Tanith had control of things. Tanith had control of things in a very gentle and knowing fashion that made a distant part of Dexter's mind put a few things together and actually have room for disappointment. But Tanith had control of things, so Dexter let go of Ghastly's arm and turned toward Skulduggery with a deep breath.
He exhaled equally slowly, not because he was angry but because those tears were still kind of waiting in the wings. The sobs were halted, but Dexter'd always had a bit of a problem with controlling tears.
"Nope," he said with something not exactly cheerfulness. "Or did the fact no one on our side tried to off you give you the clue?" Even the vestige of the smile faded. "We weren't assuming anything. Hopeless didn't think the others could handle it without everything going to Hell. I was in denial. Mostly. D'you know how many times I stood and stared at Corrival's tent, trying to work up the nerve to say something? Didn't you ever wonder why Hopeless dedicated so much time to helping you meditate? Or why I was always daring Larrikin into making you laugh, just because?"
He lifted his hands, but unlike most people--unlike nearly anyone who was pleading for supplication--he didn't lift them palms up. He held them palms down. Palms down because all his magic came to his hands, his shields and his weapons, because for him what most people did as a plea was a threat.
Dexter did not like making threats.
"It didn't matter what might have been. Don't you get it, Skulduggery? After everything you did, you came back. You didn't have to. Even after you'd stopped being--him--you could've just stayed gone. You didn't. You came back to us--for us. Like you trusted that all of us together had something that could keep you together. And you think we should've betrayed that trust? We couldn't. You're family. You needed us. All of us."
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He exhaled equally slowly, not because he was angry but because those tears were still kind of waiting in the wings. The sobs were halted, but Dexter'd always had a bit of a problem with controlling tears.
"Nope," he said with something not exactly cheerfulness. "Or did the fact no one on our side tried to off you give you the clue?" Even the vestige of the smile faded. "We weren't assuming anything. Hopeless didn't think the others could handle it without everything going to Hell. I was in denial. Mostly. D'you know how many times I stood and stared at Corrival's tent, trying to work up the nerve to say something? Didn't you ever wonder why Hopeless dedicated so much time to helping you meditate? Or why I was always daring Larrikin into making you laugh, just because?"
He lifted his hands, but unlike most people--unlike nearly anyone who was pleading for supplication--he didn't lift them palms up. He held them palms down. Palms down because all his magic came to his hands, his shields and his weapons, because for him what most people did as a plea was a threat.
Dexter did not like making threats.
"It didn't matter what might have been. Don't you get it, Skulduggery? After everything you did, you came back. You didn't have to. Even after you'd stopped being--him--you could've just stayed gone. You didn't. You came back to us--for us. Like you trusted that all of us together had something that could keep you together. And you think we should've betrayed that trust? We couldn't. You're family. You needed us. All of us."