I flick my gaze briefly toward Destien, and to my surprise, he’s looking back at me.
I don’t know what that expression is, but when I see it all I can think is,Farewell.
Something has changed, and I don’t know what’s happening.
I rush ahead with my scheme as though if I move fast enough events can’t outpace me, desperately keeping my voice even. “I have no desire to cripple High Earth, only for Low Earth to be left to its own fate. And I am willing to put myself in your hands as collateral, to ensure—“
Brook yells behind me, but I hardly hear it, as focused as I am on the grand magus as he pulls out a new wand that shines strangely in the darkness.
“Oh, it’s much too late for that,” Evram says, and there’s malicious glee in his voice.
With a snap, the bindings around Destien dissolve, which sends a blip of backlash at me. Given all the magic still at my fingertips I barely feel it.
The sudden racing of my heart, I do.
Destien shoots himself out of the water and calls, “Fall back!”
And in that moment, another glow appears behind the grand magus.
I extend my senses toward it and rear back a step.
That’s not a spell. That’s—
Feathery wings. A harsh white radiance.
An angel emerges from the darkness.
And it’s not Nariel.
Chapter 13
The angel’s skin gleams like champagne, with golden hair cascading down her back. She wears a sleeveless, belted white robe over loose pants in some fabric that seems to flutter even without a breeze, and what look like golden martial arts shoes below. She’s not as beefy as many warrior angel depictions I’ve seen—in either world—but not delicate either. This chick has muscles, and given the magical power that angels have at their disposalwithoutmuscles, this worries me.
Worries me more than the mere fact of her presence, and at the side of my mentor-turned-enemy.
Nariel warned me back at the grove that I did not want to risk attracting angel attention, and he was right.
“Greetings, Scepter of Bright Earth,” I say evenly, inclining my head in acknowledgement without lowering my head so far that I break my line of sight. I ought to bow lower—“Scepter” is a generic title of respect for an angel, the implication being that all angels carry and wield the power of Bright Earth as kind of holy representatives—but I can’t risk what Evram might do while I’m not watching, let alone Destien, or theangel.
I remind myself I still have all the magic of this world at my disposal, but. This situation is getting out of hand, fast.
The angel stares at me with no particular expression. Probably she considers me beneath her.
Much as I don’t want to be invisible in general, in this specific case that would probably be a good thing, because being the target of an angel’s regard is not a healthy life decision.
Regrettably, if she’s herewithEvram, I need her to take me at least as seriously as she takes the grand magus, or it’s probably not going to end well, for meorLow Earth.
After all, it’s the angels who taught High Earth mages how to steal our magic, and it’s only by their “benevolence” that Low Earth wizards have been taught the basics to keep from literally exploding.
So into that impassive expression, I say calmly, “I am Sierra Walker, Grand Magus Evram’s former protegee, now Wizard Master of Low Earth.”
I gamely do not wince, but oh god, I should have practiced announcing myself, this soundsso awkward. At least I already had decided on a title so I didn’t fumble the delivery?
Pressing ahead I ask, “What brings you to our world, Scepter?”
The angel just keeps looking at me without saying anything.
Okay, that’s just rude.
