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

he was sure. Maybe Garrett had found him. Maybe Shay had saved him.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing, moderating the pain as best he could. Squirming, he tried to find a more comfortable position, but when he stretched his legs, his knee spasmed, and he bit back a cry. As he curled into a ball, his bare foot snagged on a steel bar. Tears gathering behind his eyes, Tal tucked his chin to his chest and reached for his magic. At first it was elusive, slipping away from him as his concentration wavered with the pain, but soon he grasped it. The familiar heat calmed him, steadied him, and he was able to think clearly.

Reaching out, eyes still pinched shut, his fingers grazed more steel near his head, and he bit back a sob at the realization that he was caged.

He’d been kidnapped.

Fear swelled in him as a hot torrent, followed quickly by guilt. Garrett and Shay would blame themselves for not keeping a better watch, and his mother, who’d pushed for Tal’s coming-of-age tour, would be beside herself with worry.

He bit his bottom lip. Since they were old enough to understand, Tal and his siblings had all been warned about people who would want to harm them. Still, he’d never thought it would happen to him. They’d all taken self-defense lessons and been assigned bodyguards. But Tal was the only one with magic burning in his gut that could melt sand. How could he have let himself be taken? An ugly voice inside him whispered that he should’ve fought them harder on the beach. He should’ve allowed the flames to burst from him in an inferno. He should’ve… Tal choked back a sob. He stuffed his fist in his mouth and allowed a moment of panic, biting down on his fingers to stifle any sounds.

He counted in his head, and when he reached a hundred, he sucked in a shaky breath and pulled himself together.

He needed to figure out how badly he was injured. Tentatively he probed with his fingers, finding damp, matted hair behind his right ear and a trail of tacky blood down his neck and shoulder. Even the light touch was enough to send sparks behind his eyes, and he pressed his forehead to the floor and gritted his teeth as his stomach crawled into his mouth. Inspection had yielded one injury thus far—a head wound that had bled considerably. Blood loss was the reason his mouth was so dry. He tested his leg and found another—a swollen knee from the last debilitating kick, which had made it difficult to run. His body ached in ways that meant bruises, and he might have a bite from the shifter on his upper arm. He’d need to wait until he was steadier to attempt escape, if there was any escaping to be tried.

Footsteps on the ladder made him tense, and he forced his body to relax. He turned his head away from the sound and hoped whoever it was wouldn’t be able to tell he was faking. Despite his closed eyes, Tal could discern the change in light when the two men stood over him.

“He’s still not awake? How hard did Mac hit him?”

“Not hard enough to addle him, but he’s the sickly prince. He’s soft.”

“Not soft enough. He put up a fight on the beach. Rot has a slash we had to stitch, and Mac still has grit in his eyes.”

Tal took a modicum of satisfaction at that.

“Did he use magic?”

“No, he didn’t. The rumors might not be true.”

“We have orders. If he does have it, we’ll draw it out of him.”

“Take his ring,” the other said. “We’ll need it if the captain wants us to ransom him.”

Tal held still and didn’t flinch when the sailor reached through the bars and lifted his hand, twisting his signet ring off this third finger. Tal bit back a grunt when they dropped his hand back to the deck.

They left, footsteps fading farther into the hold, and the creak of the ladder told Tal that he was alone again.

He blinked his eyes open, noting that the right was puffy and could open only to a slit. He added a black eye to his mental list of injuries. The hold was dark, save for a slant of bright sun that beamed down from the ladder opening. Above him would be the crew’s quarters, and above that, the deck. From the position of the sun he guessed it was midday. He pulled his body to a sitting position and groaned as his muscles protested and his head spun. His throat was parched, but his captors hadn’t left water.

He settled against the bulkhead and examined the cage. Three sides were flat metal bars bolstered by wood, and the fourth was the side of the ship itself. There were more cages like his in a row, but they were all empty. He could break the lock, like he’d broken the iron chain, but where would he go? They were out to sea—the distinct rhythm of the ship gave that away—but they weren’t moving. Were they moored? Waiting for instructions? Waiting for him to use his magic?

Tal swallowed down the lump in his throat and took stock of the facts.

He had been kidnapped by people who wanted proof of his magic. They’d taken his ring, probably to ransom him to his mother or show their superior they had him. This had been planned. Someone had seen him leave the tavern and waited for him to return to the ship while Garrett remained in town, holding out for the chance to scare him into showing his power. Was this related to the man who’d attacked him in the hold of the ship earlier in the day? He’d wanted to kill Tal, but these men had kidnapped him. They could’ve killed him on the beach, so either the plan had changed during the hours between the two incidents or they were unrelated.

Furthermore, these men