Page 46 of Torn

And yes, he’s relieved that they don’t.

Wonder and Merry swap a glance that Anger files in his mind. Something untold skips between them. He has a mind to find out what it is.

Sorrow chews on her lower lip until it bleeds. Without looking her away, Envy withdraws a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her. “It isn’t every day that the Court abandons their perch in order to nock bows, when their minions can do that for them. Someone in our sphere may have heard why. It sounds like you need a strapping god to investigate, with the bonus of two goddess.”

Sorrow dabs her mouth. “Excellent. Mole work.”

Wonder glances at the midmorning sky. “We’re not due back in the Peaks for an intermission yet, but we’ll see what we can find out.”

This is pointless, seeing as Anger knows why the Fates went on the prowl. But he can’t exactly discourage the group. Besides, spying and keeping him updated on the Court’s intentions doesn’t hurt. They hadn’t obliterated Merry, which means they’re coming up with Plan B.

If anyone can mosey around that without being spotted, it’s charming Envy, vapid Sorrow, and pensive Wonder.

“We’ll do the same here,” Merry volunteers, still on her stomach with those slippers floating in the air. “I have kindreds who’ll keep their ears perked. They’re doing so anyway, tracking of any budding protests about the Court’s bias, any morsels about redefining perfection and worthiness, and what should be done about it.” She twists toward Anger, her earlier crispness dissolving. “Maybe we should return to the carnival, retrace our steps and everything we said. Maybe it’ll yield a clue that we’ve forgotten to consider. And we can ride the carousel again.”

Three immortals swerve his way, their brows climbing into their foreheads.

“You rode a carousel?” Envy beams. “Like a human date?”

“Give him more acidity to consume,” Anger begs Merry. “It’ll keep his mouth busy.”

“I can think of better ways to keep my mouth busy.” Envy waggles his brows, then grunts when Sorrow thwacks him upside the head with his handkerchief. “What? Nymph, I was referring to you, not our hostess.”

“I could care less,” she denies. “Lust partners, remember?”

Merry watches them dreamily. “I think you’re missing out by picking a mere dalliance over romance.”

Envy and Sorrow goggle at her, their noses wrinkling at the heresy. Then they glance at each other until both blink away.

Merry grins like their awkwardness is the cutest reaction in the universe. She shifts, her bodice riding across her breasts, causing the mounds to rise like dough. Anger feels despicable for noticing. But then she fidgets, and all hell breaks loose as he studies her fingers, calculating the distance between his hands and hers.

Envy and Sorrow thank Merry for the lemonade, then harness their weapons. The rake of a god balances Merry’s creamy hand in his almond one, which is a shade darker than Anger’s olive complexion and blends into the bark of certain trees. Envy pecks her knuckles with a gallant farewell kiss, an exchange that Merry devours like butterscotch. He bows, she curtsies to him, and they chuckle.

Anger and Sorrow pretend not to care.

Wonder whispers to him. “She’s darling. You have an admirer, dearest. What did you do to deserve that?”

It’s more than a quip. She’s nosy and fishing. Therefore, she’s wasting her time.

“Of course, you would promote sentimentality,” Anger criticizes.

“Oh, Anger. Wouldn’t we all,” Wonder says, her locks springing beneath the floral headband and falling over her exposed shoulder.

The passage of time, and everything that happened with Love, has altered his class. Envy and Sorrow have been reconsidering their purpose, their companionship morphing into friendship, their friendship mutating into fornication.

In Wonder’s case, she’s never needed much convincing, because Love isn’t the only deity in history to experience that tentative emotion.

Wonder has felt it once, too. Or something akin to it.

She’d defied the rules. Over a hundred fifty years ago, she’d taken liberties, becoming infatuated with a mortal and trying to make contact with him. A grave offense.

Instead of banishment as retribution, she’d been tortured per order of the Fate Court. Hence, the mangled hands.

Merry has an excuse. Her illusions have crammed in her head, likely a symptom of solitude. She’s a faulty love goddess who’s misinterpreting ardency. Maybe that’s what makes her a dud in the Court’s estimation.

It doesn’t repel Anger like it should. Rather, he’s covetous and wary of the angle through which she sees the world. A perspective that he’s never entertained before.

What has he done to deserve her admiration?

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