In Deeper Waters F.T. Lukens (acx book reading txt) 📖

had a shifter with them—someone who possessed that uncommon ability like Kest. Shifters weren’t as rare as the type of magic that pulsed through Tal’s veins, but they weren’t commonplace, either. The ability traveled through bloodlines. Sought after during the time of Tal’s ancestors, shifters were revered for their power by some and kept as pets by others. Many were married into noble families, and now, of the few who remained, most were of the ruling houses. Though in his lessons on the other royal families, he didn’t remember learning of anyone who could turn into a big cat.

Whoever the cat was, it all pointed to a political kidnapping.

Was this related to Athlen’s chest of gold? The mercenaries who’d held him?

Tal sucked in a sharp breath. Athlen. Was he all right? Did he get away? Would he tell Garrett what had happened? Had he followed the ship, or had he abandoned Tal to his fate—unsure or uninterested in the affairs of humans?

Tal patted the pocket of his shirt and found the hard, small lump of the shark’s tooth. He fished it out and clasped it in his hand, the point of it biting into his palm. No, as different and as strange as Athlen was, he wouldn’t abandon Tal to this fate. He’d made a promise at Dara’s house, one that wouldn’t allow him to leave Tal in clear danger. They were bound by the magic in their words. And while Tal wouldn’t place his faith solely in Athlen, he wouldn’t dismiss him either. He slid the tooth into his trouser pocket for safekeeping.

Closing his eyes, Tal wilted against the wooden bulkhead. The stubborn ache in his head made his vision swim. He needed to rest. He’d plan when his head was clearer and fear wasn’t so tangible. Until then he knew one thing for certain—his captors couldn’t find out about his magic, no matter what.

The rattling of the cage jolted Tal into wakefulness. He snapped his head up from where his chin rested on his chest, and vertigo washed over him. He listed to the side and caught his body from falling with his elbow.

“Ah, the whelp is awake.”

Eyes narrowed, Tal made out the speaker as the leader from the gang on the beach. He was shorter than Garrett, and his long hair hung in greasy strands. His hairline receded on the crown of his head, and his large forehead crinkled when he scowled at Tal. He had a few stitches in his cheek from where Tal had smashed the shell across his face in the scuffle. This must be Rot.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but your servants aren’t here to dress you.”

Tal rolled his eyes, and he would’ve retorted, but it would’ve ended in vomit.

Rot pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He yanked it open.

“The captain wants to see you.”

He reached in and grabbed Tal’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Tal stumbled, his knee protesting the movement, pain lancing through his body and his head. He gripped the cage with his free hand, the steel slats biting into his palm.

“What? Can princes not walk?”

Tal breathed heavily through his nose, sounding like the old bull the castle stewards trotted out for festivals to represent virility and prosperity, except Tal wasn’t feeling very prosperous presently. He gritted his teeth and shuffled through the small cage opening.

His entire body ached from his head to the soles of his bare feet, but he gamely kept his legs despite the sway of the ship. He pulled his body up the ladder to the crew’s quarters, then carried on up the steps to the top deck. Rot kept an iron grip on Tal’s upper arm, squeezing over the wound from the shifter, but Tal was able to tolerate it as soon as the fresh ocean breeze swept over the deck. He tipped his head back and bared his face to the sun, his head clearing, and the nausea dissipating slightly.

Rot tugged him, and Tal lurched toward the captain’s quarters at the stern of the vessel, taking in the sights and sounds around him. The sea stretched in all directions with no land in sight. Small caps on the waves rocked the ship. The ship was anchored, and sailors lazed about the deck, playing cards or sleeping. A few fished off the bow, shooing away the gulls. Squinting upward, Tal spotted a sailor in the crow’s nest. The sails were furled, so he was meant to watch for incoming vessels.

Rot knocked on an ornate door. He didn’t wait for a response before shoving Tal inside. Tal stumbled but caught himself before he went to his knees.

“Well, he doesn’t look like a prince,” an amused voice said as Rot entered on Tal’s heels.

“We may have roughed him up a bit, Captain.”

She nodded. “Leave us.”

Rot didn’t hesitate to scurry away and shut the door behind him.

Tal stood in front of the large desk while the captain leaned on her outstretched arms, studying him with a sharp gaze. Her blond hair was cut short, shaved close on the sides, and spiked with grease on top. She had a scar that ran lengthwise along her nose, another on the underside of her jaw, and faint crow’s-feet around her eyes. She was dressed like a sailor in light clothes and was simply adorned, save for a length of gold chain around her neck and hoops in her ears.

She eyed him in silence. Tal locked his knees, willing his body to stay upright.

“You’re the child everyone is terrified of? You don’t look like much.” She narrowed her eyes. “But your great-grandfather’s face was said to look like melted wax, so I tend not to judge by appearance alone.”

Tal clenched his hands to his sides. “I demand to know the name of the person who holds me and whom they represent.”

“Strong words from a bruised and broken boy.” She straightened, then strode around to the front of the desk, bracing on the edge and crossing