Then his eyes cease to move, and they glaze over, and the light leaves them. Those orbs dim, the pupils winking out. He relaxes in her arms, his body giving like a feather. His expression stills, seeing nothing.
And then his grip loosens, releasing her hand.
From the crescent of archers around them, someone yelps, another moans, and another curses. The rest remain helpless and mournfully silent. In her periphery, they set down their weapons and create a kneeling ring around Wonder and Malice.
She gawks, and gawks, and gawks at his lifeless face, at his vacant eyes. She shakes him tenderly, violently. It makes no difference, because there’s no cure for this, no legend to reverse it, no second resurrection to rely on.
He’s gone.
They have succeeded in their mission, but he’s gone. They have revealed the answer to this battle, but he’s gone. They fell in love, but he’s gone.
That arrow had been intended for her, but he’s gone.
There’s no one else she wants, but he’s gone.
A silent scream pries her mouth apart, suspended for an instant. Then she sucks in air and lets it out, the disjointed sound pouring from her womb, from her ribs, from her throat, from her soul.
Wonder’s heart shatters across her tongue. Her wail hits the roof.
The noise is full-bodied and relentless, streaming out of her over and over and over. “No!” she howls. “No…no…no!” Tears slice down her face as she heaves over Malice, rocking his head to her chest.
Guttural sobs tear through the atmosphere, knocking the stars from their vigils. Pitching forward and backward, Wonder depletes herself of noise. All the while, she mashes her weeping mouth into his gilded waves, inhaling wildflowers and pomegranates.
And the eternal scent of books.
26
She doesn’t stop when the bellows sting her lungs. She doesn’t stop when her protests fail to bring him back. No, she only stops when her throat dries, her howls ebbing to short swatches of breath.
However, she does keep rocking. She rests her head against Malice’s chest, muffling the sounds of archers talking, either to her or amongst themselves, it doesn’t matter. Then she begins to chant things Malice cannot hear, to whisper secret legends, to mumble the notes they’d written in the Archives and texts they’d scanned in the Chamber.
Perhaps she sounds like a maddened goddess. Perhaps that’s fine.
Wonder recites into his ear, which is still soft and malleable. His skin retains its flush as if he’s alive. But it’s a lie, and she hates the deception.
The discussion around her amplifies. Her peers call out, beseeching, questioning, cautioning. Let them exert themselves, for all she cares.
When she makes no reply, footsteps approach, boot heels thunking against the library floor. The echo resounds down the aisles, across the demon god’s home.
His home, away from home, away from home.
It shall be her home, too. She will live here, haunt this place as he did.
Those stubborn footsteps proceed, even as she recoils from the vibration. A specter intrudes, tall and windswept. Hunkering beside Wonder and Malice, the male silhouette darkens the already dark foyer, daring to blot out the specks of starlight.
Wonder’s head leaps up, and she bares her teeth. “You keep away from him!” she growls at Anger. “You don’t touch him!”
Anger’s soul mate tugs him back. Even bittersweet Merry, along with sentimental Love and empathetic Sorrow, have the sense to stay away.
Who knows what Andrew and Envy are doing? Wonder suspects the latter is shaking his head to further discourage Anger. The former mortal has experience with bereavement, having lost his mother. Whereas Envy is unequivocally at a loss, because he has never valued anything but his own reflection.
Yet for all intents and purposes, they care about Wonder.
Wonder. Not Malice.
None of them will mourn him, because he’d been horrid to them. The notion fills Wonder’s mouth with bile, her palate assaulted by a briny aftertaste.
The air whisks, jostling the stars that shine through the windows. Another vision approaches, along with another set of feet. Wonder perceives the distinction: the aerial gait and contemplative dismay. She glimpses the one who taught her so much—how to aim, how to ponder, how to muse, how to study, how to discover.
But not how to love someone, nor how to lose them.
Harmony kneels. In a shaft of moonlight, sympathy crinkles the mentor’s brows, understanding glistening in her eyes. The instant their gazes meet, Wonder heaves into another sob, letting the elder embrace her, because it’s okay to feel this, it’s okay to unleash.
How do humans stand this feeling? How do their hearts keep beating? How do they endure? How can any soul be this strong?
Why must it hurt? Why so much? Can’t it go away?
Please, make it go away.
But her mentor cannot do that, nor can the stars. That’s not how magic works.
The goddess withdraws, staring until Wonder’s able to straighten on her own. All the while, she refuses to let go of Malice, tucking him nearer.
Silently, Harmony presents a few items, setting them beside Wonder. These include the book she’d dropped in the Chamber—the answer to their campaign—along with archery crafted of hickory wood.
Upon returning to the mortal realm, Wonder hadn’t thought to bring anything but Malice’s Asterra Flora. That, and her own weapons, purely because the quartz archery had been strapped to her back.
Unable to resist, Wonder reaches out. Dreading and hoping she’s right, her hand steals into the quiver of arrows, from which she retrieves a sepia envelope containing a corsage. It’s a sprig of eucalyptus, white stephanotis, and a single purple peony, preserved with the replica of a letter she’d once written to him.
The first foolish, selfish, shameless missive Wonder had ever scribed to Malice. The one they had recited to each other while rocking across her sheets.
The rest of the letters had been left behind in the dorms, including the note she’d pilfered from him, but not this one. He’d stuffed this lone letter into his archery during their impasse in her room, before she’d chased after him. He’d kept the note close, so close to the posy of florals, so close to him.
Countless reactions whirl inside her, four most of all: wonder, for the time they’d shared; envy of the time they’d lost; love, from knowing him; sorrow, bereft of him.
Then a fifth emotion tightens like a vice around her wrists, flaring her nostrils and locking her jaw. A mirror reflection of her venomous, vengeful expression appears in the Guide’s pupils. Any second, Wonder will crush the corsage in her grip.
Carefully, she presses the blossoms and envelope into Malice’s limp hands and settles him on the ground. She moves with ceremony, making a shaky fist before she can bear to sweep his eyelids closed, shutting them forever. Then her knuckles brush the curls from his face and the blood from his cheek.
Finished, she kisses his obstinate chin.
Then she surges to her feet.
Without needing to guess, Wonder knows how she looks. Since she has never worn such a murderous countenance, it’s possible her features stun everyone into immobility. So before they can stop her, she stalks across the library with hooded eyes and a livid pulse. While yanking the seed and blossom capsule from her pocket, her mind focuses on only one thing, one purpose, one retribution. She hammers toward a beam of starlight, ready to smear the mixture on her palm and return to the enemy. The rulers who took happiness from her.