Page 24

They bypass musical voices, and robust voices, and embittered voices.

Envy stops. Splashing behind a stilt, he waits until Sorrow joins him.

“Pit stop,” he says.

“What? Why?” she demands.

Trailing his gaze toward a familiar dwelling, she recognizes the edifice, at least from the outside. On the pier to their right stands a house. A round, ostentatious, three-story structure with a front door of inky stone.

In over two centuries, he never once welcomed her here, just like she never asked to be invited. Nevertheless, she knows this place: Envy’s home.

To which he’s got a visitor. A hooded figure slips from the front door while checking the perimeter. From this vantage point, ebony hands wield a crossbow nocked with sapphire arrows.

Envy dissolves the mystery. “Nostalgia.”

He pronounces the name between his teeth, the enunciation sharp and stinging. Unfortunately, Sorrow has become accustomed to Envy’s various tones of voice. The familiarity of this one isn’t platonic.

Sorrow jibes, “Do all your ex-lovers squat here when you’re not around?”

“Be reasonable,” Envy says. “He’s snooping, which means he must have been with the pack that chased us, and I hadn’t realized it.”

“There was a lot going on,” she justifies.

What she can’t justify is why her nails are presently digging into the stilt. What’s her deal now? It can’t be from learning that Envy and this archer bumped hips in the past. Putting it mildly, Envy mounts anything on two legs.

Not important.

Months ago, when Wonder and Malice quested to the Peaks, in order to breach the Archives and research a means to win this battle, they’d gone at an opportune time. Back then, it had been Stellar Worship in these lands—a month that occurs every ten years, when deities remain home to honor the stars with a period of solitary reflection.

It’s not Stellar Worship anymore. Otherwise, none of this would have happened. They wouldn’t have been attacked in the valley forest or pursued into the river.

Anyway, what was Nostalgia doing skulking through Envy’s house? Ransacking for clues about the rebel band’s whereabouts? If so, has that archer or his accomplices also checked Sorrow’s house? Or Love’s, or Anger’s, or Wonder’s?

Likely, but they won’t find anything. However, if they miraculously happen to locate Sorrow’s missing ice arrow, she’d be much obliged.

“Just how crucial is this pit stop?” Sorrow asks.

“Relax,” Envy says. “Have you seen Nostalgia fight?”

“No matter what, he’s an obstacle. We can’t get past—Envy?”

She whips left and right, but he’s gone. Peering at the depths, she spots a rift in the surface, a vibration that indicates his body breast stroking underwater. It heads toward his home, shooting toward the rocks where the archer stands.

Sorrow watches, her jaw hanging loose as Envy slinks out of the sea like a mercenary merman. Dripping and dazzling to behold, he gains his feet and then cavalierly taps Nostalgia on the shoulder.

When the male turns, Envy plants a monstrous kiss on his lips. Yet another strange event occurs as Sorrow’s retinas electrify, as if someone’s hot-wired her vision. Disgust curdles in her stomach, and she experiences the severest urge to sink her teeth into someone’s jugular.

Envy’s tactic works. The archer’s crossbow falls, and skids across the rocks, and plummets into the depths. Shocked, Nostalgia freezes long enough for Envy to pull back, then wink, then punch the god in the face.

The archer’s stunned mien whips sideways as he goes down for the count. Sorrow gawks as Envy shakes the droplets from his hair, then adjusts his drenched button-down shirt and trousers.

Son of a bitch! The crossbow!

Sorrow dives. Submerged, she pumps toward the spot where the weapon had sunk. Prying her eyes open, she whirls and fishes around for a spark of sapphire. If they weren’t in this predicament, she wouldn’t dare seek out another archer’s bow. But being hunted and weaponless puts a different spin on the rules.

The water level is shallow in this area, so the archery must have landed within reach. Sadly at this hour, visibility proves difficult. It would be less taxing to find the weapon at midday, and the clock is ticking.

She bats at a net of sea plants, in case the archery got tangled there. Instead, a scaly tail sprouts from the mesh and weaves across her hip.