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While their kind consider such sentimentality an insult and a weakness, Envy’s peers beg to differ. They would say that love has strengthened them. Their romantic tales have led to this crusade, the fight for a balance between fate and free will, an equality between deities and humanity. They’ve been gathering allies in the Celestial City—the human metropolis where immortal outcasts dwell—in addition to the ones who’d revolted from the Peaks after being inspired by each star-crossed story.

The plan had been for their rebel band to trespass into the Peaks and prepare for conflict. Even with their comrades on standby in the mortal realm, ready to journey here upon the first call, they’re still outnumbered in this land. Nevertheless, they’d chosen a location that will grant them an upper hand for battle.

This is assuming Envy and Sorrow are too selfish to play their parts in this quest.

Ah, yes. That’s the only condition Envy protests.

Not long ago, Wonder and Malice uncovered a means to defeating the Fates: a legend. And one that has an awful sense of humor.

If two deities can choose love over lust, they’ll become a force of influence, along with those closest to them.

Because several prior legends have played roles in uniting the three couples present, this band has concluded that Envy and Sorrow are the remaining match. If they become something real to each other, it shall be the final stamp, confirming that all deities are loving beings. Thus, their people will change, will think differently. They will recognize that they’re more like humans than previously assumed, that they’re equals who deserve a fairer balance of power.

Hence, the equilibrium between fate and free will.

It’s the last solution Envy had expected. And the very last one he supports.

What do he and Sorrow have in common, other than genital compatibility?

Sorrow had been the first to concur with him. Since they can’t be forced to feel things they don’t—yes, they’re aware of the irony—this band has had to cobble together an alternative plan.

Cue this excursion, which has gone awry.

Envy’s breath seeps into the breeze, the air speckled with motes that fascinate Andrew. “Even the air smells different here,” he murmurs to Love. “And the texture, the pigments, the light.”

“Dust in this realm has the iridescence of gemstones,” she tells him. “Try and catch one with your tongue, and it will taste like a fresh snowflake.”

They share private smiles, wrapped up in a distant memory. Meanwhile, Anger grins at the marveled expression on Merry’s profile, since she’s never had the luxury of living here.

“This place must be a stunner to someone who grew up thinking magic existed only in books,” Sorrow says.

“It’s freakin’ mesmerizing,” Andrew exclaims. “Or, it kinda is.”

“Kinda?” his audience of seven parrots, making him laugh.

“Kinda. But I mean, magic is everywhere,” he insists. “In my world, in your world. They’re just different colors of magic, with different shapes.”

Envy’s flummoxed, but Sorrow nods like she understands better than he does, like he’s ignorant of the point. He bristles. What exactly does she understand?

“Your confidence puts us to shame,” Anger says to Andrew.

But Andrew wields a lopsided grin. “Why wouldn’t I be confident?” He gestures toward Anger. “Just because I’m surrounded by a god with the olive cheekbones of an elf.” He motions to Malice. “A god with a devil-may-care grin.” He motions to Envy. “And a god who looks like he belongs in a museum.”

Clearly, Andrew doesn’t give himself enough credit. If he were bisexual and unattached, Envy would have jumped his boyish bones long ago. Envy’s well acquainted with the many flavors of masculine rapture and suspects that Andrew’s tongue tastes like mint—fresh and pure but with a slight, snarky kick.

Very well. So maybe Love once shared this tidbit with Envy over a round of cranberry spirits. It only confirms what Envy had already guessed.

He loses track of time, as do the rest of them, silent deliberation lulling the group into reluctant slumber. Envy refuses to rest, refuses Anger’s offer to take over steering for him. For once, he wants to be the leader, cruising them when they need to go.

From a brook, to a canal, to a river. The passage widens, the water changing its flow, depth, and speed. It licks the boat, the sound hypnotic. It drowns out his thoughts for a while, until a splash snaps him out of the haze.

His head swings towards the disturbance. A slender, bleached finger dips into the wet surface, creating rings that dance outward and spread like a contagion.

Sorrow draws her knees up to her chest and loops her free arm around her skirted limbs as she toys with the water. The hunched position makes her look younger, and it resurrects the memories of their upbringing, which also resurrects a particular incident in their past. A string of words, which makes his knuckles bend tightly.

An ugly god is easy to spot.

Never mind that. Quickly, he shakes off the recollection.