Jeb studies his boots. Dad clenches his jaw so hard I could swear the scorpion fly’s poison has seeped into his chin. Yet he doesn’t say another word.
Up in the tower, I take out the gown and admire how the winged tiers shimmer in the soft starlight—the orange, red, and black contrasting like shadows to flames. It almost seems sacrilegious to loosen the glittery green centipede legs so meticulously sewn into place, to leave each fringe weakened. But Morpheus would applaud the choice. In fact, I sense that I’m doing exactly what he expects me to.
Once I’m done, I take the diary key off my neck. It’s useless now. I carefully slide the dress into place over my skin. It fits as if painted on, hugging my curves and flaring at my knees. The lining is made of rabbit’s fur. I’m wrapped in a shell of comfort, while on the outside, all it will take is my magical coaxing to lift away the centipede hems and expose the wings’ razor-sharp edges, rendering me untouchable.
I can’t think of a better coat of arms. I won’t be standing in the presence of Red or Hart wearing a knight’s tunic and baggy pants. In this dress, I’ll be playing the part of Medusa, turning my evil ancestors to stone with a brash baring of terrible beauty. If the stingers hadn’t been removed, I could change Hart to a literal statue, which would make her surrender of Red’s spirit so much simpler. Instead, I have a gown with bite enough to make the heartless queen think twice about dismissing me or my demands.
I slip into my red leathery shoulder gloves to protect my arms, then pull on the leggings and boots—which, of course, are the perfect fit. Perfect for walking straight into the wisdom keeper’s web.
I’m not going in blind. I know Morpheus has an agenda. All I can do is hope it’s for the greater good, and that his plan is foolproof this time.
Otherwise, I’m the biggest fool of all, for leading the two humans I love most to their deaths.
We decide a few hours of sleep are more important than Jeb altering the landscape to our benefit. When morning arrives, it’s cloudy and cold, but at least we’re rested and ready for battle.
We fly toward the castle—Jeb and Dad carried by their shadows, and me soaring high on a chilly updraft of wind. Morpheus’s shadow follows behind at Jeb’s command so we’ll all have a way to escape once our business at the castle is done.
Sunrise streaks the horizon in tendrils of bloody red splashed across a stone gray sky; I try to convince myself it’s not an omen. Our destination is a cliff far enough from the castle to avoid being seen by the goon birds and their bats patrolling the turrets, yet close enough to scope out the entrance.
We arrive at an outcropping of rocks that form a cave. I land gracefully behind some trees, wishing Morpheus were here to see. “It’s all in the ankles,” I mumble.
Chessie tucks himself beneath my loose bun, tickling the nape of my neck. Jeb and Dad alight beside me and we peer through the thickly clustered trunks. In lieu of water, the moat surrounding the outer walls contains ash—the remains of the dead. A school of giant eels, appearing prehistoric with bony obtrusions jutting from their backs like shark fins, swim through the powdered carnage.
They’re nothing like my pets at home.
A motley crowd of mutants are gathered on the outer banks of the moat, waiting, just like us, for the drawbridge to drop and invite them in.
Though invite isn’t quite the right word. There’s nothing welcoming about this place. Giant fanged skulls sit atop the turrets as if in effigy, along with skeletal tails that wind around the towers in coils. It’s as if a legion of dragons wrapped around the stone to die, then petrified. The outer walls slump inward on an unnatural slant, giving the impression they could fall and crush everyone inside at any moment.
A loud creaking howl accompanies the lowering drawbridge and tugs at my gut.
“We need to get down there,” Jeb says.
I turn to Dad. “Please don’t be angry.”
He sighs. “How could I be? Your mom would’ve done the same thing. Sacrificed everything to save someone she cared about. She did, in fact.”
I hug him, breathing in all the scents of home. When I was a little girl, snuggled against his shoulder, I always felt safe. That will never change. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sure,” he mumbles against my head. “I understand. But I don’t have to like it.”
He’ll like it even less when he sees who I’m bringing back in addition to Morpheus.
“I love you, Butterfly,” he whispers.
“I love you, too.” He holds me so long, I have to break free.
Sighing, he turns to Jeb to clap his shoulder and hand off his iron dagger. “Take care of my girl.”
Jeb secures the weapon. “She’s the one with all the moves. I’m hoping she’ll take care of me.”
Before Dad can delay us another second, we’re on our way.