Jeb releases me, rolling his eyes.
Morpheus brushes futilely at the ash clumped on his clothes. “Sucking up all her sympathies when you had the easy part. Follow Chessie out the gate, and lead him to her father and uncle’s hiding place. Oooh, so scary.”
Fighting a smile, I study the raw red marks along his neck that look like rope burns.
I take his hand and squeeze it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
His thumb rubs raindrops from my knuckles. “You couldn’t know. From the moment Red inhabited you, everything you knew, she knew. We had to concoct a plan to get the medallion and make you remember your strength and get angry enough to tame her spirit, all without her knowing. Without you knowing. It was the only way.”
The only way . . .
The phrase triggers my dad’s advice when we first arrived here: You’ve never murdered anyone, Allie. Be sure it’s the only way. Otherwise, it will haunt you . . .
I look again at all the death in my wake. My stomach turns. “It was the only way.”
“Yes, it was,” Jeb says from beside me.
“Damn right it was,” Morpheus agrees. His gaze flicks to the piles of ash, making it clear that he understands I’m talking about so much more than their plan. I’m glad Jeb wasn’t here to witness my rampage. It’s enough that he saw me in Red’s chains.
Chessie erupts from a pile of soot, propelling Morpheus’s dust-covered hat like he did the robe at the inn yesterday. The hat zigzags through the air, Chessie refusing to give up his prize. His head peeks out and his mischievous smile spreads when Morpheus scowls.
I purse my lips, one more question niggling. “So Manti . . . you attacking him on stage. That was part of it?”
“Yeah,” Jeb says. “About that.” He cocks his head at Morpheus. “You laid it on a little thick out there.”
Morpheus clucks his tongue. “I performed masterfully,” he answers, at last managing to claim his hat from Chessie.
“Right,” Jeb scoffs. “Pretty sure my mistreatment wouldn’t have sent you into hysterics, drama queen.”
Morpheus smirks. “Fair enough. On the other hand, your portrayal of a brainless wind-up numbskull was spot on.”
Jeb’s lips quiver, as if he’s fighting a smile himself. “You know, I still have enough paint to make that flyswatter.”
“Tut. No need for violence.” Morpheus taps the dust from his hat and places it on his head. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due.”
Their eyes glitter with levity, just like when they tease me. They’re enjoying the banter. There’s even an undercurrent of respect where there used to be little more than tolerance.
My heart swells, both sides of it, so proud of how they worked together, saw past their resentments for the greater good. The sensation is beautiful, but it causes another rip—a visceral pop behind my sternum.
I gasp.
“Al, you’re white as a sheet.” Jeb throws a concerned glance to Morpheus. “Maybe she’s losing too much blood.”
“Perhaps.” Morpheus catches my left wrist to check my pulse. I can tell by the suspicious crimp of his brow that he’s thinking about my anemic spell in Hart’s playroom.
I pull away. “I’m fine. Really.”
Jeb turns my other arm over to assess the damage. I cringe as my wounded skin stretches.
“I don’t share her magic,” Jeb says. “I can’t heal her.”
“I can, once I’m restored. For now we’ll staunch the flow.” Morpheus takes out his paint-smudged handkerchief, reminding me of our time in Hart’s room. I still can’t believe I almost choked him. And after professing my love . . . something he’s been waiting so long to hear.
With one glance he alleviates my guilt. Even without him being in my head, I know what he’s thinking: that he understands my darker side and her vicious kicks; that, in fact, it’s those very kicks that challenge him and make him feel alive.
I mime a thank-you. He winks and gingerly presses the hanky along my skin.
A strong gust blows through the leveled courtyard, stirring clumps of wet ash into a frenzied cloud. A wind tunnel appears in the distance, just above the cliff where we landed this morning.
Jeb takes my elbow gently. “We need to get going. Your dad, uncle, and the other knight are inside that grove of trees, waiting. We have a wind tunnel to catch.”
“You said we,” I point out as the three of us walk swiftly toward the portico to retrieve the painted shadows.
Jeb throws one last glimpse over his shoulder at the pool of fears and the giant ball of flames covering it, as if looking for ghosts. “I have nothing left to stay for.”
I’m selfish because I’m glad all of his creatures in the mountain were destroyed. How ironic, that I have Morpheus to thank for that, too. Or maybe he planned it all along. It never ceases to amaze me, the far-reaching scope of his machinations.
“Poor Nikki,” Jeb says, his voice heavy.