Page 10 of Waves (Tangled Crowns #6)

With a tight smile, I sought to find common ground. To hide my worry and suspicion. “The same seems to apply to a sea sprite or a sky breather.”

His eyes found me again and knocked the air from my ribs with a jaded yet tragic expression. I didn’t know if the skepticism was his reaction to me or to life—or both. “I’m tired of being hungry. Tired of struggling. Tired of the temptation to go back to people who used me. So…I decided to join.”

I mulled over this truth, which was both more raw and harsher than I’d expected to receive from the shy man. I rewarded his truth with one of my own. "Honestly, I hate using my magic too."

"I should be grateful," he murmurs, his eyes on my fingertips. “Without that magic, I don’t know if I’d have survived.”

"Apparently, so should I—but I'm not," I confessed.

His face softened with sympathy and his hand twisted on top of his leg until it was palm up. Until his fingers lingered open invitingly.

My breath stalled and so did my pulse, lungs pausing mid-breath. Was trust possible? Was it even a good idea?

All the wild emotions that had been tumbling through my system came to a halt. Whether or not he was trustworthy remained to be seen. But he needed to think I did because I very much needed him to trust me.

Hand pulling out from beneath the seal skin blanket, I slid my palm over his. Let his fingers close around mine. Let him squeeze. And I squeezed in return.

This time, I let the syrupy silence pour over us.

This time, the quiet was full of sweet understanding and not awkward puffs of breath.

This time, it felt like a bond instead of a burden.

At least it did to me. I had to hope that feeling was mutual.

Had to ensure it, because I had more of Gela’s mind in me than I ever wanted to admit.

Taft’s quiet sympathy led me to divulge a bit of my back story.

"I used to resent being human when my mother and sister and all my fathers had powers. Supposed mother,” I amended.

“But now, it seems like magic is a lot more complicated than I ever thought it would be.

We always imagine things are better than they really are. "

He nodded. "Probably."

My lips pressing into a thin line, I scooted forward on my seat, seal skin falling lower in my lap.

"I wish I could tell you that I won't ask you to use your magic, but that would be a lie. If you want to stay in this competition and at the palace..." I sighed as if I was disappointed I’d have to ask him. Part of me was. The emotional part. But the rational side of myself knew that magic-use wasn’t just an inevitability. It was key to Taft’s acceptance into my harem.

"I know." His hand squeezed mine once before releasing it. “Now, what is it you need?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to promise that I wouldn't use Taft and then leave him behind like his old boss.

That I wouldn't take him for granted. Abandon him.

But those words might turn into lies, so I swallowed them back down and let the sharp reality of who I was and what I was willing to do nick my insides.

I'd already condemned Watkins. How could I promise Taft anything better?

It was probably one of my most honest conversations with a competitor—and it was happening with one I knew the least. One who was an admitted thief.

Gazes roaming over one another, both of us seemed to understand the unsaid truths hovering in the water between us.

But Taft didn't drop his eyes.

"You're hoping I'm better than that man who left you," I muttered with a shake of my head.

"Trust me, you're better." His tone was brittle and dark as onyx, and I couldn’t stand how tightly his jaw clenched.

I saw two paths ahead of us. One led into the dark maze that confessed hurts and traumas, and I wasn’t certain we were ready to walk there together.

Instead, I chose to go in the other direction.

"Well, butter me up and tell me why I’m better.

" Batting my eyes, I tried to steer the conversation in a happier direction, but I wasn't nearly as charming as Keelan. My flirting fell flat.

Taft's eyes were still sad even though he attempted a small smile. “What’s butter?”

I was taken aback. “Are you serious?”

His nod had me pulling away, my hands and countenance aghast. “You poor man! There are so many delicious things I’m going to have to spoil you with!

” I then spent a good two minutes terribly explaining butter to him because, while I knew the process to create it theory, I’d never actually seen it performed.

“I might have to pass on the blocks of fat from the breast milk of land-walking creatures.” Taft’s nose crinkled.

“Don’t say it like that!” I told him, a little bit horrified by his all-too-accurate description. “You have to give it a chance. That’s like a sky breather saying boots are disgusting!”

Boots were disgusting. But he was wrong about butter.

His lips thinned into a reluctant line. “I’ll attempt to withhold judgment.”

“Thank you. I promise, once we get our trade routes running regularly, you’ll become such a fan of so many things. Butter. Chocolate. Coffee. You’ll think some glorious afterlife has arrived.”

He leaned back in his seat and his posture relaxed. “You’re very excited.”

“You don’t know what coffee is yet, but once you do, you’ll understand my excitement.”

His eyes fluttered closed and, for a second, I thought he might be letting himself drift off. But his lips tilted up into a slight grin after a minute and he murmured, “It’s nice to be around that.”

“What?”

Those blue eyes cracked open, swimming with emotion. “Hope. Haven’t been around it in a long time.”

The silence that followed was a shared moment where we sat and imagined a better tomorrow, faces painted with daydreaming expressions.

But tomorrow would only improve if we were all there to see it.

If the rebels didn’t win.

Clearing my throat, I broke the peaceful spell. “Taft, I have something to ask you that I know you won’t like.”

“What do you need me to do?” His question was straightforward and flat. Honest and without complaint as he sat back up straight as an arrow.

Guilt pinched my sides, but I ignored it as I leaned forward, elbows propped on my knees. In a low tone that I knew wouldn’t carry outside the carriage, I said, “I need you to spy on Watkins for me. I need proof he’s still working with the rebels.”

“Done.” The nixe nodded and exited my carriage swiftly after that.

I stared at him as he swam back to the giant transport for the contestants, strong arms cutting easily through the water.

Using one liar to sniff out another.

Was I being wise or was I a fool?

Only time would tell.