At last, it’s what they’ve been striving for. It’s what they’ve been campaigning for.
Wonder examines these faces, and she thinks of the Archives combat, and the Hollow Chamber’s destruction, and the unarmed death of an outcast. With that, the clench on her soul eases, if only for this moment.
She speaks from her heart, from the place where Malice resides. “This is an alliance.”
***
That’s what this is. These gods and goddesses from the Peaks have journeyed here, defying the Fates in order to side with a small band of celestial rebels.
Although Hope had been present to witness it, neither she nor Joy had to report a word; yet news of recent events had traveled quickly. A substantial population of the Peaks spurn Wonder and Malice for trespassing on sacred ground during Stellar Worship. By the same token, the populace blames them for Chamber’s downfall.
Whereas others—who were already questioning their positions, especially after hearing the infamous tales of Love and Anger’s respective romances—condemn the Fate Court for taking down an indefensible god. No matter how anarchistic Malice had been, to target a disarmed deity and shoot him in the back is dishonorable.
Over the past year, Wonder’s class had beseeched allies, making progress with outcasts in the Celestial City. As for residents of the Peaks, they hadn’t recruited as many, the majority of the candidates either hedging or not answering the call.
But now, this. Standing behind Hope and Joy are dozens of archers, those who have heard the tales of love and destiny and choice. Realities that may be possible for all.
There is much to impart. At Anger’s suggestion, the convocation elects to change location, agreeing upon Stargazer Hill, where the participants can spread around the sycamore tree, under twilight and amidst a sleeping Carnival of Stars.
Wonder chooses to remain behind with Malice. She’ll join the assembly later, once he has faded.
On their way out, they pay respect to the fallen exile, passing Malice’s table and inclining their heads. The sight peels tears from Wonder’s ducts. As she escorts the masses out and then pauses on the library’s backdoor threshold, Harmony kisses her cheek, Merry gives her a hug, and Wonder receives nods of support from the rest. She watches them travel into the Celestial City, a collection of renegades bleeding in with the night and heading for the twinkling theme park.
Her chest flutters. The air shifts, along with the sky’s inky light.
Awareness and dread pierce through her. She rushes down the aisles, dashing past books and vines of ivy. Rounding the corner, her feet slam to a halt, a lamentation climbing to the rims of her mouth.
Malice is gone.
***
Now she knows what loss feels like.
Her bare feet sink into the earth, the high grass tickles her ankles, and petals brush her calves. And when a breeze rustles her gown—dyed the green of a calla lily stem—the little pirouette of air billows the material, the hem flapping in a farewell gesture.
Something akin to Good-bye.
Of all the forbidden words that she’s ever written, she has never penned that one. She’s never had a reason to do so. Not until today.
Lupines sprout across the vista, a landscape not of her childhood, nor of adulthood. It’s a realm caught somewhere in between, a pasture of budding fruit rather than flowers, of moon beams rather than sun beams. Hence, it’s not her place.
No, this is his place. Or this used to be his place, back when she hardly knew him.
Back when she hardly knew herself.
He’d once growled an inquiry at her, demanding a truth that she hadn’t been able to grasp.
Who are you?
It has taken a long time, but she knows the answer.
Yet it’s too late. He’s too far from her, too far away.
What she wouldn’t give to have that demon back, to tell him she wants the lightness and darkness. She yearns for that angel’s face and devil’s heart. She wishes to tell him the past doesn’t matter as much as the present.
She wants to call him by his name and mean it.
But she can’t. She cannot even scribe these things on paper for him, because he’ll never read those words, never any words from her. Not ever again.
Because he’s gone.
He’s gone because of her.
And this time, he’s not coming back.
She bends and picks a miniature flower from the lupine stalk, watching the petals skip against the current. Closing her eyes, she inhales a pomegranate and an old book. And she realizes, he might hear her, after all.
If she speaks, he just might hear. “Malice,” she whispers.
But what she doesn’t expect is a response. “You remembered,” a voice says from behind.
28
The bloom flutters from her hand and floats to the ground. Like a quill or fletching, it sails and then lands, caught by the high grass that sways across the pasture, the brush of green blades and lupines creating a wave.
Wonder’s unshod toes splay in the fresh soil, cushioned into the earth. Yet the world tilts like a planet knocked off its axis, floral hues splashing color and dimension everywhere. She ponders if her feet might grow roots and burrow here, and if that’s possible, and how long it might take.
Perhaps she’s becoming a wildflower or a pomegranate tree. Or perhaps she’s going mad like he once had, because she cannot have heard that voice. Not so clearly, nor so near.
How strong is the imagination? How fierce?
Do illusions ever become real?
A shadow touches hers on the hill, the harsh edges of him blending with the curves of her, their silhouettes merging beneath the gauzy outlines of drifting clouds. The masculine form behind her kneels to retrieve the bit of fallen lupine. Rising, he skims the petals along the rim of her lobe, causing a chain reaction down her spine.
“You’d better concentrate,” he coos, tucking the flower behind her ear. “Or you’ll lose something delicate.”
His breath skates across her shoulders, his raspy tenor scooping out her heart. Wonder’s eyes close, and her mouth opens to taste the sound. “This isn’t real.”
“Hmm. I can list a half dozen legends that weren’t supposed be real, not to mention a few love stories and one savvy reincarnation. Why don’t you meditate on that and get back to me?”
“Malice?”
“Wonder?”
“Are you a ghost?”
“Not anymore,” he says, “as sexy and perverted as that would be. But you can call me a god. Or better yet, call me Hades. I like being called Hades.”
It sounds as though he’s inches from her. But she won’t turn, she can’t turn, she’ll never turn. If she does, what if this moment vanishes?
What if it doesn’t?
And what had he said a second ago? Before she dropped the lupine?
Oxygen stutters from between her lips. “You said that I remembered. What did you mean? What did I remember?”
“To come back,” he replies.
She had expected him to say that she’d remembered his name…the name of his present life, not his past one.
But, no. That’s not it.
In the library, Wonder had kissed his lifeless mouth and swore to return from the meeting with her classmates. She had vowed to watch him fade, insisting that she would be right back.