In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens (best business books of all time txt) 📗

out of him in a conflict. He didn’t have time to wonder why; he only knew he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He clenched his fist shut, extinguishing any desire to use the flames, smoke wreathing around his fingers as he snuffed the magic out.

“Who are you?” Tal used his best authoritative voice, the one that made him sound arrogant and spoiled. “What do you want?”

“You.” The sailor flipped the blade in his hand as the other men tightened around him.

Tal’s pulse raced, but he steeled himself and took a breath. If not a magic reveal, then a kidnapping. He’d been trained for these—royalty was always at risk. He called upon the practices he’d learned from the mandatory self-defense classes taught by the castle knights, and gripped the dagger tight in his hand. There were five of them and one of him. He was outmatched, but he’d make them bleed for it.

He dodged the first man who lunged for him, swiping out with his blade and catching the fabric of the man’s tunic. His knife sliced through cleanly, ribboning the shirt and proving his ability to defend himself. Tal ducked and rolled away from the next attack, scraping up a handful of sand and throwing it into the assailant’s face. The mercenary shouted and staggered back, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes.

“Not such a whelp after all,” their leader snarled. “Quit playing with him and get him.”

Tal was not above running away, but they were blocking his escape to the docks, and he refused to lead them back to Athlen’s cove. The sea was his only option, but the waves pounded on the shore, rolling dark as pitch, and hiding their own threats, which were known to drift inland in the nighttime. As fast as he could run, he wouldn’t be able to outrun the large cat that stalked beyond the reach of the circle. It growled at him, its flashing yellow eyes marking it a shifter like Kest.

“Who are you?” Tal demanded. “What do you want with me? Whoever is paying you, I can pay you more.”

They snickered. “Trust us. You are worth more to us captured than free. Maybe even more dead than alive.”

Tal’s body went cold. He wasn’t escaping. He flipped the dagger, catching the hilt in a different grab, and maneuvered until his back was to the waves.

“Come get me, then.”

They swarmed.

Tal fought. He kicked and punched. He bit down when a meaty arm clamped around his neck, blood filling his mouth until he gagged. He lost his dagger when his wrist was bent back, his fingers slacking, the weapon tumbling harmlessly to the sand. He yelled and struggled, fighting uselessly against the hands and arms that pawed at his body.

Throwing an elbow, Tal caught someone in the gut, and he wrenched his arms away. Suddenly free, Tal stumbled along the shoreline, bare feet kicking up sand. He could make it to the dock if only he gained his balance and outran the shifter.

“Tal!”

Tal whipped his head to the side to see Athlen in the waves. In the surge of adrenaline and fear, he’d forgotten that Athlen was following him in the surf.

“Athlen!”

“I’m coming!”

Tal veered course and ran into the ocean, water soaking his trousers up to his thighs. He was almost to Athlen’s outstretched hand—almost to safety.

The cat slammed into Tal’s legs. With a cry Tal fell. The surf washed over him, up his nose, into his mouth, as the cat bit the fabric of his shirt, teeth scraping hot over Tal’s skin, and pulled him back to the gang of men, growling. Sputtering, sopping wet, Tal gathered his feet under him, his shirt tearing, and made one last-ditch lurch toward the sea.

A swift kick to his leg stopped him. Tal’s knee crumpled, and he landed hard on his side.

Get up. Get up. Get up!

Tal rolled away and blindly gripped a large shell. He swung it at the nearest attacker as he staggered upright. Blood sprayed across the sand. Athlen’s voice in his head, Tal lunged for the ocean. Athlen was out there. Athlen could pull him out to sea, to safety, and he could escape. His attackers wouldn’t expect it. The path would be clear. Athlen was swimming in the surf, Tal was certain, and if he wasn’t, Tal would rather drown than become a ransom. He could make it. He could—

The blow to the back of his head stole his breath and sent him flat to the sand, the shell skittering out of his grip. His vision tunneled, and his stomach roiled. He tried to push onto his elbows, but he only managed to scoot his forehead across the sand. Another wave washed on the shore, and Tal wheezed as salt water flowed into his mouth.

He struggled, the sailors laughing above him as he weakly clawed at the sand.

“If he was like his ancestor, he’d have used the flames by now.”

Boots filled up what was left of his vision, and then there was a hand in his hair, and his head was yanked up, neck straining.

“Come on, boy. Show us what you can do.”

Tal spit out a mouthful of grit. “Die in a fire.”

The punch snapped Tal’s head to the side, and he blacked out.

6

Tal woke in stages, coming to consciousness slowly, like the ebb and flow of a tide, but in shades of gray instead of crystal blue. The first thing he became aware of was the lancing pain in his head. His eyes watered with it and his stomach lurched. More than once it sent him careening back into darkness, until at last it was merely a dull throb matching his heartbeat rather than a dagger in his temple. Next, he noted the rocking of the floor beneath him, the rough scrape of wooden slats and tar under his palms, and the sounds of wood creaking and water dripping. He wasn’t bound, which was fortunate, but he was in the belly of a ship, of that