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Quietly, she fumbles to unlace and rip off her boots. Then she slides off Envy’s back and paddles too swiftly and seamlessly for him to protest. Not that she would listen, and not that it’s the right time to voice objections.

Or to voice anything at all. It’s possible they’ve already said enough. Be that as it may, there’s no sign of alarm from the dwellings, no collective shuffle indicating that they’ve been spotted.

The water sparkles with a fresh surge of white. A troop of lanterns emerge, floating along the surface and bleeding pearly light across the ripples. The beacons spread out, making the sea shiver.

The dawn lanterns. She had almost forgotten this ritual, the signifier of a new day when their people kindle astral flames and then set them free, to bless the hour. The brighter the flame, the more successful their day will be.

“I say,” Envy pouts. “If I’d known I’d be traveling with a mute, I wouldn’t have bothered playing the white knight.”

“Ugh. Now you want to talk?” she mutters while they pump away, their limbs revolving in tandem. “I can’t believe you.”

“Why not? You of all people should be acquainted with my double standards.”

“Are we really doing this now? I was minding my own business.” Concentrating on the coastline, she makes an ornery noise. “Whatever, white knight. Even in a lethal predicament, you’re looking to toot your horn, and whenever you don’t get your way, you piss on the moment. Well, go ahead and flatter yourself, if that’s what it’s called. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here, on my side of the water, escaping for my life.”

Envy huffs like an infant. Would it kill him to sacrifice attention, for two seconds? At the very least until they’re out of target range?

Honestly, this god. What does he want from her? One minute, he could care less what she thinks about him. The next, he throws a fit because she’s not talking to him.

Sorrow gasps as Envy snatches her elbow. On a muffled curse, he lugs her sideways, the water quavering and the lanterns jiggling. In a blink, she finds herself hidden under a walkway leading to one of the stilted homes.

Envy floats in front of her and places a finger to his mouth. In the dappled light, they stare at each other, Sorrow’s lungs seizing.

Above them, someone emits a spectral, feminine chuckle. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” a male teases. “I’ve always wanted to know what iron is like.”

“It’s a grave infraction and violates protocol.”

“We owe them nothing,” the male argues. “Least of all, our respect. Look at what they’ve done, betraying us and then floating into the sea like cowards…Did you just huff at me?”

Sorrow rams her palm against Envy’s mouth to stifle another puff of umbrage. A lantern wobbles between them, illuminating their shadows beneath the planks. In the dimness, his offended glower is unmistakable.

Or it might have to do with his incessant wincing and buckling. What is wrong with him? Is he okay?

Airy footsteps and receding voices indicate the couple’s retreat. “Where do you suspect the eight have fled?” the female asks in a low tone.

Sorrow grabs one of the stilts and crooks her head to listen, but she loses wind of the answer. However, one thing’s for certain: None of their band have been captured. Otherwise, the tally would have been different.

Releasing Envy, she glides to the walkway’s rim, ignoring his mute protests for her toGet back hereandSorrow, so help me!

To that, she merely raises her hand in a stopping motion. His black brows catapult into his hairline. His thought-bubble can’t be clearer: Did she actually give him an order?

Sorrow curls her fingers over the ledge and hauls herself upward, until she’s halfway out of the depths. She peeks over the side, glimpsing two figures huddled together, their arms linked.

A mantel cascades from the male, billowing like smoke beneath archery forged of seashell.

Rhodolite arrows fill the female’s quiver, her body trussed up in a jumpsuit.

Based on their attire and weaponry, they’re members of the pack that attacked Sorrow’s peers. She tilts her chin, but the archers are too remote to hear more. Still, this is good news. The couple had been whispering, so Andrew had been right. The ambushers are keeping reports of the trespass to themselves. Maybe they’re set on being the capturers, hoping to impress the Fate Court.

So maybe the monarchs don’t know Sorrow and her friends are here.

A tug on her skirt dunks her back into the murk. To Envy, she jabs her index finger overhead.It’s them,she mouths.

Envy grasps her meaning, then sizes up the distance from here to safety. His irises cut through the area and then land on her.West pier, he utters.

She nods. They paddle at a snail’s pace, navigating under the crisscross of boardwalks. Lanterns skate around them, making the water appear deeper, darker.