Untamed - A. G. Howard Page 0,38
she’s trapped.”
Jeb pictured the dark water in the box he’d seen in the mirrored hall at Morpheus’s mansion—the ghostly head inside—and his heartbeat stumbled. Self-preservation kicked in, his mind racing to find another way. But in the deepest part of him, he knew there was no alternative, and time was running out for Al. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get to tell her how he felt just once with his own voice before it was locked away forever. “I’ll do it.”
“And so you shall.” Gossamer stood and held out her arms. Weak and numb, Jeb stepped into her embrace. She clung tightly and flew him out of the cage, landing them on the floor. “The mortal has agreed to be your kingdom’s hero.” She fired the words at Lorina. “See that you honor his bravery.”
Lorina had managed to unlock her husband. She sat upon his shoulder, fanning herself with a wing. Wide-eyed, she nodded in silence—the most heartfelt accolade she could’ve offered. The dodo knelt beside Jeb, a huge feathery presence. “We are forever in your debt, lad. What can we do to help?”
Gossamer pointed to a far corner of the dungeon, where a burlap blanket covered a cot, draping down to the floor. “Bring me what’s beneath that bed.”
Jeb watched, numbed by a mixture of disbelief and dread as the dodo carried over the jabberlock box.
Lorina gaped. “Morpheus had Ivory hidden down here?”
Gossamer nodded. “Upon Rabid’s suggestion. He said this was the one place in the castle that no one would search for her.”
After asking Charlie to open the lid and arrange a stone for them to stand on so they could see within, Gossamer dismissed the strange couple to a far corner of the dungeon for privacy.
Jeb stroked the white velvet roses flocked along the outside of the box, mesmerized by Ivory’s beautiful face as it bobbed to the surface. Her haunted, crystallized gaze slid from him to the sprite and back again—cautiously curious. He shuddered at the thought of taking her place.
Did he really have to do this?
He felt Gossamer watching his profile. “I must ask one last time if you’re sure,” she said. “For, you see, since you are choosing to be locked within and sealing the choice with your blood, the box will never let you out. No one can save you. You’re signing away your eternity for Ivory, a queen you don’t even know.”
Jeb gulped a knot from his throat. “No. I’m trading my eternity for Al’s.”
Gossamer smiled tenderly. “I once saw in your dreams your fear of not being good enough for the girl. After such a sacrifice, no one could ever question your worth as a man, or your love for her.” She kissed his cheek, leaving warmth that trickled into his heart and managed to melt a small portion of the icy terror there.
Gossamer handed him a paintbrush and drew back. “Now, use the power only you can wield. Paint the roses with your blood.”
Dizziness rushed over him. He mumbled . . . senseless, fearful things . . . agonized words that he knew would be his last.
Then he channeled all the anger, terror, and longing for a future he would never have into the sweep and sway of the brush. He stained each snow-white blossom red until he lost himself within the shadows of his work, and became one with his masterpiece.
THE MOTH’S RESOLUTION
The scene stretched and blurred as Morpheus was dragged out of Jebediah’s memories and deposited back into the chaise lounge. Darkness weighed heavily upon the room, yet he didn’t budge to turn on the lamp. The pitch-black surroundings seemed to suit the murky thoughts in his head.
He ran a thumb along his thigh, tracing the ridges of the pinstriped fabric and smoothing the wrinkles.
Why was he feeling so out of sorts? He’d found exactly what he’d hoped to find. Jebediah’s weaknesses had been there for the taking: a rage that could easily be coaxed out and manipulated, a sense of worthlessness fed by a violent and critical father, a jealousy that evoked a reckless protectiveness—even at the expense of his own life.
What Morpheus hadn’t expected to find, however, was how similar he and the boy were. The demons from Jebediah’s tormented past were not unlike his own. He’d often found himself jealous of humans . . . having never had a father or mother’s tenderness. He also empathized with the fear that he might never know completely another’s trust and affection, based solely on his