Page 96 of Tempt

He just stares at her, gaging on that horrible color, his lungs congested with it.

As the seconds hammer by, footsteps approach. The conscious pace of her Guide is accompanied by the tentative gait of her rulers. Wonder snarls a warning, a string of threats that are audible to them, but not to her. Her ears are clogged, as if stuffed with cotton, so that she cannot hear herself clearly.

But she doesn’t care, so long as they back the Fates off.

Taloned fingers etch her jawline, the quavering touch bringing her back to him. Malice’s spastic features wince in pain, his nostrils splaying for air. He puffs through the injury, “Shit, that…hurt.”

“You’ll be all right, you’ll be fine, I promise.” She changes course and appeals to the somber faces encircling her. “Help!” she begs. “Please, h-help h-him!”

The entreaty ends on a heaving cry, a sound that tumbles across the ruins. A shadow swims beside her, its shape expanding as Harmony kneels, still keeping a respectful distance. The female catches Wonder’s desperate, terrified gaze and gently shakes her head.

Death is out of a deity’s hands, no matter how supreme his or her power. Wonder sees the black truth of it on every ruler’s expression, their heads bowed in a collective ceasefire.

Wonder whips her head back and forth in denial. Her mouth braces to withhold a response, a screech clawing across her tongue. No, no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening. This cannot be happening!

They’ve only just found each other, they’ve only just begun to know one another. They’re supposed to have time now, so much time.

Malice struggles to fish the Asterra Flora from his pocket, where he’d tucked it after her mentor gave it to him. Shoving it into Wonder’s hand, he labors through the words, “I want my home…away from home…away from home.”

Wonder nods rapidly, then glances at Harmony, who inclines her head. She will follow. But first, she indicates a beam of starlight filtering through the broken ceiling, coming from the Archive’s main level.

Malice must travel on his own, but with his failing strength, he’ll need help reaching out. Working quickly, Wonder slathers the liquid onto her and Malice’s hands, then threads their fingers and holds them up to the portal.

The world spins into a disc of moons and stars, lurching them upward until the suction ceases. They jolt, still on the ground, except this floor stretches across a foyer with a model globe at its center. The scene wobbles into view, bookcases and circulation desks covered in ivy, titles wrapped in plastic, computers lining a wall, and a half-finished puzzle scattered across a communal table.

The return is seamless compared to Wonder and Malice’s previous departure. The Celestial City’s library encases them in the scent of mortality—coffee and furniture polish. It’s nighttime, the doors locked. But it’s not vacant, because a figure with mussed white hair rushes toward them, then skids to a halt.

“Holy shit,” Andrew hisses. “Love!”

The goddess is beside him in a millisecond. She gapes at Wonder and Malice prostrate on the floor, their clothes bloody and shredded. Love is about to spring forth to assist them, but Wonder squawks, “Don’t!”

Love’s gaze shimmers with inexplicable pity and explicable shock, but she obeys. Glancing out the window, she closes her eyes. Minutes later, their class appears, brandishing weapons but lowering them once they reach the scene. There’s astonishment but no room for relief.

Anger’s lips part in confusion. Merry covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes pooling. Andrew grasps Love’s shoulders from behind, anchoring her. Envy’s aghast, the hubris wiped from his face. Sorrow’s mouth turns down, because she knows this feeling better than anyone.

She knows what anguish feels like.

Wonder cannot pay them further attention. Not when Malice skims her earlobe, then extracts something from behind it. In his fingers, he holds a slit of torn paper for her inspection, a souvenir from the Hollow Chamber’s collapse.

“You have…a legend in your hair,” he gasps.

“Malice,” she croaks. “Malice, don’t.”

“Tell me…” He licks his lips. “Tell me who I am.”

She draws in a breath, sweeping golden curls from his brows. “You’re an outcast and a scholar, a villain and a hero. You carry a bow of hickory wood and the scent of old books. You’re cagey, and you’re funny. You read to dragonflies and have a sketch inked into your arm. You like the taste of pomegranate seeds, and you live in libraries. You’re my f-friend,” she sobs. “And I love y-you.”

He sighs, worn out. “That’s what I hoped.”

That’s what he knows now, and she knows it, too. Once, they’d asked each other what they wanted and feared most. He’d said to know himself, and she’d said to forgive herself.

It’s those weaknesses and errors, those strengths and redeeming moments that they’ve faced. She’d never truly comprehended the puncture and press of love until now. It only became possible when she accepted herself, loved herself.

Such a simple rule, one that doesn’t need legends or myths. One can find it embedded within a million books, a million kinships. Yet it’s so difficult to achieve.

It’s a remarkable similarity between deities and humans.

And now Wonder deciphers the meaning of the legend. To release her heart means forgiving herself for the past. And in order to do so, she must esteem herself.

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