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But the deity just smiles sadly. “Siren has a message.”

Envy stiffens. A lump forms in his throat as the deity indicates the garden’s west waterfall and parrots instructions to flee through the cascade. “She said it would lead you to a place you know,” he narrates.

An alternate route to the waterfall enclave? One that the Fate Court doesn’t know about? It has to be.

Siren may not be here, but she hasn’t forsaken Envy. His mentor must have conferenced with Echo sometime after Sorrow’s capture. Like the guards, they’d anticipated this rescue, prepared, and waited.

Based on the looks traded between Echo and the anonymous youth, this child had been in cahoots, too. Envy moves to thank them, but commotion from inside the palace stifles his voice. Scooping Sorrow higher into his arms, he nods with gratitude.

The child’s eyes prickle. “I’m sorry,” he peeps. “About the valley…I’m sorry.”

Just like that, Envy understands. The moppet blames himself for making the existence of Envy’s band known. “This isn’t your fault. You were brave. And you gave her back to me.”

The moppet almost smiles, then shoves Envy like he’s an idiot. “Go!”

The shouts ring louder, nearer. Envy swivels and bails across the garden, splashing across the moat. He glances over his shoulder once, only to find the mentor and the child have vanished. Hopefully, Echo will return that arrow before the sovereign realizes it’s missing.

But why wasn’t the Court here? If they expected a rescue, then why not station themselves close at hand? It seems highly out of character.

Projectiles slice through the air, zooming toward Envy. He dodges the first stream and crashes through the cascade, Sorrow nothing but leaden weight in his arms. Jagged rocks pierce his elbows and shins as he runs at a breakneck pace, evading more arrows.

Mist builds. Falls hiss around them.

Envy hobbles down the cavity, which bloats into the space where he’d stashed Love’s bow. On second inspection, he identifies the area as a grotto.

The sounds of pursuit ring from behind. He stalls, thinking, thinking. Carting the goddess’s weight through precarious terrain means he can’t outrun the ones hunting them. Not in the long-term.

“Shoot the rocks,” a voice mumbles.

Envy glances at Sorrow’s half-lidded eyes. She raises her arm and points feebly at an unstable foundation. “The rocks,” she mumbles, then collapses against him.

Having no choice, Envy sets her on a ledge and nocks his bow. Aiming at the crags, he looses an arrow.

A flurry of rocks crack, followed by more, then more, then more. They break from the walls and smash into the ground, the avalanche piling and filling the gap, cutting off the shouts and plummeting Envy and Sorrow in darkness.

22

Sorrow

It starts with whispers. It continues with shouts. It ends with silence.

A great big wallop of silence, swallowing everything that had come before—fragments of words, and soft hands clasping her face, and the loosening wince of manacles, and a pain that had made her cry out.

She had felt her feet lift off the ground, felt herself swing into the air, scooped into a basin of muscle. The air had rushed at her. Water splashed beneath someone’s feet, and she muttered something, then pointed before descending to an uneven surface, before the crack of sundered rocks shattered her eardrums.

And now, silence. And now, blackness.

And then, the surge of running water, the spray of mist across her arms. Relief coaxes a sigh from her. She stirs, curling into a fetal position as a soft patch of ground pads her hip, and a large form nestles into her. Her cheek rubs against a finely loomed textile, and an arm slings possessively across her waist, tucking her in.

Sorrow’s eyes flutter open. She’s in a cave, a stunning grotto comprised of three small waterfalls from three crevices. The area inflates from a nearby tunnel. Above, the ceiling sparkles. Around, motes illuminate the space, and tiny wells beneath each foggy cascade hurl strands across the walls.

Beyond one of the falls, she catches the translucent silhouettes of a wider pool and trees—the way out, beyond the deluge. That means she’s behind the veil, rather than in front of it.

Strong arms encase her. Slung across the ground, a masculine body aligns itself with her smaller frame, and a palm cups her jaw. She tilts her head, meeting his eyes, sharp rings that focus on her.

Envy. He stares at her as if he’s been doing so for a long time.

Everything comes back, gushing like a rapid. The attack on the pier. The moment she’d tossed the iron archery to Envy and then leaped into the crowd. The little archer. The figures standing beside him—Echo and Siren, the latter wrestling to help her, the former wrestling to prevent him.