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 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 had a shifter with them—someone who possessed that uncommon ability like Kest. Shifters weren’t as rare as the type of magic that pulsed through Tal’s veins, but they weren’t commonplace, either. The ability traveled through bloodlines. Sought after during the time of Tal’s ancestors, shifters were revered for their power by some and kept as pets by others. Many were married into noble families, and now, of the few who remained, most were of the ruling houses. Though in his lessons on the other royal families, he didn’t remember learning of anyone who could turn into a big cat.
Whoever the cat was, it all pointed to a political kidnapping.
Was this related to Athlen’s chest of gold? The mercenaries who’d held him?
Tal sucked in a sharp breath. Athlen. Was he all right? Did he get away? Would he tell Garrett what had happened? Had he followed the ship, or had he abandoned Tal to his fate—unsure or uninterested in the affairs of humans?
Tal patted the pocket of his shirt and found the hard, small lump of the shark’s tooth. He fished it out and clasped it in his hand, the point of it biting into his palm. No, as different and as strange as Athlen was, he wouldn’t abandon Tal to this fate. He’d made a promise at Dara’s house, one that wouldn’t allow him to leave Tal in clear danger. They were bound by the magic in their words. And while Tal wouldn’t place his faith solely in Athlen, he wouldn’t dismiss him either. He slid the tooth into his trouser pocket for safekeeping.
Closing his eyes, Tal wilted against the wooden bulkhead. The stubborn ache in his head made his vision swim. He needed to rest. He’d plan when his head was clearer and fear wasn’t so tangible. Until then he knew one thing for certain—his captors couldn’t find out about his magic, no matter what.
The rattling of the cage jolted Tal into wakefulness. He snapped his head up from where his chin rested on his chest, and vertigo washed over him. He listed to the side and caught his body from falling with his elbow.
“Ah, the whelp is awake.”
Eyes narrowed, Tal made out the speaker as the leader from the gang on the beach. He was shorter than Garrett, and his long hair hung in greasy strands. His hairline receded on the crown of his head, and his large forehead crinkled when he scowled at Tal. He had a few stitches in his cheek from where Tal had smashed the shell across his face in the scuffle. This must be Rot.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but your servants aren’t here to dress you.”
Tal rolled his eyes, and he would’ve retorted, but it would’ve ended in vomit.
Rot pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He yanked it open.
“The captain wants to see you.”
He reached in and grabbed Tal’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Tal stumbled, his knee protesting the movement, pain lancing through his body and his head. He gripped the cage with his free hand, the steel slats biting into his palm.
“What? Can princes not walk?”
Tal breathed heavily through his nose, sounding like the old bull the castle stewards trotted out for festivals to represent virility and prosperity, except Tal wasn’t feeling very prosperous presently. He gritted his teeth and shuffled through the small cage opening.
His entire body ached from his head to the soles of his bare feet, but he gamely kept his legs despite the sway of the ship. He pulled his body up the ladder to the crew’s quarters, then carried on up the steps to the top deck. Rot kept an iron grip on Tal’s upper arm, squeezing over the wound from the shifter, but Tal was able to tolerate it as soon as the fresh ocean breeze swept over the deck. He tipped his head back and bared his face to the sun, his head clearing, and the nausea dissipating slightly.
Rot tugged him, and Tal lurched toward the captain’s quarters at the stern of the vessel, taking in the sights and sounds around him. The sea stretched in all directions with no land in sight. Small caps on the waves rocked the ship. The ship was anchored, and sailors lazed about the deck, playing cards or sleeping. A few fished off the bow, shooing away the gulls. Squinting upward, Tal spotted a sailor in the crow’s nest. The sails were furled, so he was meant to watch for incoming vessels.
Rot knocked on an ornate door. He didn’t wait for a response before shoving Tal inside. Tal stumbled but caught himself before he went to his knees.
“Well, he doesn’t look like a prince,” an amused voice said as Rot entered on Tal’s heels.
“We may have roughed him up a bit, Captain.”
She nodded. “Leave us.”
Rot didn’t hesitate to scurry away and shut the door behind him.
Tal stood in front of the large desk while the captain leaned on her outstretched arms, studying him with a sharp gaze. Her blond hair was cut short, shaved close on the sides, and spiked with grease on top. She had a scar that ran lengthwise along her nose, another on the underside of her jaw, and faint crow’s-feet around her eyes. She was dressed like a sailor in light clothes and was simply adorned, save for a length of gold chain around her neck and hoops in her ears.
She eyed him in silence. Tal locked his knees, willing his body to stay upright.
“You’re the child everyone is terrified of? You don’t look like much.” She narrowed her eyes. “But your great-grandfather’s face was said to look like melted wax, so I tend not to judge by appearance alone.”
Tal clenched his hands to his sides. “I demand to know the name of the person who holds me and whom they represent.”
“Strong words from a bruised and broken boy.” She straightened, then strode around to the front of the desk, bracing on the edge and crossing her ankles. Her boots were old and worn, faded from the salt water and the sun. “Did my men hurt you?”
“I gave as good as I received,” Tal said. That was far from true. A few stitches and sand in the eyes didn’t compare with a head wound, a black eye, and a swollen knee, but he wouldn’t acknowledge that to this pirate.
“My sailors said you were soft, but there is steel in your spine. I admire that.”
“Release me and I’ll ensure your death is quick.”
“Well,” she said with a smile, “I don’t appreciate that. Threats won’t work on me. I know what my potential fate is if your family realizes where you are. I took this deal with my eyes open. I also know that your safety will be powerful in a bargain.”
“And where am I?”
“You’re in deep water, boy. Beyond the bay and your kingdom’s domain. Far away from the continent and the one ally your family has.”
Tal stiffened. Had they really traveled that far? How long had he been unconscious? He licked his dry lips. “Why are you holding me?”
She smiled, hard and cruel. “Why else would I hold a prince?” She spread her palms. “Ransom. Assassination. War.” Her gray eyes glinted. “Magic.”
Tal didn’t rise to the bait. He remained impassive. “Well,” he said after a moment of silence, “which one is it?”
She chuckled. “It’s not assassination for now, but test me, and it can be.”
“Whatever you’re being paid, my family will match it and then some.”
She huffed. “Little princeling, if the rumors are true, I would not release you back to your family for all the gold on the continent and the islands. And if they aren’t, well, the person who hired me will determine what to do next.”
“And who hired you?”
She clucked her tongue. “It’s bad business to give away secrets.”
The harsh light pouring in the windows made Tal’s head throb. His knee was hot and swollen, and the bite on his arm bled sluggishly. He commanded every ounce of restraint not to lunge for the bottle of wine teetering on the edge of the desk.
“It’s also bad for business to treat your political prisoners poorly.”
She tapped her finger against her mouth. “And what does the prince demand?”
“Water,” he said, the word scraping out of his throat. “Food. A bath. Clothes. Bandages for the wounds.”
She laughed, hands on her hips, head thrown back. She strode forward, the sword at her side swaying with each step. She clasped Tal’s chin in her hand, nails like talons digging into his skin. She moved his head from side to side, studying him.
“Why not use your magic and summon fresh water? Or heal your wounds? Legend says King Lon survived a spear to his throat from the power of his magic.” She pressed a finger against Tal’s head wound. “This should be easy.”
Flames burned Tal from the inside, fierce and wild, crumbling his resolve into ash. He tamped it down, his palms sweating with the effort.
“I don’t have magic,” he gritted out. He flinched away from her, and this time he did fall to the deck, knee collapsing beneath him. He bit down on a cry and squeezed his eyes shut as they watered. The plush rug in the cabin muffled the thump, and he scrambled away until his back hit the wooden wall. He snapped his eyes open to find the captain staring at him with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.
She squatted in front of him, elbows propped on her bent knees, forehead creased in concern. Her fingertips skimmed his temple as she pushed his dark, matted hair out of his eyes. “You need to make a choice, little prince. Either you prove the rumors true or you don’t. But don’t be mistaken; both choices have consequences.”
Tal steadied himself, then jutted out his chin. Spoiled and arrogant, that’s what he needed to project, not the soft heart that Garrett teased him about. “How long do I have until that consequence?”
“Until your sister’s wedding.”
“It’s about the alliance, then. Ensuring it fails or that it happens. Which one?”
She pursed her lips. “Ah, you are intelligent. That proves one rumor false.”
Tal frowned. Isa’s wedding was in less than a month. He needed to contact his family or escape as soon as possible.
“Are your orders to kill me?”
“Not today,” she said. She stood and offered her hand. “You may call me Zeph. I’m the captain of this vessel, and until my employer tells me what to do, you’ll be safe. But you’re not a prince here. You’re a prisoner and an extra mouth to feed. You’ll work like everyone else.”
Tal took her hand and she hauled him to his feet, but she didn’t let go.
“And if I don’t?”
She considered him. “Men who don’t pull their weight don’t foster camaraderie. You’re a stranger here. You’ll want all the kindness you can find.”
Releasing him, she crossed back to her desk and grabbed the bottle of wine and a goblet. She poured a generous helping and handed it to him. Tal’s hands trembled as he grasped the sun-warmed gold and brought it to his lips, gulping down the sweet wine.
“You’ll be under guard, of course. Sailors can become restless when anchored too long. They like to start trouble, and you’ll be an easy mark. And though you don’t appear foolish, even smart men have been driven to attempt escape. There’s nothing out there but fish and myths. I expect you don’t want to become food for either.” She grabbed the ornate handle of her sword, the delicate metalwork of the cross guard out of place against her simple attire—stolen, most likely. The action was intended as a threat or a show of force, but Tal was unfazed, having grown up with Shay as his shadow.
He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, panting from drinking quickly and forgoing breath. “I promise nothing.”
“No. I didn’t think you would.” She sighed. “We have a healer who will look to your wounds. I’ll ensure you have water available to you in your… accommodations, and you’ll be fed at the next mealtime.”
“I suppose I should be grateful.”
“I suppose you should,” she answered, snatching the goblet from his hand. She turned away from him and nodded to the door. “Rot!”
The door swung open and Rot strode in, canteen slung across his chest, holding a wrapped bundle in one hand.
He tossed it to Tal, and Tal caught it with clumsy hands. He unwrapped it to find salted pork and hardtack. His stomach growled loudly. With a ferocity unbefitting a prince, Tal tore into the food. Tough as leather and dense with salt, it was the best thing Tal had tasted in years.
Rot laughed.
“Take him and have his wounds seen to. Then back to the hold. Tomorrow starts the work, princeling.”
Tal swallowed, and grimaced as the bite of food hit his empty stomach. It threatened reappearance, but before he could gag, Rot grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the captain’s quarters.
“Bite down on this,” the healer said, shoving a strap of leather between Tal’s teeth. He grunted in protest, but before he could spit it out, she popped the cork on a bottle of clear liquor and poured it over Tal’s head wound. Tears came quick and hot, the alcohol agonizing against the open wound. Tal cried out, eyes squeezed shut, the leather falling from his mouth into his lap.
“Oh yeah,” she said, prodding at the bruised and split skin at his hairline. “That had to hurt. I am going to have to stitch it. They cut you wide open, like a melon.” She pushed her fingers at his arm. “I better clean this, too. Animal bites tend to go bad, you know.”
Tal braced himself and hurriedly shoved the strap back into his mouth. The healer took a swig of the swill before upending the bottle over the wound.
Tal flinched, bowing his head, hands clenched tight into the fabric of his trousers. Swallowing down gasps, he ground his teeth into the leather.
Sitting on a crate in the hold right next to the cage, Tal bent double over his knees and curled his toes against the rough wood. His tattered shirt lay draped over the barrel next to him. He wasn’t bound, but Rot stood watch at the base of the ladder. The healer, a young woman called Poppy, cheerfully threaded a needle.
“You’re a prince, huh? Never met a royal before.” She pushed his head forward. “I guess rich blood bleeds the same. Which kingdom are you from? Inland, I wager.”
“He’s from Harth.”
“Oh,” Poppy said. “The castle by the sea, then. Are you the one who can turn into a bird?”
Tal breathed through his nose as Poppy pinched his skin. The laceration burned and ached. His stomach flipped over. He was afraid to answer for fear of losing the wine and fish he’d had minutes before.
“No,” Rot answered for him.
“The commander, then?”
Rot laughed. “No, he’s the one been holed up in that castle—the one with magic.”
Poppy hummed as Tal sat tense and still as a statue while she stitched. Tendons in his hands and arms bulged, and his body shook with restraint.
“I didn’t know there was a third one of you. Magic, huh? I didn’t think there was any of that left in the world other than the shifters. And even those are rare.”
Tal waited until her work became bearable, then dropped the leather from his mouth. “Do you know the cat?” Tal asked, voice breathy and strained. “The one who bit me?”
“No,” Poppy answered, despite Rot’s hand gestures. “Never met a shifter, but if I did, I’d have a lot of questions. Like, does it hurt? And what if you get stuck? What do you see and hear? What if you die?”
Tal winced as she jabbed carelessly, unaware she had given information away. The cat wasn’t part of the regular crew, then. Maybe Poppy would let other details slip.
“I can answer your questions,” Tal said. “If you’d like. My brother, the bird, told me all of those things.”
Rot strode across the space. “No. You’re not to talk to him, Poppy. Only the captain and me. No one else.”
Tal craned his neck slightly to see Poppy pout, but she nodded. “Sorry. You heard him. And I’m not going to get thrown to these currents over a boy, even one as pretty as you. I might be able to swim when we’re moored closer to shore, but out here in the deep water I’d not stand a chance. Did you know there is a current near here that will drag you straight down to the seafloor, to the mermaids?”
“There are no such things as mermaids,” Tal said through a tight throat.
“Shows what you know,” she huffed. “There are merfolk in hiding. A few generations ago they’d come right up to the surface to play, but now they stay in the deep.”
“Have you ever met one?”
“One what?”
“A mermaid?”
Poppy made a rude noise with her lips. “No. They don’t come to the surface. Your great-grandfather saw to that.” She addressed Rot, pointing at Tal and rolling her eyes. “Not so smart, is he? I bet he doesn’t even know about the sea witch. Some sailor he is. Good thing he’s not meant for the throne, or Harth would be in worse trouble than it already is.”
Tal ignored the jab. “Sea witch?” he asked, perking up from his slouch. “You know her?” Athlen had mentioned bargaining with her. Maybe she’d help Tal if he asked. It was a fool’s gamble, but Tal wouldn’t rule out any means of escape, no matter how farfetched.
“Of course,” Poppy scoffed. “She’s only the most powerful being in the sea. More powerful than land princes, even magic ones.”
Tal didn’t rise to the bait. He wasn’t vain enough to argue about who was more powerful. Though, it was interesting. The sea witch had to have some magic ability to grant Athlen legs. Could she and the mage that his great-grandfather had chased into the sea be one and the same? “Have you ever met her?”
“I will one day,” Poppy said with a firm nod, tearing a bandage with her teeth. She wrapped it around Tal’s upper arm and tied it off tightly. “I’ll call her when I need her. All right, I’m done. Keep them clean and you should be fine.”
Rot rolled his eyes.
“How do you call her?”
Poppy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you grew up near the shore. You should know these things.”
Tal opened his mouth to retort but closed it when Rot leveled a glare. Exhausted and aching, Tal didn’t fight when Rot hauled him up and shoved him back into the cage. He left the canteen of water, and for that Tal was grateful. Tal sank to the floor and leaned against the wooden bulkhead as Rot and Poppy disappeared up the ladder. Tal slipped his shirt on and pulled his legs to his chest. Forehead on his knees, he closed his eyes and clutched the shark’s tooth hidden in his pocket.