Page 71

Wonder

The weapon is made of gold moonstone, ejected from the longbow of a superior.

Red coats the arrowhead, ravines drizzling like paint down Malice’s torso and puddling to where Wonder’s navel presses against his.

From there, the fluid weeps through her blouse and pants, spreading into wide blossoms of color.

The projectile vanishes, reappearing clean in its ruler’s quiver. At which point, three entities drop to the ground.

The first is the moonstone archery, the longbow sliding from the ruler’s hands. His slanted brows flatten in shock, because it isn’t every day that a superior fatally wounds an inferior. In fact, it’s never happened during the reign of this court.

The Hollow Chamber is a ruin. Amid the anarchy, the god had sought retribution. Yet his face goes slack, confounded by his own fury. It’s one thing to fire in defense of oneself, of The Dark Fates, of their world. It’s another to strike an unarmed god in the back.

The second entity to fall is the book in Wonder’s grasp. Because Malice crumples, she needs both hands to balance him against her. As a result, the glowing volume hits the rubble, a beacon spotlighting them.

It takes Wonder a second to process his lack of balance, her sloppy grip, and the blood sprayed across her clothes and face. “Malice?”

His eyes rivet on her, awash in affection, the ashy irises dulling. Terror seizes her sternum, fear splitting her mouth open. “Malice!”

The third entity to fall is him. She yelps when he resists her hold and staggers harder into her. They collapse to the floor, huddling atop the wreckage.

The demon god slumps in her lap, his head bolstered by the crook of her arm, more red dribbling from his lips. Frantic, Wonder mops blood from his chin and chest, but there’s so much, too much, and it’s not stopping.

Whimpering, she rips the sleeve of her blouse, her frenzied movements failing to staunch the hemorrhage. “No!” she pleads. “Malice, no!”

He just stares at her, gagging on that horrible color, his lungs congested with it.

As the seconds hammer by, footsteps approach. The conscious pace of her Guide is accompanied by the tentative gait of her rulers. Wonder snarls a warning, a string of threats audible to them, but not to her. Her ears are clogged as if stuffed with cotton, so that she can’t hear herself clearly.

But she doesn’t care, so long as they back the fuck off.

Taloned fingers etch her jawline, the touch consuming her attention. Malice winces in pain, his nostrils splaying for air. He puffs through the injury, “Shit, that hurt.”

“You’ll b-be all right. You’ll be f-fine, I p-promise.” She changes course and appeals to the somber faces encircling her. “Help!” she begs. “Please, h-help h-him!”

The entreaty ends on a heaving cry, a sound that tumbles across the ruins. A shadow hovers beside her, its shape becoming clear as Harmony kneels but keeps a respectful distance. The female catches Wonder’s desperate features and gently shakes her head.

Death is out of a deity’s hands, no matter how supreme their power. Wonder sees that black truth reflected in every ruler’s expression, their gazes bowing in a collective ceasefire.

Wonder whips her head back and forth in denial. Her mouth braces to withhold a response, a screech clawing across her tongue. No, no, no, no, no.

This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening!

They’ve only just found each other. They’re supposed to have time now.

So much time.

Malice struggles to fish the Asterra Flora from his pocket, where he’d tucked it after her mentor gave it to him. Shoving it into Wonder’s hand, he labors through the words, “I want my home… away from home… away from home.”

Wonder nods, then glances at Harmony, who inclines her head. She will follow. But first, she indicates a shaft of starlight filtering through the broken ceiling, coming from the main level.

Malice must travel on his own, but with his failing strength, he’ll need help reaching out. Working quickly, Wonder pours droplets onto their tongues, then threads their fingers and extends them to the portal.

The world spins into a funnel, catapulting them upward until the suction ceases.

They jolt in place, still hunkered on the ground, except this floor stretches across a foyer with a model globe at its center.

The scene wobbles into view. Bookcases and circulation desks.

Titles wrapped in plastic, computers lining a wall, and a half-finished puzzle scattered across a communal table.

The return is smooth compared to Wonder and Malice’s previous departure.

The Celestial City’s library inundates them with the scent of mortality, including coffee and furniture polish.

It’s nighttime, the doors locked. But it’s not vacant, because a figure with layers of tousled white hair rushes toward them, then skids to a halt.

“Shit,” Andrew hisses. “Love!”

The goddess manifests beside him, charging into the scene with a nocked bow, which clatters to the ground the moment Love registers the scene.

She gapes at Wonder and Malice prostrate on the floor, their clothes bloody and shredded.

Love is about to spring forth to assist them, but Wonder growls, “Don’t! ”

Her friend stalls, her gaze shimmering with inexplicable pity and understandable shock. Glancing out the window, Love closes her eyes. Seconds later, their crew manifests, each member brandishing weapons but lowering them once they register the scene. There’s astonishment but no room for relief.

Anger’s lips part in confusion. Merry covers her mouth, her eyes pooling. Andrew grasps Love’s shoulders from behind, his grip anchoring her. Envy’s aghast, the hubris wiped from his countenance. Sorrow’s mouth turns down, because she knows this feeling better than anyone.

She knows what grief feels like.

Wonder cannot pay them further attention. Not when Malice skims her earlobe, then extracts something from behind the shell of skin. In his fingers, he holds a slit of torn paper for her inspection, a souvenir from The Hollow Chamber’s collapse.

“You have a legend in your hair,” he wheezes.

“Malice,” she pleads. “Malice, don’t.”

“Your mind is priceless like an illuminated manuscript. You can reap a dozen unanswerable questions from a single moment.” He brushes one weak finger across her lips.

“Your eyes change shade depending on what book you’re reading.

And you’re the smartest fucking person I’ve ever met.

” His glassy, mesmerized gaze soaks in her features.

“I waited three thousand years for you.”

Wonder’s soul flakes to cinders. He can’t do this. He can’t say all these devastating, remarkable, exquisite things. Not without her reciprocating.

She draws in a sobbing breath, sweeping a gilded layer from his brows.

“You’re an outcast and a scholar, a villain and a hero.

You carry a bow of p-poplar wood. You’re mad, diabolical, funny, intelligent, ruthless, possessive, and protective.

You have a w-writing instrument inked into your back.

You like the t-taste of pomegranate seeds, and you live in libraries.

You’re m-mine,” she sobs. “And I love you.”

His eyes gleam at the last part. “That’s what I hoped.”

That’s what he knows now, and she knows it too. She never truly comprehended the totality of love until now.

At last, Wonder deciphers the legend’s meaning. To release her heart means forgiving herself for the past. And to do so, she must esteem herself.

Finally, she has. She’s forgiven what she did to Quill. She has bid farewell to history and embraced the present, letting go of one man and opening her arms to another being.

And Malice? Recovering his heart doesn’t mean questioning or tapping into who he once was. No, it means valuing who he is today.

They gaze at each other, sharing this realization. Her spirit roars to The Stars.

Please. Please, don’t take him from me.

But destiny can’t answer that wish any more than free will.

Malice’s lips crinkle, his sharp incisors poking out. His shaky fingers lift to trace the side of her face, and despite the light glaze of his fingernails, it’s the gentlest touch in existence.

“Want to… know a… secret?” he chokes out. “I love you more.”

Wonder’s heart cracks like porcelain. She shakes her head wildly. “Malice—”

“I was a goner… the minute I first saw you.”

“Malice, please.”

“I’m fucking crazy… about you.”

“Please, don’t.”

“And I’ll keep loving you in hell.”

He’s not going to hell. He’s staying here with her.

But then she freezes, watching helplessly as his attention drifts to the nearest window, to a view of the constellations as if he’s found the celestial that birthed him. This demon has never been predictable, which is why Malice shifts his gaze back to her, those eyes brightening, the ash clearing.

“Wonder.” He drags her hand to his mouth, kisses the scars, and speaks against them while relishing her features. “I see my star.”

Then his eyes cease to move. They glaze over, the light leaving them, the irises dimming, the pupils winking out. He relaxes in her arms, his body giving like a feather. His expression stills, seeing nothing.

And then his grip loosens, releasing her hand.

From the crew, someone hisses, another gasps, and another curses. The rest remain helpless and mournfully silent. In her periphery, they set down their weapons and create a kneeling ring around Wonder and Malice.

She gawks at his lifeless face, at his vacant eyes. She shakes him tenderly, violently. It makes no difference, because there’s no cure for this, no legend to reverse it, no second resurrection to rely on.

He’s gone.

They have succeeded in their mission, but he’s gone. They have revealed the answer to this battle, but he’s gone. They fell in love, but he’s gone.

That arrow had been intended for her, but he’s gone.

There’s no one else she wants, but he’s gone.

A silent scream pries her mouth apart, suspended for an instant. Then Wonder sucks in air and lets it out, the disjointed sound pouring from her womb, from her ribs, from her soul.

Wonder’s heart shatters across her tongue. Her wail hits the roof.

The noise is full-bodied and relentless, streaming out of her over and over and over. “No!” she howls. “No… no… no!” Tears slice down her face as she heaves over Malice, rocking his body to her chest, cradling his face against her throat.

Guttural sobs tear through the room, the force knocking constellations from their vigils. Pitching forward and backward, clutching a fallen god in her arms, Wonder depletes herself of noise. All the while, she mashes her weeping mouth into his gilded waves, inhaling wildflowers and pomegranates.

And the eternal scent of books.