Page 102 of Torn

They’d sought out one another’s hearts. Merry, to claim his. Anger, to shatter hers. Instead they’d succeeded at both, simultaneously.

They’d broken one another’s hearts. And they’d won them.

27

Merry

Love. It’s the single emotion their trio has felt unanimously. Merry has felt it, Anger has felt it, Wonder has felt it. It’s the one thing they know better than the Fate Court—that’s why the rulers hadn’t recognized the change. It’s why they hadn’t realized Anger and Merry’s triumph. They cannot see a blind spot or notice what they don’t understand.

Anger traces his fingers over her face, and Merry mimics the gesture. Under her touch, the contours of him are different yet the same. She’s happy for him, for the restored and empowered parts of him. But he has to know, needs to know.

“You were always Anger,” she says.

“You were always Merry,” he says.

“I was.” She thinks about that, another epiphany cresting. “Iam.”

They’ve been ostracized, and stripped, and demoted. But they’ve never lost themselves fully, never lost their hearts, never lost their souls. Gracious, they’ve discovered themselves even more.

Neither the stars, nor the Court, nor magic can tell them who they are.

She’d meant what she said, that she doesn’t want to be a love goddess anymore. She wants to promote free will, but she doesn’t need to be Love for that. She can decide what other kind of goddess to be.

Merry licks her lips. “Kindred Wonder? Can magic be given away?”

The goddess veers from the crate of sepia envelopes that she’d been studying. “Who are you thinking of, dearest?”

“Someone who never got the choice.”

Someone who fell in love with a mortal and then became one, transcending into a fate that she’d had no say in. Someone who’d had her memory taken from her. Someone who’d never deserved that.

Anger and Wonder stare at her. Malice’s expression pinches.

Anger’s features smooth out in understanding. “Merry,” he begins, “there’s a reason why Love and Andrew can’t see us or remember.”

Because if a mortal has the power to see deities, it puts them all in jeopardy. As the rulers had said, the elusive myth of the Fates protects her kind from extinction. If the truth of that myth gets exposed, made plain for mortals to see, the spell will be broken. It will mark the eradication of their race—and the eventual demise of humanity.

“But it won’t be,” Merry says, the facts dawning on her. “She’d be immortal again, so it wouldn’t matter if she sees us then. She needs to be human, in order to be a threat.”

“Andrew—,” Anger contests.

“No,” Wonder interjects, comprehension brightening her voice. “Their love binds them to each other, which would render him immortal, too. Not a deity or an archer, but immortal, nonetheless. No longer human if they’re offered that power by Merry, and if they choose to accept it.”

“They’ll remember without harming the Fates’ existence.” Merry links her gaze to Wonder’s, her words gaining momentum. “They’ll be together, the way they deserve to be.”

“Yes!” The goddess bounces, clapping her palms, the petals of her corsage flapping.

“This is merely hypothesis,” Anger grumbles, his gaze swatting between them.

“That Merry can transfer her magic to Love? It’s utterly true,” Wonder argues pertly.

“You can’t bounce back and forth between mortality and immortality.”

“Can’t you?” Malice nags from his prostrate position on the floor, then takes note of Wonder. “Go ahead. Shut me up. Stuff my mouth with your corsage.”

With a huff, Wonder swerves her gaze back to her peer. “Oh, honestly, Anger. As class leader, did you never pay attention during our lessons? Did you never once pick up a book in the Archives?”

“I’m aware of the fundamentals,” he bites out.

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