Page 110 of The Sea Witch
She pushed herself up to standing and limped to her berth. “Until our supper of questionable quality arrives, I’m going to rest.”
She lay down on her side, her back to him.
A minute passed, and then his heavy footfalls sounded, approaching her. “You didn’t want to tax the rest of the crew, the ones that fought or used magic. But I’ve been idle. No duties are demanding my attention. If you’re in need of balancing... I find myself conveniently available.”
She hesitated. “Fine.”
The berth dipped with his weight as he lay down behind her, snugging his body close to hers. His warm breath brushed along the sensitive fine hairs along the back of her neck.
She stiffened. Cuddling with her lovers wasn’t something she indulged in, and balancing with witches wasn’t the same as this... this intimacy. Yet when he continued to lie with her, simply cupping his body to hers, she exhaled. In gradual degrees, her own body relaxed.
Soft golden light enfolded them. Energy flooded her, warm and healing, filled with a sense of purpose, a purpose that had been shifting and evolving. It shored up her own flagging resolve. At that moment, she was capable of doing anything.
She would need that strength to face what was next.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Close to dusk, Alys, Stasia, Susannah, and Thérèse were rowed in to a thin beach at the base of a cliff. As soon as their boots touched the sand, the jolly boat returned to theSea Witchin preparation for its treacherous passage through the strait. Whether or not the ship survived its journey depended on Alys and the rest of the landing party.
To reach the Redthorns’ monastery first required a long climb up the steep rocky bluff. A flash of soreness ran up Aly’s leg, yet it still held her weight. That morning, before pulling on her breeches, she had examined her wound. The flesh was now marked with a pink puckered line, bisected by Fatima’s unneeded stitches, which the surgeon soon removed.
Never had Alys healed so quickly before. Even after balancing.
Except last night, Ben had been the one to balance her, his body close and solid against hers until sunrise.
“We climb to the top,” Alys said now to her waiting crew. “Looks to be about sixty feet high.”
“Poutana,” Stasia muttered.
Alys sent her friend a sympathetic look. “Then we make our way along the ridge, until we reach the Redthorns.”
They all looked toward the monastery. At this distance, a quarter of a mile away, it appeared deceptively small. Alys pulledout her spyglass for more detail. The monastery was made up of several stories built atop a stony cliff, topped with a deeply pointed slate roof. Yet more of the hermitage had been built into the side of the bluff, boasting arches that opened onto a long balcony running the length of the building. One cannon sat on the balcony. There was no railing to impede the gun’s firing. The cannon faced the strait, ready to blast anyone foolish enough to try to pass.
Alys passed the spyglass to Stasia. After Stasia looked through it, she handed it to Susannah, who then gave it to Thérèse. Once Thérèse assessed the monastery, she returned the spyglass to Alys.
Waves lapped against Alys’s boots. The tide was rising, giving theSea Witchthe needed water level to navigate the strait. Alys and the rest of the landing party had to move quickly.
“Fly up?” Susannah suggested.
“We need to save our magic,” Alys answered. “Are we all good to climb?”
“Areyou?” Stasia sent a pointed glance toward Alys’s thigh.
Alys gave her leg one last test to make sure it could bear her weight. “It’ll hold.”
Gripping to the projecting stones, she aimed her gaze to the top of the cliff and began to climb. The rest of the crew followed. No one spoke as they ascended—except Stasia, who cursed steadily in Greek the entire way up.
Finally, they reached the top. Alys’s newly healed leg throbbed, yet it continued to bear her weight. Stasia briefly knelt in the soil and brought a handful of dirt to her lips before she rose to standing.
Keeping low, Alys, Stasia, Susannah, and Thérèse crept along the top of the rocky bluff. Alys’s thigh ached as they skulked up the gradual incline, sloping upward toward the monastery. Half a mile away, theSea Witchbegan to sail through the narrowpassage. Soon, the ship would be visible to the monastery. Alys and her crew had to be well inside the structure by the time that happened, or else... disaster.
She and the others skirted around windswept scrub and jagged rocks, an air of worry hanging low, almost smothering. Sweat clung to Alys’s back as they scrambled toward the monastery.
They drew closer, and then came to an abrupt stop.
A menacing wall of thick thorny vines rose up, tall as a single-story building, deep enough that they couldn’t see through, and stretching out on either side as far as the eye could see. Tightly entangled, the vines were bluish black, shining as if dipped in viscous oil. The thorns were the size of fingernails, pointed and curved to hook into something and hang on. Stasia tried to clear a path by pulling the vines away, then snatched her hand back with a curse.
Blood dripped down her punctured fingers and palm.
