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It’s a chain reaction, a swarm of gods and goddesses flooding the walkways, and the cliffside slopes, and the shoreline. Thunderstruck, the masses identify Sorrow and Envy on sight.

From every direction, projectiles flash. One by one, Sorrow looses arrows, each ramming into another or knocking an immortal off his or her feet. Bodies sprint along the planks, or leap over the gaps, or tumble into the water.

Sorrow ducks, evading a punch and retaliating with a jab of her elbow. Envy takes down an archer who springs atop the roof.

While flying from one walkway to the next, Sorrow kicks unidentified stomachs and spins around random fists. In between each move, she nocks iron, pelting archers into the sea.

While barreling from one roof to the next, Envy’s legs scissor the air, dodging arrows. With each landing, he targets and strikes an adversary.

Sorrow vaults to a dwelling parallel to him. They jump onto houses, shooting and racing toward the bluffs, where the secret channel leads to the waterfall enclave. But it’s a million leagues away. They can’t make it, can’t outrun everybody.

Not both of them.

Sorrow pauses. The sudden lapse in movement catches Envy’s attention. Wielding his longbow, he peers at her, panting in confusion.

They haven’t said a word to each other since this morning. She’s sorry about that. Already, she misses the sound of his voice, and she misses their talks.

There are so many things she’d like to say—silly things, and soft things, and sarcastic things. There are so many things she should have done with him before leaving their sanctuary—sweet and sexy things. There are so many kisses that she’s missing out on. But because of this half-assed, harebrained idea to get their weapons back, she has fucked up those opportunities.

So she won’t fuck up now.

Catching his baffled expression, Sorrow gives Envy a weak smile, because they’re good together, but not that good.

Understanding dawns on him. His horrified eyes widen, his pupils shrieking,Sorrow, don’t you fucking dare!

Except one of them has to.

Sorrow gives him no choice.Envy, don’t you fucking follow!

Anyway, why would he do that? This is his chance to scram like the gorgeous pest he is.

She tosses him the iron archery. Once he catches it, she blows his gobsmacked face a kiss and turns. Unarmed, she jumps into the crowd.

20

Sorrow

The fall is quick. Dozens of outstretched arms cushion her landing with fingers as alabaster as moon rays, and fingers as bronze as the mortal sun, and fingers as dark as the sea. When they catch her, it’s not the snake pit one would imagine. The swarm isn’t hostile, nor ferocious.

Her people—are they still her people?—crowd with dignity, ordering the throng to make way. The stellar voices chime like bells, ring like brass, as melodic as spiraling stars. Although the noise has mellowed, it blots Envy’s shout.

Her name, fractured on his lips.

Across the divide, beyond the teeming figures, Sorrow glimpses his dazed, helpless face. His pupils cleave through the distance, a mob’s worth of emotions rioting there as he watches the congregation hoist her overhead, as if she’s just stage-dived into her own execution.

Guess that answers how many times anyone has chosen Envy over themselves. It’s actually pretty brilliant, how shock screws up his face and yanks it out of proportion. If she weren’t being carried to her doom like a sacrificial lamb, she’d snigger.

Envy takes a dreadful step forward, but she shakes her head and jerks her gaze toward the water.Get going!

She’s not an extreme sports junkie; she didn’t take this flying leap for kicks. Her actions stump the masses to the point where he’s got a window before they remember he’s here. Maybe in the confusion, most of them assume he’s already been apprehended, or that he’s already fled the premises.

The motivation to do…whatever he’s tempted to do…is short-lived, because he’s not an idiot, despite how often she has called him one. Storming this scene will only get them both trapped.

Understanding burns like a torch across Envy’s face. He grimaces, then dives into the water, the surface swallowing him whole. Moments later, and from farther away, his head lurches from the surface. Sadly, she can’t see his expression.

He’s there, still watching. Then he isn’t.

When he’s gone, Sorrow clenches her eyes shut, barricading the tears. She’s a pro at not crying. Turning into a leaky faucet is the last thing that will save her, a weakness that’ll fail to impress her kin.