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Peeking over her shoulder, the silhouettes of Sorrow’s friends shrink, along with Envy’s furious glare. Translucent wings vibrate as she and the monarch fly at a breakneck pace, shearing through astral beams, their outlines skating across the sea.

Sorrow has never ridden on a dragonfly before. In a different, more peaceful world, she would love it.

Closing her eyes, she ignores the clench of her heart and concentrates on the memory of the dragonfly cove, where Envy showed her a new source of pleasure.

The trip passes quickly. They land in the Palace of Starlight, in the amphitheater’s throne garden. Back where she started.

The Fate Court waits. They nod at the goddess as she disembarks and then inspect Sorrow with mild astonishment. She hadn’t wanted to create a fuss, which is why she’d called out to only one of them from the cliff, before Envy had cornered her with his body.

The next several hours prove disorientating. The rulers exchange tidings and then interrogate her, though she has the presence of mind to color her answers, channeling the skills that she’d picked up from Malice. She provides just enough information to satisfy them without spilling the crucial beans, omitting certain details and outright feigning cluelessness about others.

It’s fortunate that Sorrow’s a jaded goddess. Her inherent cynicism convinces them that she hadn’t invested time in bonding with her allies enough to know their private vulnerabilities.

While that’s partially true, it’s not totally accurate. She has gotten to know her friends better over these past years.

Outwardly, she relents. Inwardly, she revolts.

Preparations to conquer Fortune’s Crest commence. The rulers assemble at the Astral Sea, summoning all loyals to bear arms. To say the crowd is gobsmacked to see Sorrow is an understatement, the deities’ gazes ranging from impressed to repulsed by her shift in allegiances. To them, Sorrow’s actions render her inextricably stalwart and wishy-washy.

The quantity of fighters doubles her pulse. Over the next three days, thousands of them suffocate the shoreline, questing in droves from their outposts in valleys and bluffs, as well as the human realm. Others include archers and keepers who’d volunteered to rebuild the Archives’ most sacred dominion—the Hollow Chamber—after its destruction when Malice and Wonder trespassed there months ago.

Sorrow maintains a vigilant ear, listening for plots and strategies. Maybe she can call out to her friends with a message.

Fat chance. While she has sided with them, the Court takes precautions and bans her from loitering near their most privy subjects. Some like Pride, Spite, and Grief give her a wide berth, whereas others keep a skeptical watch.

Apparently, a few outcasts from the Celestial City have had their banishments revoked, in exchange for their fealty. Sorrow and her friends had anticipated that might happen. Merry pointed them out once, when they’d been in the human realm. Therefore, Sorrow notes the presence of Cruelty, Shame, Fear, Suspicion, and Shock.

Well, technically they have no claim to those titles anymore. In the decades since their expulsions, many exiles have been replaced by new archers and archeresses, which means this army has double-booked some of the root emotions. Nevertheless, the former outcasts keep their distance from those who’ve supplanted them.

Thankfully, Sorrow and her friends haven’t been ostracized long enough to be replaced. Except for maybe Malice, although Sorrow has never heard of another such as he. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right star.

That’s not the only reality check. While pretending to exercise her bow at the coastline, she notices a pair of archers hugging, and a goddess rustling the curls of a younger one, and another god singing a ditty to enliven his companions.

She spots the archers who’d chased Sorrow’s band. Among them is the pair who’d stashed Love’s bow and who’d been there during her capture. Eavesdropping reveals their names to Sorrow.

The female wearing a jumpsuit and brandishing rhodolite archery is Delight.

The male in a teal mantle and carrying seashell weapons is Bliss.

Presently, they host a targeting game for a school of striplings. It’s the same gaggle of children who’d startled Sorrow’s friends in the forest, minus that mascara-touting male.

Nostalgia has evidently recovered from his knockout and retrieved his submerged weapons. Since he hadn’t laid eyes on Sorrow when Envy ambushed him days ago, Nostalgia’s got no cause to pay her mind. Instead, he adjusts his sapphire archery, then joins the cheering clique that includes Delight and Bliss, watching the game with a congenial grin.

Another goddess sits at one of the docks, where she strums a lyre and hums to herself. Another god doodles in a journal.

A water lantern floats across the sea, in the direction of Envy’s home. A pang of longing swamps Sorrow.

Which is more overwhelming? Having him or missing him?

The image of Envy in one piece is the only visual she can tolerate. To think of the alternative, of him hurt, mutilated…

A slender, ebony hand cuts into Sorrow’s view, an ice arrow poised between the female’s fingers. “I believe this is yours,” the butterfly ruler says.

Refusing to genuflect, Sorrow takes the arrow and jams it into her quiver. Envy still has no clue that she knows about it.

The luminary goddess scans Sorrow’s profile. “What can I do to help you?”

Crap. Is Sorrow’s pining that transparent?