Page 104

She mutters, “What do you care, Your Luminary?”

“Don’t suppose that this is easy for us,” the ruler cautions delicately, as though Sorrow still matters to this lot.

“Was it hard to condemn Love, target Andrew, banish Anger, exile Merry, torture Wonder, shoot Malice, threaten Envy, or compromise me?” she volleys, hitching her longbow onto her back.

The sovereign glances at the constellations. Her expression grows remote, yet her inflection is tangible. “Being a leader demands the ultimate strength of will. We need it, in order to pass judgment, exact punishment, and then endure. Yet it isn’t without its torment.” She casts Sorrow a weary glance. “We don’t fight because we wish to do so.”

“But you’ll crucify my friends if I don’t comply.”

“Being ordained by the stars also means it’s our task to defend the lives of many subjects, rather than spare a handful of rebels. When all is said and done, exacting justice is our duty. That does not mean we enjoy it, but such is our destiny.”

“And what about inspiring your subjects?” Sorrow presses. “Destiny created inspiration. Destiny created choice. Doesn’t that matter?”

The female’s face transforms, brightening with confusion. Her eyes swing to the sidelines, detecting company. The Fate Court loiters behind them, having witnessed the exchange. Like her, their quizzical reactions bear resemblance to the ones Sorrow witnessed in the Palace of Starlight, when she’d made a similar argument. Despite their upbringing, they’d exhibited misgivings.

It reminds Sorrow of the minute but renowned traits about these leaders. The crystal-wielding goddess paints canvases to combat depression. The goddess who carries agate arrows also pens verse. The female in butterfly gossamer is a self-proclaimed guardian of animals. The hawkish ruler performs random acts of kindness to his subjects. The cloaked god makes the rounds, singing lullabies to children who have trouble sleeping. These rulers have fears, and doubts, and passions, and dreams, and losses, and regrets, and joys.

They’re prone to double-standards and errors in judgment, as much as to wisdom. If they make mistakes, they might learn from them.

Like any of their people. Like humans.

The goddess delays her answer, then lowers her voice. “Then convince us,” she challenges before joining her fellow sovereigns.

Convince them how?

Flummoxed and no longer wishing to be the object of their attention, Sorrow walks in the opposite direction. That’s when another feminine hand materializes, brushing Sorrow’s elbow. She pauses, stumped to meet the countenance of Envy’s Guide. Siren is beautifully plump like Wonder, except with copper hair and a penchant for wrist bangles.

Siren might be a tad vain, but she’s nowhere near as conceited as Envy. Growing up, Sorrow had been fonder of this goddess than of her charge.

“Trespassing into enemy territory when your sovereigns expected an uprising in the human realm,” Siren drawls with an amused tenor.

“Ballsy, I know,” Sorrow remarks, giving her a wry grin and accepting a hug.

“Goddess of Sorrow.”

“Guide of Envy.”

“I’m sorry to meet under less than promising circumstances.”

“You can say that again.” Sorrow mumbles, pulling back. “Thank you for…for everything.”

For helping them escape, for taking such a risk, in spite of their differences of opinion.

The female’s voice loses its veneer. “Is he well?”

The question grinds a rusty nail into Sorrow. “Last time I checked, he was.”

Last time she checked, he also hated her.

The mentor nods. “I know what you’re doing for him.”

Thrown for a loop, Sorrow hedges. “Who told you?”

“Come, now. Immortals talk. Your conference with the Court is circulating, as are your presumed feelings for my archer.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Banality aside, that sounds like a rather complex emotion. One that deities aren’t supposed to feel.”