Free The Lost Prince by Matt Myklusch Page B

what you hope to gain spinning this tale for me.”
    “More than you can possibly imagine.” Verrick slid his chair close to Dean’s bedside and lowered his voice. “You see, I’m not a trader of Zenhala. Not anymore. For the last thirteen years, I have been a seeker. A seeker for the lost prince.”
    “The lost prince?” Dean had to laugh. A few days earlier, he had been selling Gentleman Jim practically the same story. “Save your breath, Captain. I’ve heard this one as well.”
    “You haven’t heard it from me.” Verrick took Dean by the hand. “Thirteen years ago, a pirate captain fought his way across the Triangle’s treacherous waters and made it all the way to Zenhala. He stole every coin of the island’s golden harvest and more—much more. The loathsome knave killed my queen and took her infant son hostage. He set sail with Zenhala’s greatest treasure, swearing to throw the boy overboard if we pursued him. My king’s hands were tied. It killed him to do it, but he couldn’t risk the life of his only son. He let the man go.”
    “And the prince is still out there,” Dean interrupted. “I told you, I know this story. I know all the stories.” He tried to pull his hand back, but Verrick wouldn’t let go.
    “The story isn’t finished. I and others like me have been looking for that boy ever since, but now the search is over. At long last, the prince has been found. This mark you bear is proof.” Verrick turned Dean’s wrist over and exposed the small tattoo on his inner arm. “Three wave crests rising in a circle. It’s the mark of the Royal House of Aquos, Lord of Zenhala.”
    Dean was struck dumb by Verrick’s claim. It took him a moment to formulate a reply. “I don’t understand. You think I’m the—”
    “You’re my prince. And it is my great honor to be the one who brings you home.”
    Dean squinted hard at Verrick. He’d heard twenty versions of this story if he’d heard a single one. The tale of the lost prince was popular among bandits who traded in Zenhala’s legend. Many a crooked man had posed as the guardian of a child he’d claimed to be the lost prince, and begged shipowners to take them home. The gullible fools who were taken in by this scheme were led into ambushes and robbed of their cargo, their ships, and in some cases, their very lives. Verrick’s take was different. A grifter trying to convince a penniless boy that
he
was the prince? Where was the profit in that? Dean was certain that Verrick was engineering some kind of scheme, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out the angle.
    Dean felt at the small tattoo One-Eyed Jack’s men had branded him with years ago. “You’re mistaken, sir. I got this markwhen I was purchased at a young age by a wealthy shipowner.” That was Dean’s standard cover story to explain the mark on his arm.
    “And where is that wealthy shipowner now?”
    Dean looked away. “Killed by pirates.” As far as Dean knew, that was the truth. He had never been given any reason to doubt it. His earliest memories were all on board the
Maelstrom
, being yelled at by One-Eyed Jack. He had been taken in a raid at an early age and shanghaied into his service. Dean had grown up spying for One-Eyed Jack; that was all he’d ever known. He’d die spying for him too, one way or the other.
    “You’ve been plagued by pirates since birth, haven’t you, Your Grace?”
    “Don’t call me that. I’m no prince.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirteen.”
    “There, you see? You’re the correct age, and you’ve already admitted that you’re an orphan with no real knowledge of his origins. You misspoke before when you assumed I was expecting someone else. If anything, you’ve proven yourself to be exactly whom I’ve been looking for.”
    Verrick pressed a coin into Dean’s hand. Dean held it up to the lantern and saw that it had been minted with the same sigil that was tattooed on his arm. He was shaken by the sight of the coin’s