Page 92 of Tempt

She dives, evading the projectile as it skims the air. Somersaulting alongside her mentor, they surge onto their bent knees and fire, a synchronization of quartz and ivory arrows that block more blows and knock two souls off their haunches.

Agate lances across the distance, striking from the sidelines. An iron table leg swings into the arrow’s path, smashing it off course from Wonder and Harmony. Malice skids in front of them, wielding the broken furniture limb like a club, spinning it in his hands and then crooking his free fingers at the enemy, beckoning them to try again. His leer teeters on the edge of sanity, baiting the legion of Court members and keepers and archers.

Wonder does a quick count, her gaze hopping from one face to the next. She recognizes the repository warden who always showed her where to find the best maps and reading nooks.

And there’s Hope and Joy, whom she’s known since youth, who must be in the Peaks for an intermission from servitude. That accounts for her classmates’ inability to approach and recruit them as originally planned. That explains why her peers had called out to both and received no reply.

The archeresses wear tunics of starlight and leggings of moonlight, embellishments of leaves and gems woven in their hair. They brace themselves, hedging before exercising their archery.

The Court has chosen this means of defense selectively, enlisting subjects with whom Wonder has a connection, those whom it would pain her to battle against. And while the sight produces a hitch in her gut, it also pumps her veins with defiant energy.

Surging to her feet, Wonder yanks on the waistband of Malice’s jeans until he twists. They keep running with Harmony, dodging relentless arrows of lava rock, agate, crystal, azurite, pearl, marble, copper, and a dozen other sources. The Chamber spasms from top to bottom, with titles beating against one another.

Ahead, the lane splits into three like the prongs of a fork. On instinct and lacking the time to choose, each of them takes a different route. Wonder races down the center aisle while damning the breach. Why hadn’t they just stayed together?

Vaulting into the quarter housing books about the ethics of constellations, she steers her assailants west. Arriving at the correct passage of stacks, she jerks on a sequence of titles, the order of which causes the bookcases to rotate like doors, rearranging their positions and changing the surrounding layout.

Based on the grunts, she has caught her adversaries by surprise, hemming them in with unexpected dead ends. Although they must know this trick, they hadn’t anticipated it.

Wonder pumps her limbs, flying down the new route. Assailants glide in and out of her vision, shadows brandishing weapons of longbows and crossbows and blades. Spotting their quarry, they chant orders and cry out directions.

She cannot hear over the fuss. No echoes of a grated tenor or meditative flight. No throbbing gait or graceful exodus.

Where are they? Where’s Malice? Where’s Harmony?

An unrecognizable archer-in-training rounds a corner, blocking Wonder’s path. She darts toward him, then slides on her hip, uprooting the archer from his stance before he looses his arrow. The male topples, and so does his archery, which doesn’t belong to him.

Wonder whisks to her feet and swipes the weapons just as Malice materializes. Having emerged from his route, he catches the hickory bow and quiver when Wonder tosses them his way, then he scans the arrows’ turkey fletching. Had the Court given it to this unknown archer for safekeeping, or to taunt Malice until he got angry enough to make a mistake?

Humming in appreciation, Malice mashes his heel into the male’s jugular. “Nice try, mate. But you messed with the wrong wildflower goddess.”

“My pleasure,” Wonder says.

Arrows rain from below and above. Malice grabs Wonder’s hand, and they make haste…for another shelf? Why?

Stumbling in front of a cylindrical bookcase, he rearranges three titles, causing steps to jut from the furnishing and form a staircase that winds around the column. The ascent leads to the network of bridges in the funnel’s center.

Later, Wonder will remind him to clarify how he discovered this. In the meantime, she experiences a sweep of gratitude and a prickle of envy. And he must see it, because he favors her with a smug grin, to which she makes a face.

“You’d better not be keeping score,” she declares.

“Who? Me?” he asks, guileless, as he plants a hand on his chest, his fingers splayed. He jerks his head toward the book steps. “C’mon.”

“No,” she quails, resisting his grasp. “Harmony. I won’t leave her!”

“And I won’t fucking leave you! Move!”

Another bout of arrows forces her into action. They drive up the book steps and cannon across a bridge, the ramp leading to other stairways and levels. Moving in tune with each other, they swerve and duck and block attacks. A crystal arrow hits Malice’s wound, reopening it so that he growls. An azurite one slices past Wonder’s cheek, etching across her flesh. And damn the rulers’ arrows, the only ones capable of piercing flesh when shot from a bow.

Wonder and Malice make it to the top level. Abreast of the exit, they notice the Fate Court standing vigil across the distance, each member posted along the circumference of the funnel railings.

Blast. They’ve got us surrounded.

The sovereigns draw. A circle of arrows arc in warning.

Wonder and Malice attempt to run, which prompts the sovereigns to shoot, which forces another crossfire. It had been worth a try. Stopping and positioning themselves back-to-back, they loose their own projectiles, quartz and hickory flying and blocking. Then they switch positions, bowing and aligning their spines again, continuing to hinder incoming strikes. At every short gap in conflict, they maneuver closer to the exit.

The gossamer goddess catches Wonder’s eye with that ever-present gleam of intrigue. The female isn’t firing as aggressively as the others, nor as swiftly.

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