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

He held his hand over the message and concentrated. He called to his magic, and the letters burned like embers. He muttered the incantation, and slowly the words faded until all that was left was the scrap of sail and the bloodied tooth.

The achievement was small and the message vague, but Tal squeezed the tooth in his hand, hope a flickering flame in his belly. Someone would find him—Athlen or Garrett or Kest or Isa.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next day was much of the same, and in his brief reprieves from the backbreaking work, Tal peered over the gunwale of the ship and wished for a glimpse of Athlen’s tail. He kept his eyes and ears open for more information, but the crew was tight lipped, and water stretched as far as he could see.

After dinner Zeph called him to her quarters and taunted him with rest if only he used magic. He attempted a glimpse at the maps spread on her desk, but she was savvy and blocked his view.

“They’re not coming for you,” Zeph said, swirling the wine in her glass. “Word is they stopped looking and have given you up for dead.”

Tal bit down on his lip. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. His mother wouldn’t allow them to stop searching.

That night he took out the scrap of sail. With no one around, he touched the tip of his finger to the tar between the planks and heated it until it bubbled. He dipped the tooth into the viscous liquid and dragged it across the fabric. For a moment he imagined setting fire to the ship, escaping in one of the jolly boats, and rowing away. But his body was weak, and he had no supplies and no earthly clue where he was. He wouldn’t last long. He licked his cracked lips. He could endure. He would last until Garrett and Shay found him.

Same place. Cpt Zeph. Cat shifter.

Tal paused, breathing hard, before he added, Injured.

Days bled into nights, and time passed in a cycle of work and sleep. Tal gathered no new information. He hunched in the bilge and pumped the handle until the muscles in his arms bunched and burned. He worked on the deck, scrubbing the wood or coiling rope, until his skin scorched and peeled and his hands oozed with blisters and blood. He weathered Zeph’s bold declarations that his family wasn’t looking for him and had given up. The days flew by, as did the time before his sister’s wedding. His body and resolve slowly withered, and the flame of hope he held on to dimmed with every passing day.

Each night he sent a message that he didn’t know if his family received. Since he had no new information to share, Tal’s messages only served to assure his family that he was alive and to beg that they keep looking for him. Then he slept hard. Some nights he didn’t dream. Others he dreamed of Athlen, of the frisson of magic and intimacy they’d shared in the cave. He dreamed of his sister Corrie urging him to play with her and her dolls. He dreamed of Kest flying in to save him. He dreamed of Garrett’s laughter and Isa’s kind eyes and Shay’s stern expression when he shook her in the port town. When he woke, and the dreams dissipated in the dust and closed air of the hold, Tal’s heart would stutter and sink as despair crept back in.

He didn’t know what day it was when Poppy woke him well before dawn with a touch to his face through the bars.

“Prince,” she whispered.

Tal stirred, his eyes cracking open into blurry slits. She smiled and slid a canteen through the slats. Confused and exhausted, Tal pushed himself up. He popped the top and carefully tipped the canteen to his mouth. He wet his lips first, then gulped, the cool water soothing to his raw throat and cracked skin around his mouth.

“Where’s Rot?” he said in a sleepy slur.

“Not awake. He’d be upset if he knew I was here.” She nudged the water. “Drink more. You need it.”

Tal didn’t question her and slurped more of the water until it sloshed in his empty belly. He took a breath, then poured the remainder of it over his feverish face, rivulets cutting lines through the grime.

“Why are you here?”

She frowned. “I don’t like what they are doing to you.” She looked away, the shadows obscuring her face. “I’m sorry your family isn’t coming for you.”

Tal wiped his tattered sleeve over his forehead and didn’t answer.

“They want to break you. They say you are dangerous, and you have this power that could send all the kingdoms careening back into war.” She shook her head, light brown curls bouncing over her cheekbones. “But you don’t seem dangerous, and you keep taking the punishment the sailors give you.”

“I’m not dangerous.”

“I didn’t think you were.” She covered his hand with her own, her skin dry and cool. “You’re handsome and spoiled, but resilient. You’re the kind of royal the fairy tales talk about.”

Fogged with exhaustion, Tal stared too long at where she touched his hand, dredging up the memory of the last person who had dared to be so familiar with him—Athlen. Athlen, who had confessed his secrets and loneliness to Tal with no agenda, who had openly listened to Tal’s burdens rather than press a reveal for his own purposes.

Tal pulled his hand away from Poppy and tucked it close to his chest, her touch feeling like a betrayal to that memory.

“I’m not dangerous,” he repeated.

“But do you have it?” She pinned him with a thoughtful stare. “Do you have magic?”

Despite the water, Tal’s tongue lay thick and heavy in his mouth. “What does it matter?”

Poppy’s eyebrows shot up. “Because if you have it, show them! The work and insults will stop!”

“And if I don’t?”

She leaned in and wrapped her hands around the bars. “Do you?”

Tal