Tor knew what she meant. The emblem on his wrist, the one he had wanted for years. The ability to breathe underwater.
She was right. He hadn’t. After returning from his journey, he’d had no desire to. In a way, he hated it, the same way he hated the witch who had given it to him. It was a reminder that he was changed.
He simply shook his head no.
Vesper frowned at him. “You should come with me next time.”
Tor offered a noncommittal smile back.
Engle let out a low whistle. Empty shell bowl in his hand, he stared out past the ship’s bow. “That doesn’t look like the stuff of nightmares, does it?”
In the distance, the coast became rocky and jagged, stone so crooked even the sea had failed to smooth it. Barnacles scaled up the black stone in swells, sharp as knives. A purple halo of light escaped from the lip of the cave, simultaneously wicked and beautiful—a warning to keep away, as well as a beckoning forward.
The perfect lair for a blood queen.
Tor felt a surge in his bones as the ship creaked to a halt, its sails deflating. The anchor plunged into the water.
“Do we swim the rest of the way?” Melda asked quietly, surveying the dozen yards to the cave, the water too shallow for the ship to pass.
Before she finished her sentence, a bridge of crushed seashells surfaced from the depths of the ocean, extending all the way to the ship’s hull.
“I guess she’s expecting us,” Engle said nervously. And, as if to prove himself after the last night’s events, he was the first off the ship, head held high. Melda rolled her eyes and followed.
Then Tor, then Vesper, who treaded more carefully. She looked afraid, Tor realized. Terrified.
After reading the blood queen’s story, he was, too, he supposed. But not really, not as much as he should be. Another day, another monster to face—a piece of him still felt numb, left frozen.
Left broken.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ve faced worse,” he said, the lie filling his mouth. The tale had claimed the blood queen was the deadliest of the sea’s creatures.
“Have you now?” a voice boomed, solid as a rogue wave, filling the cave. It came from a pool of water the size of a large well. Silver as the moon. The water rippled as her voice came through it.
Then, something pierced its center. The crown of a head. Slowly, bit by bit, the blood queen emerged from the water, water dripping unusually thick from her skin, opaque as liquid silver.
The blood queen looked like royalty who had spent too much time in the sea. Her hair was as stunning as smeared moonlight, her cheekbones sharp, her features delicate. Her skin was the light blue of shallow water, and she wore a dress made completely of pearls.
She walked on the water as if it were solid ground, then stood before them, immediately turning to Tor. “My friend is dead, then?”
A tiny part of Tor lurched, sadness tucked within the part of his soul that did not completely belong to him. “The Night Witch?”
Mora’s eyes narrowed, and she bared teeth that did not match her beauty at all—sharp as a shark’s, crowding her mouth. “She is as much a Night Witch as I am the great, feared blood queen.”
Engle swallowed. “So…you haven’t killed all of those people?”
She turned to him. “Of course I have. But who’s to say they didn’t deserve it?”
Engle blinked at her.
“You aren’t going to kill us and drink the blood from our hearts, then?” Vesper said from her place right near the exit of the cave. Prepared to bolt.
Mora shot a look at her identical hair and raised an eyebrow. “Swordscale legends, I presume?” She tilted her silver head. “Though I’m not above feasting on a wicked heart, yours are all…” She looked surprised for a moment. “Mostly good. Pure of intentions, at least.” She scrunched her face in disgust. “I have no use for that in my elixirs.”
Tor realized the pool the blood queen had risen from was a giant cauldron. A bone floated up from its surfaces, then another, and Mora grinned. “Who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind…supplies are a bit scarce lately…”
Vesper took a step toward the exit of the cave, and Mora’s head fell back in a howl of laughter.
Melda stepped forward. “We’re in search of the Pirate’s Pearl. Do you know of it?”
The blood queen’s head snapped to the side with otherworldly speed. She smiled, shark’s teeth emerging once more. “The Pirate’s Pearl? Now why on Emblem would you lot want something like that?”
“We want to find it before someone else does.”
“Who?”
“The Calavera.”
The blood queen hissed. She turned in her massive cauldron. “Of course. They’ve been freed now.” She faced Tor. “I feel the power running through you, like high tide rushing in. She gave you so, so much.” Mora took Tor’s hand in her own. Her skin was slimed over, too soft, like it had permanently pruned underwater. He resisted the urge to recoil. “I’ll need your blood,” she said. Then, before waiting for a reply, she swiped a sword-sharp nail across his lifeline.
Tor cried out, not just because of the pain, but because of the memory of another person who had done the exact same thing. The wound reopened, and blood came spilling out. She turned his hand over, and Tor watched the pool turn crimson.
Melda lunged forward, as if she was going to push the blood queen away. Before she could, Mora dropped Tor’s hand. He winced, watching the cut stitch itself back together. Melda gripped his arm protectively. “What did you need the blood for?” she asked, livid.
The blood queen shrugged. “Another potion. Something I’ve been working on…”
Anger flared in Melda’s eyes.
“Simmer down, little leader, an exchange is an exchange… I’ll help you find the pearl.” She waved a hand across the pool, and the blood disappeared, replaced by an image. “There is a compass,
