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Meaning, what are they about to take from her?

Meaning, what do they want her to do?

Sorrow flees into a recent memory. A moment branded on her skin like the cuts up her arms, in which a god had hugged her.

She’d said:I don’t know how to feel like this.

Yet he’d held her tighter:But you know how to feel this.

Bound against her tailbone, Sorrow’s hands ball into fists. She used to be scared of pleasure, until him. She used to think pain manageable, until him.

The things she once feared aren’t the same ones she fears now. The things she used to handle aren’t the same ones she can bear anymore.

His face, mocking her. His face, about to kiss her. His face, hating her. His face, wanting her. His face, pained by her.

His face, betrayed by her.

21

Envy

Fool of a goddess!

Reckless, confounded, self-destructing fool of a goddess!

Who gave her permission to steal his thunder like that? He was supposed to be the savior, not her.

Envy would add selfish to the list, but he needs to concentrate, otherwise dismay will get the better of him and he’ll fucking drown. It’s difficult enough to manage his own archery while swimming, but there’s also the matter of Love’s archery—the culprit for this turn of events and the reason he’s paddling like a lopsided tadpole, trying not to lose any of the arrows.

Hence, the journey takes longer than it should. He drives his arms through the sea, slapping water out of the way. At least it gets his blood pumping, keeps him from losing control.

What will they do to Sorrow? How will she stand it?

As he swims to the coastline and slinks through the foliage, he hates every inch of distance this chore puts between them. Returning to the tunnel, he makes haste, picking through the rocky passage as fast as he can, enduring every cut and scrape until achieving a safe distance, where he deposits the iron arrows in a recess behind a waterfall.

Then he promptly turns around and retraces his steps.

Love’s weapons will remain hidden until he gets back…untiltheyget back.

Does she really think he’s going to leave her behind? Imprudent chit!

Envy secures his weapons, conjures shoes for his bare feet, and hustles through the misted channels, the rubble and ridges slicing his untucked shirt and trousers. Before locating Sorrow on the pier, he’d operated on a hunch. Seeing as his home had been depleted of arms, he’d checked one other place: Nostalgia’s house.

That god had been skulking outside Envy’s abode days ago, so it stood to reason that Nostalgia might have hoarded the weapons in his own dwelling.

Luckily, the god hadn’t been in residence. Lo and behold, Envy had at least found his archery there.

In any case, Sorrow had been right. The archers who had attacked them in the sylvan valley must have pursued them into the rapids. They hadn’t caught up, but they’d salvaged the weapons that went overboard.

Perceptive goddess. But still, a thorn in his side.

Reaching the tunnel’s boundary, Envy scopes the vicinity, his eyes dashing across the landscape. All is calm now, the immortal residents having returned to their homes, likely murmuring about the news of Sorrow’s capture.

Having glimpsed the direction the crowd took her, Envy bleeds into the shadows and picks around the outcroppings, then slips through the vine curtain that leads to the walkway. The path carves into the cliff, a route that he and his classmates are all too familiar with.

Torchlight dapples the artery, white flames lashing. He keeps to the niches, ducking in and out of corners. Although he hadn’t gone too far into the tunnel, enough time has passed for the Fate Court to act. Enough time has lapsed for them to have an effect on Sorrow.

He will not push the panic button. He will not charge like a rhino into danger.