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

are. And your family is embroiled in a political dance that has no room for missing magic princes.”

Tal didn’t answer.

The sun had yet to rise over the horizon, but the sky had lightened considerably. The ship rocked with whitecaps, the roughest seas they’d experienced thus far. A large splash had Tal glancing to the water, his breath catching when he spied a flash of red-and-gold scales. He shook his head. First he’d imagined Kest in the hold, and now a phantom Athlen.

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of his throat.

“What’s so funny?” Zeph snapped.

Tal craned his neck and met her hard gaze. He licked his dry lips. Maybe he’d show her. Maybe he should burn the ship, condemn them all to the depths.

“Ships!” the sailor from the crow’s nest cried, pointing off the bow. “Three of them on the horizon. Heading this way at a clip.”

Tal whipped his head around to follow the line of sight.

“What flag?” Zeph called from her position at the stern. “Friendly?”

The lookout raised the spyglass. “Harth’s.”

Garrett? It… hadn’t been a dream.

“Hoist the anchor,” Zeph shouted. “Loose the sails. We’ll outrun them.”

No! Tal jumped to his feet and ran toward the bow, dodging the outstretched arms of the crew. “Grab him!” she called. “Don’t let him get away!”

Tal made it to the bow unscathed and threw one leg over the railing before he was grabbed and wrenched backward. He struggled and cried out, determined to break free, kicking and biting as they dragged him toward the hold.

“Captain, they’re breaking course.”

Tal’s heart leaped to his throat. Why? Why would they turn away? Would they leave him again?

“No matter. They’re too close for comfort. We’re moving to the next location.”

Zeph grabbed the lapels of Tal’s shirt and jerked him toward her. “Calm down, boy. You’re making a scene.”

Tal wrapped his hands around her wrists. “Let me go,” he pleaded. “Please, let me go back to my family. I’ve done nothing. I’ve done what you’ve asked. I’m not magic. I’m not magic.” He choked on a desperate cry. “I’m not magic.”

Zeph’s features softened. “Oh, poor princeling. Magic or not, you were never going back alive.”

“What?” Hot, fresh tears spilled down Tal’s cheeks, her words a punch to his gut.

She shook her head, pink mouth turned down. “If you were magic, we were to hand you over to Ossetia to use as a weapon in Prince Emerick’s name. But you’re not. I believe that now. Thus, our orders changed. We’re to kill you and frame Mysten. They’ve protested the alliance for months. Your death will force your mother to war and settle the dispute over the border mines.”

His mouth worked uselessly, no sound coming out save the smack of his lips as the significance of Zeph’s revelation hit him. “I… I…”

If he died, his family would still be in danger, manipulated into a war they didn’t need. All his life he’d hidden his magic—under guard and under threat. He’d denied his true self, tamped the flames down, smothered them until it hurt, until smoke rolled in his gullet and his tongue burned with ash, all in the name of protecting his family. And it had been for nothing.

Zeph caressed his cheek. “Shhh,” she said. “It’s okay, princeling. I’ll ensure your death is quick when the time comes.”

Tal gasped and flinched. “I don’t…” He paused as realization sank in. He needed to live, and for that he needed magic. He didn’t have to hide it now. It boiled up within him, sparking into a flame, then rising into an inferno.

“It will be a loss to your family, but you’re fourth in line. Your kingdom will live on and your death will be the reason. Think of it—a strong alliance for your family and prosperity through war and conflict.”

Tal swiped his sleeve over his eyes. Smoke wreathed around him in the rising light. Embers sparked at his fingertips. “It’s a good thing.”

“Yes,” Zeph said with a sharp nod. “It’s a good thing.”

“No.” Tal took a step away, and in her kindness, she allowed him. It was a mistake. “No, I meant, it’s a good thing, then,” he continued, flicking his gaze to her, “that I have magic.”

She paled.

Tal thrust his hand to the sky. Magic burst from him, raw and uncontrolled, as he unleashed a pillar of fire. He poured his spirit into it, willed it higher, hotter than the breaking sun, and brighter than the watchful moon. It tore through the air, a beacon to his brother’s ships. The intensity of his innate fire sliced through the predawn sky like a flaming sword, rending the very air, a signal flare proclaiming proof of life and magic. In his abandon he singed the mast and set the sails ablaze.

The canvas caught and flames licked the beams. Wood sizzled and popped. Embers rained as Tal ducked out of Zeph’s reach and scrambled to the stern, toward the jolly boats, intent on escape in the aftermath of his display.

“Stop him!”

A knife whizzed past his ear and embedded in a beam in front of him. He skidded to a stop as a line of crew blocked his path, weapons drawn. He whirled around, and even as the ship continued to burn, Zeph pursued him.

“Let me go!” Tal yelled over the sounds of the tumultuous seas and the creak of catching wood. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You are not leaving here alive. The world will thank me for it!”

Surrounded and out of time, Tal licked his cracked lips. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone, but he was left with no other choice. He shot a blast of magic at the men nearest him, sending them scattering like ashes, then funneled the blaze to the deck, coaxing and pushing the fire where he wanted until the whole ship burned and blackened and curled with heat. Smoke twisted upward in a billowing mass, sweeping from the stern to the bow, obscuring sailors and equipment from view. Heat bubbled up beneath Tal’s feet as timbers and planks popped and