Page 101 of Torn

The braided god sighs. With a decisive swipe of his arm, his knuckles slam into the side of Malice’s face, the blow causing the rage god’s head to rocket sideways.

Wonder jots forward, then stops herself.

“Indeed, not all of us,” the man agrees. “Which is why you’ve been placed here.”

Malice speaks around a mouthful of blood. “You can dump as many of us as you want for being imperfect or unwieldy. It doesn’t make our kind pristine. It only means you’re too fucking scared to look in the mirror.”

“Why don’t you stuff his mouth with cloth?” the braided god suggests to Anger.

“I’d have to disagree with him first,” Anger says.

“Then you’ve changed.”

“It’s my choice to change. We have minds of our own. We have voices of our own. Those prerogatives are power—the power to make our own destinies. If I’m not mistaken, humans have the same power. That makes us equal.”

“You would spurn fate.”

“I would redefine fate.”

Merry and Wonder step closer, aligning themselves with him. They will prove to the Court that a balance can be struck. Somehow, they will prove it.

As Anger and his classmates have said, the subject has been gaining momentum ever since Love’s story. It has spread from the Peaks to this realm, to misfits like Merry.

“We’re at an impasse, it seems,” the gossamer goddess says. “You will have to disarm us first, in order to secure that sort of influence over mortals. You will have to recruit a great many of our kin to your side, to stand a chance. If you wish to continue this, so be it. Enjoy your banishments and your extracurricular conflicts.” For emphasis, she directs a mildly amused, mildly repulsed look at Malice. “If you manage to tame your own wild beasts, we’ll see what your crusade accomplishes while outnumbered, out-armed, and outsourced.”

Like wisps of smoke, they disappear. Their departure sucks a portion of moonlight with them.

“That was classy,” Malice comments.

“That was tradition,” Wonder corrects.

“That was the Court,” Anger summarizes.

“And that’s why they’ll lose,” Merry declares.

Her kindreds, and Malice, all swerve their heads toward her. The rage god is the first one to protest. “And you call me delusional.”

“We call you a prisoner,” Wonder snaps.

He ignores her, favoring Merry and Anger instead. “Planning to combat the Fates, even though you can barely juggle your own quixotic tangle. You failed to unlock a legend.”

Merry clenches Anger’s hand. “Who says we failed?” she counters as it dawns on her, blazing like a neon sign.

Wonder stares. Malice scoots upright, tilting his head.

Merry swivels toward Anger. Her eyes find his, and when they do, his brows furrow. And then…then realization rises to the forefront. A soft shock unravels into understanding, smoothing out the planes of his face.

They grab one another, holding fast as their foreheads press together. Suddenly, she feels it, a rift in her chest, the cusp of change waiting to be accepted. Sparks ignite, vitality crackling along her bones.

Anger feels the same thing. She can tell from the lift of his physique and a subtle sheen gracing his weapons, restoring them to their former glory. He’s less staggered, more attuned than she, having known this sensation for centuries: the power to wield emotions, to be who he once was.

“Merry,” he says.

“Anger,” she says. “They left without even asking.”

“Without even noticing,” he agrees.

She nods, bundles their hands together, and presses them to her chest. “They have magic, but they don’t havethis.”

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