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The peninsula joins twin summits. At last, the estuary crosses from one to the other, and the great stargazer comes into view. Multiple stories of walkways and parapets protect the glass dome, which swells from the center at the uppermost level. Within that translucent dome, the instrument shines.

To Envy’s people, it’s a vessel between the Peaks and the stars. It’s an umbilical cord that funnels the births of deities, as well as a mighty shrine to destiny.

The estuary broadens and spills into a lake near the stargazer’s base. The archers pause on their respective boulders and stare at the edifice.

“Are we mad?” Wonder asks.

“Only one of us,” Anger says, jabbing his thumb at Malice, who sticks out his tongue in response.

“Go ahead and call me mad,” Malice says. “I like being mad.”

“Wonder meant, are we mad for doing this,” Love says.

“Depends on who you ask,” Sorrow mumbles.

“Meaning?” Envy questions with a frown.

“As the only self-proclaimed fantasy geek here, I’ll take a stab at it,” Andrew says. “In fiction, there are rules to magic: things it can and can’t do. Let’s thumb through that. What can celestial magic do?”

“Control how humans feel,” Love says, her chin perched like a parakeet on his shoulder.

Andrew snaps his fingers in the affirmative. “I knew there was a reason I love you more than my bookshelf.” Love sniggers, and he continues. “And what can’t magic do?”

“Control how deities feel,” Sorrow says.

“Not true,” Love objects. “If I scratch myself with my arrow—”

“But that would be your choice.”

“Could happen by accident.”

“But that would be your mistake.”

“It’sstillcontrol.” Sorrow swerves her head toward the group’s most erudite pairing. “Malice, Wonder, break out your dictionaries. I’m betting the definition is the same in any realm.”

“Magic can’t control nature,” Envy says under his breath.

But they hear him. And like a brushfire, they get it.

Magic can control itself, and it can defy itself. It can break its own rules, but it can’t control or defy nature.

“That’s where we all come from,” Andrew says. “Humans are of the earth. Deities are of the stars. Both are nature, so we’re alike, and we have a right to our natural selves—our choices.”

The group stares at him.

Like Malice and Wonder’s knack for researching mythical legends, the surplus of fictional stories housed in Andrew’s cranium amounts to its own weapon. It gives him a vantage point that none of them have. His argument is simple yet critical.

No, they’re not mad.

They gravitate from the water. The boulder path veers to the lake’s embankment, merging with a stony outcropping. Beyond, high grasses and flowers—hyacinths, according to Wonder—sway in the breeze. Above, a troop of silver-winged travelers whoosh by, reminding Envy of the dragonfly cove that he’d shown Sorrow.

There was a time when they would have passed through the facade’s ivy-strewn gate easily. Malice withdraws a vial of Asterra Flora and smears a droplet onto the foundation.

With a shudder, the gate opens. They hesitate.

All except Malice, who skips through with an exaggerated flourish. “Move your heinies, mates,” he says on the way.

“Show off,” Anger grouses.