But there was one thing he did see—in the light of the single lantern, the altar was soaked a deep plum-red from long-spilled blood, proof of the previous wickies cut open before being tossed into the waiting waves lapping right up against the base of it. Previous wickies, including Alba’s own mother. It was enough to make his knees weak, falling to one of them just to be yanked back upright again.
