Page 98 of Torn

But some things do.

Merry slides her digits across his jaw. “I told you.”

Wonder casts a yearning glance toward where Love had slipped from sight. They’d been kindreds, and Wonder hadn’t had the chance to check on Love, to see if she was all right. Wonder hadn’t been able to process the erstwhile goddess’s presence, to rejoice in the moment. She’d lost that.

Well, she’d almost lost her former kindred entirely.

Malice lay impaired in the corner, sprawled and nursing a bloody temple. Evidently, he’d relinquished Love’s archery during the tumult, enabling Andrew to retrieve the weapons.

Merry had spotted Wonder charging Malice earlier, so she must have been the victor there. She’d forsaken the opportunity to strike him down, electing to use her fists instead.

And she isn’t done.

Wonder surges to her feet and launches toward Malice. The goddess flings herself atop the rage god and begins to pummel him, half-smacks, half-punches walloping through the room.

“How dare you!” She bares her teeth. “Swine! Imposter! How dare you! How could you!”

Anger reaches her, Merry staggering in his wake. Together, they grip Wonder’s shoulders and drag her off Malice, who hadn’t put up a skirmish, who’d merely taken it. He scrutinizes Wonder with venomous intrigue, as if he’d prefer to study her andthenstrangle her.

He hacks out a wad of blood, red splattering the library. “How could I what?”

Wonder tenses, then goes limp. The question stretches between them as her fingers trace her scars, and his sharp thumbnail traces his newly fractured wrist, which hangs at a hazardous angle. This exile had ensnared Anger, kidnapped Love, and tried to kill her and Merry.

Yet that’s not what Wonder had meant.

How could you!

It doesn’t correspond to his deeds. It’s a string of words with an alternate meaning, as if he’s betrayed her.

Merry cants her head between the pair. She’s dealt with Malice long enough to know that he loathes ambiguity. He’s struggling to weed out Wonder’s hysteria and cryptic words. And he’s failing.

“Normally, being hated is such fun,” Malice remarks, his canines stained crimson. “In this case, I find it insulting. Your repulsion smacks of the personal, Wildflower. Do I owe you something?”

Wonder’s lashes flicker. More betrayal, this time tinged with guilt. She wrenches herself from Anger and Merry, rips a few lengths of her gown, and kneels before Malice. They stare at one another as she binds his ankles. But when it comes to securing his biceps to his sides, avoiding the broken wrist, Wonder’s hands shake.

Malice’s pupils dilate with fear.

Not from her. But from the restraints.

Wonder makes quick work of it, then whirls and marches to her archery, wordlessly collecting her weapons. While she focuses on the task, Malice’s eyes follow her movements, her scarred hands.

Merry catches Anger’s gaze, but her bewilderment dissolves at the expression on his face. He closes the distance between them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It eases some of the throbbing from her fall.

Andrew’s messenger bag lay abandoned, an electronic device slumping out of the pocket. He’d exercised quick thinking, since the leather and metal must have blunted the arrow.

“How did Love’s boyfriend know to come here?” Merry asks.

Wonder rises to her feet while arming herself. “It wasn’t me, dearest.”

“He figured it out for himself,” Anger answers dryly. “Clever boy.”

“Yes. At least one person has acted wisely of late. Care to elaborate?”

Coming from an archer, this would sound like a request. Coming from the Fate Court, it’s an order. It’s the shape of an order, with sharp corners filed to points, from a patrician tone of voice as infinite as the stars. The words are delivered cordially, which means dangerously.

Regal shadows stretch across the floor, azurite and pearl archery mounted on their backs. Their eyes are spun from starlight. These ancients have given themselves timeless names, but Merry’s mind is too full to recall what they are, or if they’ve ever been imparted.

The Fate Court.

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