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

small part of Tal that had shown kindness to a stranger was still there, deep inside. Perhaps a small part of him was still good.

Tal throttled his feelings of self-loathing and concentrated on recalling how he’d felt when he helped Athlen escape his shackles, reaching farther than he ever had for his magic. He could do it. He could do it. He had to do it. He would do it.

He demanded the metal to break.

A crack like a whip echoed in the cave, splitting the silence. Tal gritted his teeth and stretched his arms, and the cuffs snapped.

Tal cried out. He was stiff from cold and being bound, so moving his arms was agony, but he persevered and managed to arrange his limbs in front of him. His fingers were colored from lack of circulation, and bruises ringed his wrists. Despite how utterly wretched his body felt, he was giddy with the thought that, through some miracle, he’d escaped. He blindly searched for the edge of the sail, grabbed it, and burrowed beneath, cold and wet and miserable, but free.

“You did it!” Athlen poked Tal in the arm until he opened his eyes. Athlen beamed above him. “I knew you could.”

Nodding, Tal didn’t try to move further. His senses hovered at the edge of exhaustion. He wanted to sleep again but was afraid.

Athlen’s smile faded. “You don’t look well.” He tilted his head. “Are you…” He bent closer. “Are you ill?”

Tal lifted an eyebrow. He shivered, but his body burned. His head pounded. “What?”

Athlen’s fingers were cool as they slid over Tal’s forehead, then down his cheek and the line of his jaw. “You’re hot, and you’re pale except your cheeks.” He gently pushed on Tal’s shoulder, and Tal bit down on a shout. “Your shoulder is bleeding.” He licked his lips. “Does it hurt?”

Tal laughed, the sound a scrape from his raw throat. “Yes.”

The boat rocked as Athlen took a closer look, peeling back the sail and Tal’s wet shirt. “Merpeople heal much faster than humans. Our skin is thicker and knits quickly, so I’m not sure how to fix you. Were you stabbed?”

“There was a scuffle before I fell in. I think that was when it happened.”

Athlen frowned. Without thinking, Tal weakly raised his hand and traced the curve of Athlen’s mouth with clumsy fingers. Athlen clucked his tongue when Tal grimaced at the action, but Tal wasn’t sorry for it, not when Athlen took his hand, wrapped his own knobby webbed fingers around Tal’s, and held them close to his chest.

“You saved me,” Tal said.

Athlen mustered a grin. “You saved me first, remember? I was returning the favor.”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Tal smiled lazily, and his eyes fluttered shut. A smart smack to his cheek startled him back to wakefulness. He scowled.

“Don’t fall asleep yet. I think you’re sick. I need to get help.”

Athlen heaved his body from the water with a grunt, his beautiful tail creating ripples in the otherwise smooth surface. Once on the shelf, Athlen transformed, grimacing as his fins fused into body and his scales smoothed. His tail split and Tal looked away, unwilling to watch the rest.

A rustle of fabric followed, and Tal craned his neck to see Athlen dressed in trousers and a shirt. He shoved the wide-brimmed hat on his head.

Panic caught in Tal’s throat. “Don’t leave me.” His voice was plaintive, bordering on a whine, not at all befitting a prince.

“I’ll be right back with Dara. I promise.”

Athlen crossed the area and picked up a bundle of fabric. He shook it out, scattering gold coins, sea glass, and jewels across the narrow floor. He pulled the boat, Tal’s bed for now, closer to the shelf and spread the blanket over Tal’s body. He tucked it in, as he had the sail, and though it was musty, it was infinitely warmer.

Tal sighed into the heat.

“I’ve lashed the boat. You won’t drift away.”

“Take me with you.”

“Can you walk?”

Tal pointed his toe and his muscles spasmed. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. His head was full of wool and he wanted to sleep, and he was losing snatches of time, reality fuzzing in and out. It was irrational to want Athlen to stay when they both knew he needed to go, but Tal was afraid. Afraid his rescue was all a dream. Afraid of recapture. Afraid of himself, of the monster he’d become in his rage and grief.

Athlen knelt next to the boat. His palm was heavy and cool on Tal’s hot skin. “I can’t…” Athlen’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know how to take care of a sick human. I’ve not done it before. I need to get help. You’ve been bleeding the entire time it took me to drag the boat here. You could be dying, and I wouldn’t know. I can’t… I can’t lose you, too.”

Tal swallowed down a thick sob. “I’m being childish.”

“No.” Athlen shook his head. “You’re not. But you’re safe here. And I promise, I will return as quickly as possible.”

“Okay.” Tal blinked, and his eyelids stubbornly stayed closed. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Athlen said, his voice close.

“Don’t… don’t tell her about the magic.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Tal said on a sigh.

There was a wet, warm press to Tal’s forehead, followed by the scent of a salt breeze. “You’re welcome.”

Tal fell asleep to the sound of trinkets scattering across stone, the rustle of fabric, and the fade of footsteps echoing off the rock walls.

“Why won’t you just tell me where you’re taking me?”

Tal woke from his fitful sleep. He had dreamed again, visions of his home mixed with that of the ship to create a patchwork of warmth and terror. They left him unsettled and afraid.

“Dara, could you trust me, please?”

Athlen. He’d returned. Grateful and relieved, Tal felt the strangling panic release its hold, and his tense and sore muscles eased, as did the furrow of his brow.

“I do, sometimes, but you’re not good at being truthful.”

“If this is about not showing you my tail—”

“No,