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Wonder pinches him for that and pursues her lover, those long curls swishing around her ample hips. She’d changed from harem pants to a floor-length green gown and left her feet bare. To compliment her wildflower corsage, a hyacinth stalk coils around her headband.

Inside, lanterns pulse with starlit flames. They climb spiral stairs to the dome, where painted recreations of constellations grace the floor. Above the artwork, an elegant silver funnel aims toward the sky, supported by posts that spiral like vines at the ends.

Might as well go for ceremony. Surrounding the telescope, the group joins hands. Anger does the honors, glancing at the stars and summoning their allies.

As outcasts and deserters, they’re unable to cross boundaries without the means to break down that barrier. Thank Fates for Malice and Wonder’s supply of Asterra Flora. They’d left plenty behind in the human realm, in the safe keeping of their allies, preparing them for when the call came.

A moment passes, then another, then another.

The ground trembles. Anger’s eyes pop open. Everyone bolts, dashing from the central platform and spilling along the parapet.

In the flood of lunar rays, a swarm of heads appear, with leafy circlets, metal clips, and gems sparkling in their hair. Exiled deities and former loyals alike glide up the hill, carrying longbows and crossbows. Star-woven cloaks and liquid gowns billow from their shoulders. Moon-sewn leathers stretch across their arms and limbs. Mortal style coats jangle with buckles and chains.

At the forefront strides a female with sage hair. Her meditative gaze is akin to a certain voluptuous goddess, except this one wields arrows of ivory.

“Harmony!” Wonder squeals, racing to meet her Guide at the gate.

Minutes later, their allies sweep into the monument, greeting Envy and his peers. If ever there was a congregation equally joyous and daunting, it’s this one. Some resemble humans in their early twenties, others in their thirties. When really, their ages range between two-hundred and two-thousand years old.

Archers they’ve known in the Peaks, like Confusion, Guilt, Hope, and Joy.

Outcasts from the Celestial City, like Pity, Confidence, Courage, and Trust.

Surprise and Kindness are two of Merry’s comrades. The former is a veritable disco ball, her mocha skin wrapped in sequins. The latter’s dove gray hair is twined into a bun at the nape and fastened with a basket weave bow. She’s got pillows for eyes, and she’s swaddled in cozy garments: an oversized cable knit sweater and velour shorts.

The outcasts each have their own tale. In the end, they’d all been evicted from the Peaks and replaced with those who fit the Court’s so-called template of exemplary archers.

As for the ones who hadn’t been exiled—the former loyals—some resent these standards of perfection, while others never cared for assigning destiny, while others simply don’t like having their life’s purpose designated to them.

Anger speaks to the crowd, along with Wonder’s Guide. They bring everyone up to speed on the Court’s knowledge of their presence, which incites dismay. However, this was always a possibility. Therefore, the pronouncement doesn’t surprise anyone except for, well, Surprise.

“They may not know where to find us,” Anger says, his graphite eyes scanning the crowd. “But they will soon.”

“Scouts,” Harmony addresses a team of archers. “Make haste.”

A team of deities hustles from the stargazer to guard every neighboring summit. Sorrow watches them leave, her face twisting. “I’ll go with them.”

Heads swerve toward her. Flummoxed, Anger says, “What for?”

“For once, I concur.” Malice examines her profile. “Don’t recall that being part of the plan.”

“Forgive me for getting antsy,” Sorrow snaps.

“You can’t,” Merry bleats, the quiver of neon arrows clattering against her lavender dress. “We lost you before. We can’t…”

Remorse crowds Sorrow’s face. “You’re right.”

Since when does this archeress waffle? And since when does she cave that easily?

Envy isn’t the only one whose gaze bears down on her. Malice’s demon eyes scrutinize Sorrow, too.

After being assigned their stations, the gods and goddesses disperse, some settling in circles on the grass, others scaling trees interspersed across the summit. Lanterns illuminate the atmosphere, including the rock walkway from the estuary to the monument.

They wait. The Court will come, along with an army of subjects. The assembly gathers in cliques, then enchant ceramic cups of tea. As starlit flames swat the air, archers trade recollections of the past and visions of the future, no longer having to keep their private thoughts to themselves.

Empathy slides into Envy’s ribcage. After making the rounds with Anger, they settle beside their friends. The three couples huddle around a blazing lantern, while Envy and Sorrow sit apart. Truly, he can’t handle analyzing why, his heart a veritable beehive of angst.

Andrew retrieves his notebook and pen from Malice, then proceeds to scribble a message to Love, which she responds to in her own handwriting. They play this little game for a while, as they usually do. But not for long.