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Or that’s what she has gleaned from Love, and Merry, and Wonder. But her kinship with that trio came simply, a little magical clique in which their differences balance them out.

The same can’t be said for a kinship with Envy. In spite of that, there are loopholes in their relationship, staggering interludes like this one, which take her by surprise. All they need is to put one foot in front of the other, as he guides her through the enclave.

Secluded within this haven, paths multiply and branch out, curving around corners or hovering above the baths, and basins, and pools. A few of them pour into tunnels that lead to places unknown, while the rest swarm the water trees, feeding the roots.

Envy imparts how this area isn’t one whole playground so much as a series of them, with endless grooves and chutes, alcoves and chambers. One might discover treasures under the surface, among the floating vines or behind a cascade.

He mentions a handful of memories, like the bath where he taught himself to swim. Or the basin where his Guide, Siren, first explained to him the discrepancies between egotism, and conceit, and vanity. Or the pool where Envy discovered he could shoot an arrow underwater; that day, he’d almost speared a fish, who then took a chunk out of his backside.

Sorrow snickers at the story, but mostly at his wry tone. He speaks with enthusiasm, with the same kind of geeky zeal as when Wonder and Malice debate about research, or when Andrew quotes fictional stories, or when Love describes the nature of relationships, or when Anger talks about honor and allegiance, or when Merry waxes poetic about music.

Whenever that happens, Sorrow promptly changes the subject or blurts something corrosive. It spares her the task of contributing to the conversation, because she’d only come up empty-handed. And it’s better than sitting there, twiddling her thumbs or nibbling on her useless, quiet mouth.

The enclave niches exhale mist, which spritzes their clothing. It’s refreshing. Sorrow collects her damp hair and knots it haphazardly at the nape of her neck, so that she can feel the spray against her throat.

For a goddess, she has fine, limp hair. It’s not the suffocating thicket of Love’s black tresses; nor is it the bouncy, short, pink waves of Merry’s hair; and it’s definitely not Wonder’s outpouring of blonde. That makes Sorrow’s hair a stubborn candidate for styling, so she usually lets the whole thing sag, or she snarls it out of the way.

A lane of rocks tracks over a running tributary. As they walk across, Envy peers over his shoulder, just in time to witness sprigs of purple escaping from her lazy bun and bouncing in tune with her pace. Who knows why, but this incites an appreciative, masculine smirk.

They gravitate through a slender trail flanked by downpours and precipitation, illuminated from above by a violet spool of light. According to the archer who hasn’t released her hand, there are riches to be found here. Mineral rocks shaped like coral reefs, whirlpools that spin, eels and starfish that glitter like stained-glass, shrubs that release perfume onto one’s flesh, and edible pebbles that taste like toffee. Though to score the latter, one has to dive deeply.

The Peaks are chock-full of marvels. The blooming cliffs, the numerous planets and moons. And the Archives, the great library of their people. It’s Wonder and Malice’s favorite spot in the universe.

But now it’s a ruin. That her friends have lost their happy place impales Sorrow with sympathy.

Suddenly, the possibility that Envy might lose his own happy place,thisplace, pricks her chest. However, she refuses to classify the sensation, to give it a name, to make it real.

Neither will she identify the swoop in her navel as they cross farther into the unknown. The chime of excitement as she thinks,Where is he taking me?

Soon enough, she finds out. The path widens, and the falls recede into a cove. Surrounded by a ring of water, a tiny island of grass bloats from the center. At its core, a frond tree sprouts, its leaves covered in a shimmering glaze.

Sorrow and Envy pause at the threshold shrouded in fern tufts. More ethereal motes drift in the air. One of them dances past her chin and lands on her shoulder.

There’s no other movement, nor sound. Not even the wheeze of crickets.

Radiance from above draws Sorrow’s gaze. Glancing upward, she espies the umbrella of branches, where mobiles of silver glass dangle in funnel arrangements. The effect is reminiscent of dozens of brilliant chandeliers.

But they’re not chandeliers. They’re dragonflies.

Fates, they’re infant dragonflies hovering in a delicate sequence, their wings emitting a prismatic glow. Although these creatures are no surprise, this atmosphere is, because it’s sacred to the winged beings.

She opens her mouth, but Envy’s index finger presses against it. “Wait,” he whispers. “They’re waking up.”

He cups her shoulder, urging her to squat behind a hedge. For some reason, she wants to laugh as much as she wants to gape. This feels like an escapade meant for children, not for them.

She doesn’t care. She’s glad that he prevented her mouth from opening, because she would have said the wrong thing, made a declaration that doesn’t live up to this scene. She would’ve filled the space with noise and disturbed the setting.

“Remember our first lessons?” Envy asks in a hushed voice. “The ones about the creatures of this land? Remember the stories?”

Sorrow nods. “About the coves where dragonflies are born.”

“The nature lectures were my favorite, because nature doesn’t justify itself, because it doesn’t have to. I fancied how there was something mightier than all of us, mightier than the stars, enigmatic and uncontrollable. The ultimate divinity.”

“It scared the crap out of Anger.”

“But it blew me away,” Envy confides. “I relished learning the history of nature, of anything that couldn’t be controlled by the celestials.”

While whispering, he studies the winged chandeliers. And she watches him. She watches the shadows slice across his jaw. For once, there’s nothing lecherous about his demeanor, nothing teasing or flamboyant.