
As she wrapped her fingers around the staff, she felt a small burst of electricity, a charge that tingled through her wrist and forearm. An ancient magic. Finally, she thought as she swam back out the way she’d come in, she would get her revenge on those responsible for her parents’ deaths: humans.
