Chapter 35
Envy
Fog belts around Envy’s limbs as he guides the procession. His friends admire the mystical scenery and scan the water trees, each member vigilant of an ambush.
Ascending in elevation, climbing higher into the bluffs, they leave their refuge behind.
The environment changes, narrowing to a slim peninsula, an estuary snaking along the range.
The only way to reach the main crest is via boat or the trail of boulders running down the center.
As they step from one slab to the next, a vista greets them.
Andrew stalls atop one of the rocks, marveling at the panorama of moonlit cliffs, sylvan valleys, and metallic shores.
“Welcome to my childhood,” Love tells him with a wistful smile.
“Welcome to your history,” Anger whispers to Merry, who’s riveted by the setting.
“Welcome back to your stomping ground,” Wonder says to Malice, who gives her an artful grin.
Envy glances at Sorrow, only to find the goddess gnawing on her lower lip. Once more, a bad omen sinks its fangs into his mind. His thirst for her attention withers to disappointment, then to scrutiny.
Something is wrong.
Stars and moons crowd the sky, pearlescent rays skipping across the water. The journey proves longer than he’d predicted, but they sojourn to Fortune’s Crest without incident.
At last, the estuary deposits them at the summit, and the great stargazer comes into view.
Multiple levels of walkways and parapets protect the glass dome, which expands from the center at the uppermost level.
In that translucent structure, the instrument shines.
It’s a vessel between The Dark Fates and The Stars, an umbilical cord that funnels the births of deities, as well as a mighty shrine to destiny.
The estuary broadens, spilling into a lake near the stargazer’s base. Each crew member pauses on their respective boulder.
“Are we mad?” Wonder asks.
“Only one of us,” Anger broods, jabbing his thumb at Malice, who casually flips off the rage god.
“Go ahead and call me mad,” Malice says. “I like being mad. Keeps things interesting.”
“Wonder meant, are we foolish for doing this?” Love clarifies.
“Depends on who you ask,” Sorrow mumbles.
“Meaning?” Envy questions, his eyebrows stitching together.
“As the designated wordsmith, I’ll take a stab at it,” Andrew volunteers. “There are rules to magic, things it can and can’t achieve. Let’s thumb through that. What can celestial magic do?”
“Control how humans feel,” Love answers, tucking her body into his chest. “In other words, not all magic works for the better.”
The sexy corner of Andrew’s mouth lifts. Brushing her ear with his lips, he murmurs, “And what can’t magic do?”
“Control how deities feel,” Sorrow supplies.
“Not true,” Love objects, shivering from her mate’s touch. “If I scratch myself with my arrow—”
“But that would be your choice.”
“Could happen by accident.”
“But that would be your mistake.”
“It’s still control.” Sorrow swerves 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 telepathic bond, they get it. Magic can control itself, defy itself, and break its own rules. But it can’t control or defy nature.
“That’s where we come from,” Andrew summarizes. “Humans are of the earth. Deities are of The Stars. Both are nature, so we’re alike, and we have a right to own our paths. Our choices.”
The crew stares at him. For fuck’s sake, this man is too damned shrewd for his own good.
Like Malice and Wonder’s prowess in researching mythical legends, the surplus of fantasy plots originating from Andrew’s cranium amounts to its own weapon.
Creativity in sex scenes aside, his perceptive skills and mortal origins give him an outsider’s vantage point.
Andrew’s argument is simple yet critical. No, they’re not foolish.
They cross 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.
There was a time when they would have passed through the facade’s stardusted gate easily. Instead, 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 saunters through with an exaggerated flourish. “Move your asses, mates,” he drawls on the way.
“Show-off,” Anger grunts.
Wonder elbows him for the comment and pursues her lover, those chestnut curls swishing around her ample hips. To complement the goddess’s corsage, stalks of celestial foliage coil naturally around her scalp like a headband.
Inside, lanterns pulse with starlit flames. Their company mounts the spiral stairs to the dome, where painted recreations of constellations grace the floor. Above the artwork, an elegant funnel aims toward the sky, its weight supported by posts that spiral like vines.
Might as well go for ceremony. Surrounding the telescope, the crew joins hands. Anger takes the lead, glancing at The Stars and summoning their allies.
As outcasts and deserters, they’re unable to breach boundaries without the means to break down that barrier. Thank Fates for Malice and Wonder’s supply of Asterra Flora. They left plenty behind in the human realm, in the safe keeping of their allies, preparing everyone for when the call came.
A moment passes. Then another.
The ground trembles. Anger’s eyes flare open. Everyone bolts, dashing from the central platform and sprinting along the exterior parapet.
Beneath a curtain of moonlight, silhouettes appear.
Exiled deities and former loyals glide up the hill, each carrying longbows and crossbows.
Star-woven cloaks and gowns billow from their shoulders.
Moon-sewn leathers stretch across their arms and limbs.
Mortal style coats jingle with buckles and chains.
It’s a motley bunch. Deities they’ve known in The Dark Fates, including Confusion, Guilt, and Hope. Outcasts from The Celestial City and Malice’s cult, among them Hate, Scorn, Calamity, Pity, Courage, and Trust.
At the forefront strides a deity with sage-green hair. Her meditative gaze is akin to a certain voluptuous goddess, except this female wields arrows of ivory.
“Harmony!” Wonder exclaims, rushing to meet her Guide at the gate.
Minutes later, their allies flood the monument.
Surprise and Kindness are two of Merry’s comrades.
The former is a veritable disco ball, with sequins enwrapping her skin like glittering scales.
The latter’s hair is twined into a bun at the nape and fastened with a glowing clip.
She has gentle eyes, and a soft velvet ankle-coat accentuates her frame.
The outcasts each have their own tale. In the end, they were all evicted from The Dark Fates, having committed crimes or failing to suit The Court’s so-called standards of exemplary deities.
As for the ones who hadn’t been exiled, some resent these criteria of perfection. Whereas, others have never cared for assigning destiny, and the rest simply resent having their life’s purpose designated to them.
Anger speaks to the crowd, bringing everyone up to speed on The Court’s knowledge of their presence. Because this was always a possibility, the pronouncement doesn’t surprise anyone. Except for, well, Surprise.
“They may not know where to find us,” Anger calls out, scanning the crowd. “But they will soon.”
“Scouts,” Harmony addresses a unit of warriors. “Make haste.”
The troop disbands to guard every neighboring summit. Sorrow watches them leave, her face twisting with restlessness. “I’ll go with them.”
Heads swerve toward her. Perplexed, Anger furrows his brows. “What for? There’s no need.”
“For once, I concur.” Malice scrutinizes the goddess’s profile. “Don’t recall that being part of the plan.”
“Who cares whether it was planned?” Sorrow snaps. “Forgive me for getting antsy.”
“You can’t,” Merry protests, the quiver of neon arrows clattering against her lavender dress. “We lost you before. And…”
Silence, but for the howling wind. As the anxious goddess trails off, remorse clutters Sorrow’s face. “You’re right,” she concedes. “Never mind.”
The fuck? Since when does this inflexible female talk herself in circles? And since when does she cave that easily?
Envy isn’t the only bystander whose gaze bears down on Sorrow. Malice’s demon eyes probe the goddess like a set of laser pointers, searching for a crawlspace through which to pry her open.
After being assigned to their stations, the warriors disperse, some gathering in clusters on the grass, others scaling statuesque trees interspersed across the summit. Firepits illuminate the atmosphere, including the rock walkway connecting the estuary to the monument.
Now they play a waiting game. The Court will come, leading an army in tow.
Figures tip back cups of enchanted water or sharpen their weapons. As starlit flames swat the air, deities share recollections of the past and visions of the future, no longer forced to keep these private thoughts to themselves.
Empathy slides into Envy’s ribcage. After making the rounds with Anger, they hunker with the crew.
Each couple nestles around a blaze, whereas Envy and Sorrow sit apart.
Dammit all to Fates, he can’t handle analyzing why she’s giving him the cold shoulder.
At this rate, the strain in his body will surely rip a tendon.
He’s not alone in his angst. Based on the bleak expressions, this lot could use some levity.
Merry can always be counted upon. Snuggling into Anger’s tattooed arms, she asks, “Does everyone know that myth about The Stars shining their brightest?”
Envy recalls thinking about it sometime during their voyage. “The stars will shine their brightest when a deity asks for the truth.”