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The Palace of Starlight. The conference with her rulers. The bribe and the pain that had resulted.

The cuts. The shrieking torment of those cuts, made by her own weapon.

If her arrow wasn’t barren of its power, those cuts would have infused Sorrow with her own root emotion. Or the Court would have been forced to render them infirm. But since she’s an exile, her archery has lost that magic. Thus, it hadn’t been an issue.

They’d carved into her. Why? Because she had told them, no.

Her rulers had given Sorrow an ultimatum, and she had told them to go fuck themselves. And she’d ended up hanging like a bloody marionette from a tree.

Then she’d blacked out. Then her Guide’s face materialized. The runty male archer had been there, too.

But most of all, there had been Envy’s voice.

His face. His touch.

The escape. The avalanche.

The rest had been a blur, including his arms, his breath on her cheek. Envy, who’d taken her ice arrow when they were young. Envy, who’d bullied her. Envy, who’d bedded her. Envy, who’d done a thousand things to her.

Envy, whom she’d done a thousand things to in return.

Envy, who holds her now. Envy, who must have freed Sorrow from the waterfall amphitheater and its throne garden, then escaped with her, then lugged her through the tunnels.

He taken her half-conscious advice and created an avalanche, caving them in from their attackers. She vaguely recalls him picking her up afterward, clutching her like a star, and coming to rest with her in this spot. It’s one of the few parcels of ground covered in moss, the foundation supple enough for them to sprawl across.

They had to have gotten soaked while fleeing. But now, their clothes are dry except for the specks of mist from the falls. It’s probably been a while, because the wounds on Sorrow’s arms have dried, a lattice of red-crusted lines.

His glass archery resides in an alcove, alongside a longbow and quiver of iron arrows. He managed to swim with Love’s weapons, managed to keep them safe. He must have stashed them here before going after her, because he’s easy to read, yet not easy at all.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have foreseen the devastating look on his face, as he presently drinks her in. Nor the devastating feeling that bolts through her.

Like a numbskull, he blatantly ignored her demand to escape the masses, to leave Sorrow behind. He was supposed to wedge as much distance between them as possible, and track down their rebel band, and return Love’s bow, and set to battle. All of that, so Envy and their friends could bring this forsaken immortal house down.

Stubborn, moronic god! He was supposed to abandon her. Can’t he do anything right?

Motherfuck. She’s never been so happy to see him. This infernal archer, who has no clue that he’s got her heart clenched in his fist.

There’s so much to say, so much to explain. But she can’t right now, she just can’t. She can’t do anything but feel him, absorb him, want him.

Holding his gaze, Sorrow covers the hand that cradles her face, then traces his knuckles with her fingertips. He sucks in a breath. Her touch confirms that this is real, that she’s okay, and he’s okay. They’re together, stuck with each other as usual.

Relief washes across his features—a second before he launches at her.

Snatching her body, Envy hauls her against him. His mouth plants shaky kisses over her face—forehead, lips, chin—then down her throat.

Sorrow returns his kisses, her mouth desperate, unable to make contact swift enough. His collarbones, his jaw, his chin. Even his black mane, the unruly locks tumbling around him.

They gasp into it, inhaling harshly, scraping through one another’s hair.

Envy wrenches back, his rasp accusatory. “Why did you distract that crowd for me?”

Sorrow’s eyes prickle. “Why did you come back for me?”

Clinging like film, they watch each other. The waterfalls flood over the edges, spilling forth and slamming into the rocks. Pearls of light swim through the misted air, the world receding to this grotto.

Them. Alone. Free.

Sorrow’s stomach gives a sweet, maddening flip. Envy’s features twist, haggard and hungry.