We land on what feels like compressed air, and dust all around us scatters for no obvious reason, because Nariel has hidden his wings again.
I take that to mean he expects company.
So as comfortable as I am with his arms still around me—lingering longer than necessary for safety, or am I imagining what I want?—I take a breath and pull away from him.
I pass him back his jacket, which he accepts as if it wasn’t strange for me to be wearing it in the first place.
That was a fine interlude—and if it was more than that, I’mnotthinking about it, because I don’t have time for my brain to pick back over every word and movement and decide I’ve made a horrible fool of myself, thank you High Earth for heighteningthatcomplex—but now it’s, mercifully, time to get back to work and something I know how to do.
Probably there’s a lot to unpack in that I’m more comfortable challenging the powers that be of four universes than thinking about my feelings.
I try to return to some semblance of politeness and casualness, as if flying in a demon’s arms was not a momentous experience, and ask Nariel, “How did you manage to arrange private access?”
Nariel looks toward the entrance to the Cloud Forest and inclines his head.
I follow his gaze as a figure emerges from inside.
He looks human—specifically, he looks like a scrawny Latino teenager, wiry with youth-bright eyes and messy hair—but as we approach I can feel the magic swirling around him. Notintohim, as I would expect with a wizard if I felt this much magic around them, but more like it’s holding him in shape.
A spirit, then.
“This is Gaspar,” Nariel says. At the boy’s darting look between them, Nariel adds something in a language I don’t recognize. Given how much traveling I’ve done, that probably means it’s a spirit world language. “Gaspar, meet Sierra Walker.”
The boy inclines his head quickly, deeply—startled and unsure of etiquette, so that makes two of us—and I return the gesture more fluidly. My time in High Earth accustomed me to behaving gracefully at sudden formal occasions where I don’t know the rules. “I’m honored to meet you, Gaspar. I gather we have you to thank for the privacy today?”
Gaspar’s gaze flicks to Nariel, back to me, back to Nariel. He asks a quick question in that other language, and Nariel lifts his eyebrows and turns to me.
“How would you prefer to be addressed?” Nariel asks.
I blink, cock my head. “Is using just my name inappropriate?”
“In a word, yes,” Nariel says seriously. “Hierarchy is important in Dark Earth, and practically speaking, it helps everyone knowhow not to give offense. If you wish any spirits you deal with to be comfortable, you should choose a title.”
Ah. That is... a much more straightforward answer than I was anticipating, honestly.
“What do they call you?” I ask.
“Prince,” Nariel answers with a touch of dryness.
Right. He’s a prince of hell. Cool, very cool.
“I suppose just wizard doesn’t work either,” I muse.
“Since you are not just any wizard in this world, no,” Nariel drawls. “The point of the title is for a useful distinction. I imagine you don’t like ‘grand’, like the magi? ‘High’, perhaps?”
“No, I don’t like the implication that I’m above anyone else, or the association with High Earth.” I frown. “I need a thesaurus. ‘Adept’ is a High Earth term, ‘principal’ reminds me of school, ‘representative’...” I break off.
I like that. Isn’t that what union officers are called? Letty would know.
But to be a representative, I would need a union. And as Nariel has pointed out, it’s not as if I’ve been soliciting opinions from other wizards on this quest. It’s all very well and good to say I’m working for the magical interests of all of us, but literally no one has ever told me this is what they want.
Demonstrating his faux-telepathy again, Nariel delicately suggests, “Perhaps for now, you may use ‘master’, for your mastery of the art of wizardry.”
An important distinction especially with a spirit listening to this back-and-forth, as it’s not for mastery over another being. Imperfect, since it needs the clarification.
“I guess that will do for now. Master Wizard, then. Wizard Master? Wizard Master.”
Nariel’s lips quirk, and his head twitches just slightly in what I think is acknowledgement.
