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When that becomes too much, they return to the subject of pleasure versus pain. Mostly pleasure. It becomes increasingly effortless for Sorrow to brainstorm, expanding from currant nectar and comfort food to steam wafting from a cup, the tinfoil that conceals mortal chocolate bars, the glow of a human nightlight, and the nutty whiff of bread just out of the oven.

Envy lists his own pleasures. The spice of saffron, the texture of heavy cream, the sight of water splintering against the breakers, and the motorized purr of cats.

Ah, actually he’s not done. There’s also sound of a cork popping from a bottle, the froth of bubble baths, an indulgent serpentine stretch in the morning, the snugness of a well-fitting suit, the smoothness of suede, and the briny spray of sea-foam against his cheek.

And yes, sex. Lots of it.

To that, Sorrow rolls her eyes, though it’s congenial rather than mocking. “The stars when they’re not shining.”

“The translucence of glass,” Envy intones.

“The glaze of ice,” she shares.

He cocks his head. “Why did you choose ice arrows?”

“Why did you opt for glass?” she volleys.

“To see my reflection.”

“Not to see the truth?”

“You accused me of fearing the truth.”

“But our choice of archery elements doesn’t lie.”

“Fine. I like transparency.” He tosses her a swanky grin. “Better yet, I envy it. What about you, smarty pants?”

“Ice is the closest I’ll get to temperature. Plus, it numbs you from feeling things that are too harsh, that you might not be able to take. It sterilizes those feelings. It protects you.”

“And here you said pain is essential.”

“It is. But it’s also essential to survive pain.”

“Are you referring to humans or yourself?”

“Either applies,” she says as they step through a puddle. “Do you like them? Humans?”

What he likes are the strands of purple that swat her cheekbones, but he’d rather expire than admit it. And she’d rather expire than receive praise.

“I wouldn’t be a member of this clan if I didn’t,” Envy says. “I wouldn’t have sacrificed my place. I’ll have you know that forsaking popularity amongst our people is a great sacrifice in favor of rebellion. But then again, it’s worth the risk. If we win this thing, monuments will be erected in our name, and literary geniuses will pen retellings.”

“Of course, that’s the whole point,” she jokes.

“Oh, absolutely,” he banters. “Won’t it be marvelous?”

“We have different definitions of glory.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, our conversations would be rather dull. We’d talk ourselves into a wall or go in circles, never to discover a thing.”

“We’d also never realize we don’t know a thing—that none of us do, I bet. We like to think we know stuff, but maybe the smartest people are the ones who are smart enough to know they’re not smart at all.”

He chuckles. “Look at us, getting philosophical like gods. Can I speak honestly?”

“As opposed to all the lies you’ve been feeding me tonight?” she wisecracks.

“I think the best of our nature is to be contrary. We’re walking, talking paradoxes, full of ironies and double-standards.”

“In other words, full of crap.”