Page 41 of Torn

They disengage. Because she’d used the robe for a pillow, she abandons it on the hammock. He takes one lingering look at the nightgown hugging her figure, the flimsy garment concealing an archive’s worth of mysteries.

Anger snatches the robe, bringing it with him. He clenches the material as he follows Merry past hedges to the roof’s edge, the sky glazing his bare shoulders and her hands.

Far below, the carnival glitters, sprinkling its hues across the city.

He wants to tell her that he’d liked the music, that he’d understood what she’d said, that he enjoyed seeing her sleepy face when his eyes opened. He wants to tell her that, without artifice.

Merry crosses her arms atop the ledge. She’d polished her nails at some point, painting them the same alternating colors as the carnival. “Why are you so proud to control humans?”

It’s not what he expects. “Why are you so against it?”

“Because they’re not free to learn from their own blunders, just like we aren’t free to rise above ours. The targeted ones aren’t at liberty to define their flaws, just like we aren’t free to defend ours. We have the right to belong, to be who we are, to be included while existing independently. We should be shouting this from every rooftop.”

She’s right. She’sright.

But there’s no time to think about mortals, because this reinforces everything he intends to do. What he deserves to win back. And what the Court deserves to lose.

Anger retorts, “You’ve been sheltered your entire life. What makes you so damn worldly?”

“That’s stupid. I’m an outcast, but I’m not sheltered—not from humans, and not when I live in a metropolis. I’ve been watching them longer and closer than even you.”

“Last time I checked, you’re not mortal. You’re the opposite, and fromthatlife, you’ve been sheltered.”

“Fine, but I have kindreds in this city, and many of them remember the Peaks, and I’ve heard plenty. I’m not the only one who believes that we’ve all been shortchanged; exiles are getting huffy and restless. And you’re still not thinking a wit about humans. If this keeps up, I’ll start agonizing over why I carry a torch for someone so infuriating.”

“Comes with the job.”

“The one you lost?”

That hurts, nicking him between the ribs. Not that what she’d said is news to him, but hearing it come out of her mouth, the knowledge has a different edge to it. It sounds even more absolute, more impactful.

Which is more demeaning? The truth itself? Or her voicing the truth?

Why does he care what she thinks? Why can’t they go back to last night?

And why is he still holding the cursed robe?

Merry gasps with contrition. “Oh Anger, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t filter before I speak, simply blurting out whatever I’m thinking, which is never good in the company of somebody like Surprise, but with you—”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. I don’t give a shit what you think of me. That would imply you have an effect.”

Merry’s lips part. She’d been harsh, but he’d been horrible. Like her, his mouth had acted ahead of his brain. He’s not supposed to wound her—yet. Not until he’s scored her heart, inflating it so that he can puncture it later, because he’s weak and just that disgusting of a god.

No matter what, he loathes all of this.

Anger opens his mouth to make amends, but Merry isn’t looking at him. She’s gawking over his shoulder.

“Tsk, tsk,” a silken voice drawls. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

“What did we expect?” someone else remarks. “He’s as hurtful as I am.”

“Oh, nonsense,” a third visitor chimes. “He’s far worse.”

Anger’s naked torso rises and falls. Then he turns around.

Three archers. A male with dark, almond skin and a vexing smirk. A female with an inconvenienced mien and eyes the color of tears. And a voluptuous goddess with a cherub face and a wandering gaze.

Somewhere in this world, mountains are crumbling, icebergs are melting, and the sun is causing heatstroke. Somewhere in this world, his classmates are needed.

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