Page 336 of The Spider Queen
She nodded.
“And how do we get it?” I asked.
“We make an offering to the sea,” Aloysius stated.
“What kind of offering?”
He walked until the toes of his boots were in the water and held out his hand. With a quick movement, he removed the blade from his belt to cut his palm. Blood welled and he balled his fist, squeezing out three drops of blood into the water.
“A blood offering,” he voiced.
“I would’ve done it,” I stated. “If you’d given me the chance.”
Aloysius looked at me over his shoulder and smiled. “Poseidon prefers human blood.”
He turned back to the sea. We waited. Nothing happened. And then finally, the water began to swirl and toss. Waves crashed against the sand, and we hurried back so they wouldn’t overtake us. I would’ve survived, what with my odd ability to breathe underwater, but I was with a band of humans. Humans I wished to protect.
I cared for them, I realized. More than I’d ever cared for any others, aside from Herron. In that moment, I understood what it meant to have a piece of Hunter’s essence in me. I understood what it meant to be a merrow. My empathy for humans was greater than even I realized.
Not just humans. But all creatures.
Water flipped and crashed as the bow of a mighty wooden ship rose through the sea. It was busted and broken, the sails ripped and torn.
“Will that thing even sail?” I asked in dumb amazement.
“Yes. Poseidon has provided,” Aloysius said.
“Who’s going to captain this thing?” I asked. “I’m no sailor. And I know you guys aren’t either…”
Aloysius rubbed the back of his neck. “The ghosts of the ocean.”
“Oh, sure,” I murmured.
I heard a splash, and in the distance, I saw a small boat floating toward shore. But it was empty, and the oars rowed themselves.
A shiver worked its way down my spine.
Aloysius waved with his non-injured hand to the rowboat. I gathered my boots and metal armor and clambered into the boat. Meghan followed suit and so did Dorian. Aloysius climbed aboard last and then settled himself across from me.
The oars slipped into the water, and then we were being rowed toward the ship.
“Knife,” I said to him.
With his non-injured hand, he reached across his body and pulled it from his belt to hand to me.
I yanked at the hem of my shirt, sliced off a strip, and then dunked it into the ocean. “Hand,” I commanded.
“Bossy,” he muttered but gave me his injured palm.
I smiled as I wrapped it. I heard his sharp inhale of his breath. “It stings, doesn’t it?” I guessed.
“Yes.”
“Sea water helps heal wounds.” I closed his fingers and gave him back his hand and knife.
“Thank you, Stella,” he said quietly. He lifted his head and stared at the looming ship that grew larger the closer we rowed toward it.
The rowboat sidled up to the ship and docked. Along the side of the ghost ship was a wooden rope ladder. I looked to my companions.
