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

The breeze ruffled Tal’s hair as they headed toward the southernmost port of their kingdom. The first day of his tour had been unexpectedly eventful. Suddenly he was to oversee the well-being of a strange boy and procure information from him about a chest of gold and a ghost ship. And his magic had flared despite all the training he’d endured over the last several years to keep it a secret. He flexed his fingers and sighed.

How could he prove himself to his family if he couldn’t keep his magic under control in situations where he shouldn’t even be anxious? How could Garrett trust him?

Tal took a breath, glad for the clean sea air, free from smoke. He could start with doing what Garrett had asked. Garrett wouldn’t give him a task that he couldn’t do. He trusted his brother in that. And following his orders would be a good first step. Steeling his resolve, Tal left the railing and strode across the deck, intent on checking on his charge.

“I need water,” Athlen said, jerking his head up as Tal descended the ladder.

Tal frowned at the demand and the lack of formal greeting. His first instinct was to assert his status as a royal, but he paused. There was a strange kind of relief in not being recognized, especially aboard his brother’s ship. They’d been traveling only a day, but the weight of the crew’s stares and the sound of their whispers settled heavily between his shoulder blades. Maybe Athlen would treat him normally if he didn’t know the significance of Tal’s heritage.

“I’m Tal,” he said. Not Prince Taliesin of Harth. Not Tally, youngest son of the queen. Not Tal, last mage of the royal line. “I’m going to be looking after you.”

Athlen huffed. “As a prisoner?”

“As a guest.”

Athlen made a face and gestured to their surroundings. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Tal glanced around. Athlen wasn’t wrong. Shay had brought him down into the hold, below the crew’s quarters, into the belly of the ship. The wood creaked, the sun barely penetrated the three decks above them, and damp spots dotted the floor and walls, making the enclosed space humid. Though Athlen wasn’t bound, it was implied that this was where he was meant to stay.

“I’ll find you a blanket,” Tal said. “And a hammock. And food.”

Athlen didn’t respond. He sat on the floor against a small trunk, knees pulled to his chest. His knobby fingers dug into the calf muscle of the leg that was still fettered, and he flinched, features twisting in pain. He peered up at Tal, expression guarded.

“Are you going to keep me like they did? Make me do things?”

Tal reeled, dismayed. “No!” he said immediately. He held up his hands, palms spread. “No, we just want information. We’re not… we aren’t pirates.”

Athlen raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When we get to the port, and after you tell us about the gold and the ship.” Athlen narrowed his eyes. “Here,” Tal said, offering a skin of water. Maybe a show of kindness would allow Athlen to relax. “Are you injured?”

Athlen took the water cautiously. He pulled the cork and took a long swallow, his throat bobbing, his pale neck arched. He grimaced and wiped the drops from his mouth. “This is stale.”

Tal quirked his mouth. “We just left yesterday.”

“I’m not injured.” Athlen changed the subject, his large eyes catching the scant light and reflecting the color of honey. “I’m sore. I’m not used to being on my legs this long.” He wiggled his toes. The chain clanked against the floor. “You’re magic.”

“Hush!” Tal said, voice shrill. He looked around, despite knowing the hold was empty save for them. He leaned close. “Don’t.”

Athlen stood, the action oddly graceful. As he stretched, his spine bent in a way Tal had seen only acrobats accomplish when they performed for the palace. He moved into Tal’s space, his movements strange, like his limbs didn’t quite fit with his body, in some moments awkward and unsure, and in others nimble and quick. Standing this close, Athlen smelled of seaweed and salt and crisp ocean wind. The scent reminded Tal of the depths of the blue, the cool rush of water, and the beaches near the castle, smooth stones and swirling eddies, coarse sand on the soles of his bare feet.

“Why?” Athlen tilted his head, looking toward the ceiling, indicating the crew. “Do they not know?”

“No.”

He moved closer and poked Tal in the shoulder. “Are they afraid?” His lips curled into a smirk, teasing, as his gaze drifted over Tal’s frame. “Of you?”

Tal blushed, the heat rising in his cheeks, his pulse fluttering under his skin. “No. I’m not—”

“Of the magic, then?”

A lump lodged in Tal’s throat. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, they’re terrified of magic, of me.

Surprisingly, though, Athlen was not. While the crew gave Tal a wide berth, Athlen crowded close, with no sense of danger or regard for personal space. On the derelict, after Tal’s mistake, Athlen had moved toward him, not away. He appeared more intrigued than anything, and that was… different. It made Tal’s belly swoop, and not with seasickness.

“You’re not?”

“Should I be?” Athlen asked, genuinely curious.

Tal opened his mouth, then shut it, unsure of how to respond. He rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not…” Tal crossed his arms, wrong-footed. “I’m not… there hasn’t been…”

“Oh.” Athlen smiled sadly. “Are you the only one, then?”

Sucking in a breath, Tal stared at the deck. His heart beat like a hummingbird and his palms were slicked with sweat. Brow furrowed, he pushed the words out of his tight throat. “Surely you’re aware that there hasn’t been true magic in a long time. And the last one, the last mage, did… unspeakable things.” Tal’s stomach twisted. His family and tutor had warned him about telling anyone what he was, and here was a strange boy with a labile mouth and large eyes, and he had drawn