In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens (most motivational books txt) 📕

Swimming on the edge of consciousness, finally feeling safe, Tal nodded, eyes sliding shut. “Thank you.”

Athlen’s response was a splash. The jolly boat jerked into motion. Tal relaxed into the sway and passed out.

9

Tal woke up shivering. He squeezed his eyes shut, curled into a tight ball, and cursed whoever had left the door to the royal wing open. His chambers were down a long hallway, between Kest and Corrie’s bedrooms, with Garrett across the way. In the winter fierce breezes whipped off the ocean, and the stone corridors became wind tunnels. Tapestries would inevitably fall no matter how many fasteners the stewards used, and the sharp gusts howled, scaring everyone with the promise of ghosts. The doors helped to temper the chill and strength of the breezes, but only if they were closed and latched.

The last time the door had been left ajar was when Kest sneaked into his rooms in the small hours after spending the night with someone. He wouldn’t say who it was, but Tal guessed it might be Shay. Her crush wasn’t a secret to anyone except maybe the queen. Though Tal wouldn’t put it past his mother to know too.

She’d known about Tal even before he told her that he was attracted to the athletic squires and the beautiful ladies of the court and those who identified somewhere between. She’d merely smiled and cupped his reddened cheeks in her jeweled fingers and told him he was fortunate to have so many people to choose from for his potential spouse—when and if he wanted one. And whoever he did choose would be lucky to have him.

That was before the magic, before his life changed irrevocably and his dreams disappeared in a puff of smoke. Thoughts of a future had vanished when he set a tablecloth on fire while arguing with Corrie at the dinner table. From then on he was confined to the castle, hidden away from staff and nobles alike. The whispers spread as fast as the wind barreling through the corridors—sickly, shy, melancholic, magic.

“Tal?”

Furrowing his brow, Tal attempted to curl further into a ball, knees to his chest, but his arms were stuck behind his back. A burst of pain lanced down them into his hands, and he groaned.

“Tal?”

“Kest?”

“No. It’s Athlen.”

Tal cracked open his eyes. They were crusted, salt clinging to his eyelashes. “Athlen?”

“I’m here.”

Tal’s chest ached. His throat was raw. His lips were split. His skin felt flayed, stretched tightly over his joints. His head throbbed.

“Help.”

“I… what? Tal?”

Athlen’s face blurred above him. His mouth turned down in a deep frown. Dark lashes framed his wide honey eyes. He leaned in close over the lip of the jolly boat, droplets of water sluicing over his shoulders.

“Cold.”

“Oh. Hold on.”

There was a splash of water. Tal’s bed wobbled. He lifted his head and shook off the remnants of his dream. But he couldn’t shake the fever or the chill that had sunk into his bones. He blinked. He was still in the boat.

“Where are we?”

“My home,” Athlen answered. He reappeared at Tal’s side and draped a damp sail over Tal’s body, jabbing the fabric around him. “You’ve been here before. Don’t you remember?”

Tal did. Vividly. But being tucked into the bottom of a jolly boat in the shallow water of Athlen’s cove was much different from sitting next to him on the trinket-strewn shelf.

“I do.”

“Can you use your magic now? On the irons? I don’t have a key, and your fingers don’t look as they should.”

Tal flexed his fingers, then wished he hadn’t as pins and needles pricked along his skin. He needed to free his hands, or risk permanent damage, but he’d have to use magic. The thought made him sick to his stomach, and he closed his eyes. An image of the boat aflame lit behind his eyelids, and he clenched them tighter to will it away. But he couldn’t; the vision seared in his memory. He’d done that. He’d destroyed Zeph’s ship in anger and despair. The cries of the dying crew members rang in his ears.

“Do you have anything that could break them?” Tal’s voice was rough and weak.

“No. I looked. Just use your magic like you used it on mine.”

Filled with guilt, Tal gritted his teeth and concentrated on the flicker of magic in his belly and channeled it to his fingertips. They stung with the sudden heat. He flinched, gasping as his fingers curled in toward his palms. He opened his eyes and met Athlen’s worried gaze. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Athlen said, moving the tarp to squint down at Tal’s hands. “I know you can.”

Tal bit his lip. He didn’t deserve Athlen’s faith, but he couldn’t deny him, so he tried again. Tears of frustration and pain and overwhelming regret pricked behind his eyes. His rising fire sizzled painfully down his nerves. Wrapped in a sail and surrounded by wood, he imagined igniting it all by accident, hurting himself—or worse, hurting Athlen—especially with how unfocused he was. He’d need another way.

He had used the power of will to snag the sail from beneath the crate to send his family messages. Maybe he could… maybe if he… Tal gathered his magic. His core flooded with blessed heat and power, but it was different from before, difficult to wield. He tried to will the cuffs to break, yearned for the iron to become brittle, but his magic skittered away from him in a wash of dizziness.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on his decorum lessons. He’d learned to be royal, to demand respect and command attention. He’d had teachings drilled into him from an early age—squared shoulders; straight spine; flat, intimidating gaze. He was a prince. His birth and blood demanded obedience and deference, but it was his integrity and character that would command loyalty and respect. Except nothing about his recent decisions made him feel like he deserved loyalty or respect. Yet Athlen was still here, supporting him, believing in him. Perhaps whatever