Chapter 13

T he 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 disposal without muscles, 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 the angel .

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 here with Evram, 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 me or Low 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 sounds so 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.

But I'm not so untried I will rush to fill any open silence.

I hold her gaze, and I wait.

We all wait. Destien, the guards, my sister. Even Evram.

That tells me something too: The grand magus, for all his arrogance, believes he needs to at least appear subordinate to the angel. I'm not sure how I can use that yet, but it's something.

The silence continues.

Until finally, the angel, still looking at me, says, "Nariel. Show yourself."

Dammit dammit damm it. Worst possible news.

No, wait: She may not know I was involved in dismantling the plague spell, or I'd probably be dead already—unless she has some other, longer-term plan for me that's even worse than just killing me and getting it over with?

Scratch that, news is still extremely bad.

Do I deny that Nariel is here? I don't know if the angel can feel his cloak. Do I deny that he's with me? He very clearly threatened the grand magus on my behalf, but he didn't actually do anything to the High Earth mages, so maybe I could make that stick—

Nariel coalesces out of the shadows behind me and before I've decided what to do about it says, "Koshiel. Time has been generous with you."

I'm not totally sure what that means, but my guess is it amounts to passive aggressive for something like, "You look like you're profiting off the magic of others through no merits of your own."

Koshiel is looking at him, now, her expression going sharp like a hunter sighting her prey.

Wait, could she truly not locate Nariel in the shadows? Because that's super interesting. I don't know enough about how individualized angelic powers are.

I dare to focus on Evram, and he deliberately looks down at the wand he holds, then back at me with a wider smirk.

Fuck. That wand is made with angelic power. I don't know what that means for me, but it can't be good. I won't be able to break this wand like I did his last one.

Koshiel says, "Your efforts to circumvent the terms of your exile have not gone unnoted. Return to Dark Earth at once."

"The terms of my exile are that I should be cast out from Bright Earth never to return," Nariel says, his smooth voice threateningly sweet.

"You attempt to amass power to attack the very foundations of the world, and it will not be permitted."

Wow, there is a lot going on in that statement. My eyebrows lift speakingly.

Of course, Koshiel chooses that moment to focus on me again. "Do you have something to say?"

Not using my name or title. "So much," I murmur.

Behind me, Brook snorts.

But I mean, really. Who is doing the permitting, and why do they get to? Are the foundations of the world she values theft? Do we punish supposed crimes without trial before they've even been committed?

So much.

But Nariel glances once at me, a mute request to keep it to myself. So I shrug casually with one shoulder as though deferring to his request, not obeying a command like Evram to Koshiel, and permit Nariel to lead for now.

And that's an important point to remember: In this world, in this moment, channeling as much magic as I am, as it continues rushing back and no one else can access it, I am the one who should be doing any permitting.

Koshiel is tacitly attempting to establish the terms by which I and other wizards will be treated going forward, but I don't have to allow it.

How specifically to not allow it, though—that's a question, and my reaction will depend on how Nariel chooses to act.

Nariel says, "I have no desire to return to Bright Earth, Koshiel. I haven't, for many years."

The angel's expression turns sardonic. "Gone native, have you? Alas, we both know that is a lie."

"I see it will shock you to learn that I prefer different company," Nariel murmurs.

Koshiel casts a speaking, haughty glance around the rest of us gathered here. "I suppose you fit them."

The grand magus stiffens at that, knowing he has been included among the lower lifeforms Koshiel insults.

"But while you may rule your base domain of bottom feeders," Koshiel says, "you will not expand into this world."

So that's the angels' concern: Not what Nariel is doing in Dark Earth—they won't believe he can do anything that matters there—but that through this world, he might reach Bright Earth by going the long way around the diamond, through this world and thence through High Earth.

Which puts Nariel in a difficult position, because he won't want to make his fight mine, but he won't want to abandon me to an angel.

So this time before he speaks, it's my turn again.

Not dropping the titles, because while I'd love to snub her, it will be easier for her to back down later if I've still been polite. "Scepter Koshiel, if the Prince of Makora—" Her face tightens at the use of Nariel's title, but I plow onward "—leaves this world without any trouble, will you also return to your world with the gifts you've granted my former colleagues from High Earth?"

The angel looks at me again, and this time her disdain leaks through. "I do not bargain."

"With respect, the wand the grand magus carries did not appear spontaneously in his hand."

Her eyes narrow. "A gift, in appreciation for the service of bringing news of Nariel's treachery to me."

Motherfucker brought in the angels to make sure I was all alone with no one to help me.

" Completely different from a bargain, you understand," Nariel murmurs.

"Oh, indeed," I say dryly.

The angel's jaw hardens.

Unfortunate, but she's done me the favor of clarifying where we all stand, and Nariel and I are clearly in accord.

If the angels are going to feed weapons to the mages who are trying to keep me down, there is nothing to be gained by deferring to them.

That said, I don't want them actively working against us, either, but Koshiel has provided me the perfect narrative.

"Scepter of Bright Earth, you understand that this world is in a new position," I say. "There are unlimited opportunities to choose in what direction we will grow. But we cannot do that if our new our chance is snuffed out before it can begin. With this in mind, I hope you will also understand that if the angels ally themselves with those who would destroy us, I must make alternative arrangements to defend our newfound autonomy."

Personally, I'd much rather say ‘fuck you, I'm with Nariel', but I have a whole world full of people to protect. I can't be that selfish.

Still, that's as clear of a "last chance" as I'm going to give.

The angel says, "It would be unwise to tie your fate to one such as this, human."

Huh, honestly more polite than I was expecting.

Still.

Evram finally speaks up and says, "They are two of a kind."

The angel doesn't even look at him. Ha!

Then Nariel purrs, "Such a compliment, grand magus, I may blush."

Wow. I may blush, but it'll have to wait.

I tell Koshiel, "So long as High Earth is free to interfere here with the power of angels, Scepter of Bright Earth, I will not revoke the Prince of Makora's welcome in Low Earth. He is free to operate as he pleases."

I pulse the power around me once with that pronouncement, sending a wave flattening the water around me.

Doesn't mean anything, but it looks cool. Grand gestures help make everything feel more symbolic.

And when you get down to it, magic, ultimately, is about creating action symbolically.

"So be it," Koshiel murmurs, and the glow around her expands as her expression goes peaceful.

I may have just given her what he wants: an excuse to have to pummel Nariel.

But I have faith in Nariel. Koshiel may have muscles, but Nariel hasn't exactly been resting on his laurels for hundreds of years.

"Sorry about this," I tell Nariel, raising an invisible layer of magic around my skin like a protective glove. "If you need to leave—"

" I am not leaving," Nariel says. "Not of my choice."

Okay, still not happy about that then. "Well in that case, here's a present for you."

Dark amusement in his gaze. "You do always get me the nicest things."

Gifting overpriced airport caps and the chance, nay, obligation to punch an angel: That's me in a nutshell.

Then a surge of magic overwhelms my senses, and I almost miss the unbelievably powerful spear of light that pierces right where Nariel is standing—

—only Nariel's form dissolves into shadows. It didn't connect.

But the time for words is past.

Without seeing, without even feeling the magic, I know that Evram has already launched his first attack at me.

I don't dodge. I can't: Brook is standing behind me.

All the power in this world no longer feels like enough.

But it's what I have, and I use magic to gather the water and raise a towering shield of magic and waves in front of me, blocking whatever he's trying.

It's a frankly ridiculously powerful defense. Totally overpowered.

Except that I feel the impact of Evram's angel-backed spell, and it is only just barely enough.

That's... very bad.

Not just for this duel. The power differential of the magic an actual angel can wield is staggering.

And I have just positioned Low Earth in opposition to them.

"Sierra."

I whirl to the sound of Destien's voice.

He's standing next to Brook with his wand raised.

"Wait," he commands—but quickly. "You have her anchored here, you'll feel it if that changes. I'm just here so you have one less thing to worry about."

"Why," I say flatly.

A familiar scowl. "Because kidnapping and hostage-taking is beneath us."

His wand isn't pointed at Brook—just up and ready.

Well I'll be damned. Destien wasn't with Evram on the last jaunt to Costa Rica threatening Brook because he has at least one (1) single moral. Either Evram didn't tell him and he found out, or he objected so Evram went without him. That's why Destien was guarding her this time.

A break between them? Maybe not so unreasonable—Destien was never as close to Evram as another protegee would have been, given my presence, and the hole it would have left.

And that Destien has all his family power to fall back on and never needed Evram like I did, which is, in retrospect, possibly the reason Evram kept me as long as he did: The only other candidate powerful enough to do his work for him didn't need to.

Brook offers airily, "He made sure I was more comfortable the second time around. Didn't free me, though."

Destien frowns at her, and that of all things makes me consider this. Brook isn't starry-eyed about him but still feels comfortable mouthing off to him.

Another pulse hits my wall of waves, this one harder. Oof.

"And if I beat Evram and keep all this world's magic back from High Earth," I ask, "will you still feel the same?"

Destien glares at me. "If a grand magus of High Earth with an angel-powered wand can't beat a Low Earth upstart, we don't deserve it."

Well, that's unexpected.

Not sure Destien's position will still be quite so radical once he starts feeling the cost—though probably he really doesn't believe I can actually win. But if I do, and anyone in High Earth believes he helped—

"If anyone asks," I say, "you were reminding me of the potential threat in order to support the grand magus while not doing him the disrespect of helping him materially, since he shouldn't need it."

Destien nods once, an affirmation.

"And if you do hurt her, you will regret it."

He glares. "Fuck you."

Got to love a nice universe-transcending swear.

I'm not sorry. I look at Brook. "You okay with this?"

She gives me two thumbs up. "I'm good. Go punch the old dude in the balls. He's an asshole."

Truer words. "It will be my pleasure."

"That wand is no joke, Sierra," Destien cautions.

Now Destien is worried for me? This is getting too weird.

But a warning coming from him of all people does give me pause, even as another bolt from Evram shatters my wall of water like glass cracking.

"I'm getting that." I turn back to the grand magus.

He's flying in the air, radiating magic like an angel, towering before me, the vision of the power I wanted, of what I wanted to be , for so long.

Farther above us, I see streaks of light and dark as Nariel and Koshiel crash together and separate, tiny explosions of magic in my senses as their fight surrounds us faster than I can see.

Compared to that, what is the grand magus?

"You may have all the small power of this world at your disposal," Evram tells me, "but with this wand, it won't matter."

A small-minded old man who's made his living stealing the power of others.

"It's too bad you couldn't convince Koshiel to do your fighting for you too," I tell him. "Because then you might have actually had a chance."

And with that, we're off in truth.

With Destien freeing me from the need to stand my ground, I propel myself backwards into deeper water, and where my feet touch, the surface of the water firms beneath them.

Out on the water, there's nowhere for Evram to hide.

I run across the water, casting magic constantly, activating spells burst out of the water into the air, pillars of water around magic that will trap him—

The pillars drop back down, the spells powering them dissolving.

And a beam of angelic power is already shooting out of his wand toward me.

I meet it with a crackling blast in return, practically unshaped, just reflex.

Evram's beam pierces right through it, but I waste no time, using a burst of magic to launch myself out of the way.

As soon as I land, I realize the beam has changed direction and is still coming for me, Evram using his wand like a conductor to direct the magic. I manage to raise another, more powerful shield of waves, smaller and with more focused power.

As Evram's power crashes into the shield it doesn't pierce through, more like diffuses through it and shoves . The force of my own power combined with his pushing against me throws me back.

I land in the water and tumble through. Before I'm back on my feet I've gathered whirling water around me in defense, the movement faster than an action movie filler opponent wielding nunchuks around themself.

My water shield at least slows his next beam down so I don't take a direct hit while discombobulated.

All the while I am moving myself, too, propelling through the water until I get my bearings on which way is up.

I don't go that way.

The water back here is deep enough that I can move through it, the swirling water around me creating a kind of bubble for me to breathe, and I can agitate the waves of the bay to provide cover for where my magic actually is.

I surge out of the water behind Evram only for him to send out power like a shockwave around him, catching me in it and knocking me back once more.

My water shield protects me from the brunt of it, but as it dissolves around me my arms still sting.

I don't waste any time, shaping magic on the tip of my wand like a cyclone.

Evram turns, shaking his head. "You never knew when to quit."

He's got me there.

But it doesn't stop me.

I send a torrent at him, and he predictably fires a beam back, but I feed my cyclone more and more power until the beam is actually knocked off course, deflected.

It shoots back and hits the shrine grounds, which explode in a shower of wood.

An even bigger explosion than I would have expected.

Not good.

Definitely cannot let myself get hit with one of those, but I knew that.

I do wish I'd left Destien with a spell for Brook, but that would only have made Evram target her for sure.

As if he realizes my train of thought, Evram says, "Oh, your sister is safe. Even now, Destien is using her as a shield to unwork your little spell. You'll run out of power soon enough."

Fuck, is he right? That would make a hell of a lot more sense, and shame on me twice for trusting anything a High Earth mage said.

Only now do I notice the cloak on the anchor spell has vanished, arcane diagrams glowing below us—Nariel must need all his attention for the angel. The cloak blocking us from nonmagical view is still up, at least.

I look toward Destien to see if Evram's right, but of course there's nothing to see—he has a wand out, but he would anyway—

And that distraction is enough for the grand magus to hit me again.

But I still have a shield up, obviously, because that is the most obvious trick in the book, and it occurs to me that Evram is really not a very creative fighter.

Why should he be? He hasn't had to do his own dirty work in decades.

So Evram's blast rattles my head around, because it does still hit me. It leaves my whole body feeling like I've been bodyslammed, because that power is, as Destien put it, no joke.

But I am still on my feet, and I have fought through pain and shock before.

Evram is still talking, though, apparently not remembering I can be hit and cast magic at the same time.

"I will undo your spell, and every spell in this world," Evram tells me, closing the distance between us. "And not only has your partnership with the demon ensured the angels will never expect us to train a Low Earther again, without you to defend them, we will be free to hunt down every last one until no trace of magic in this world remains. And any wizard who comes after you will simply die." Directly in front of my face, he glares into my eyes, tilting my chin up with his wand. "That is your legacy, Sierra. A punishment perfectly fit to the crime."

The crime of not being a bootlicker.

That damn wand is at my throat.

But also: That damn wand is right where I can get to it.

All this creativity I've been wasting on him, when this fight only requires one thing.

This isn't about cleverness with magic.

This is about power.

Magic power, yes, absolutely.

But more important than what you can do with power is what you will do.

And this raging asshole does not have a stronger will than me.

I focus all my power to my bodyshield.

And then I focus more.

And more, and more, the layers of power increasing in density, in pressure.

I stand on the water and begin to radiate my own glow.

So that's what causes it.

Evram tries to move the wand, but he's caught in my gravity now.

He tries to fire, and my magic snuffs his out before it begins.

Because I'm done playing.

I came here today prepared to offer my own damn life for peace, and that was still a mistake. I can never let High Earth have me, because for Evram, for that whole world of entitlement, it will never be enough for them. It will never end.

They'll always want more magic, more obedience, and will punish anyone who steps out of line and punish the whole world and worlds to prove that they can, so no one else will dare.

So. If I can't protect Low Earth that way?

Then I will live , goddammit, and focus all their ire on me.

Because as long as I'm here, they'll come after me, because they'll know they will never steal back this magic while I draw breath.

But they should also know that I will come for them .

They don't deserve my life. My mind, my will, my magic, my power. They never did.

And I will make myself a thorn in their side for fucking ever .

Evram is struggling, but he isn't grand magus for nothing. He manages to focus the magic of his wand so tightly that he can gather it, and there is a growing ball of white-hot angel magic at my throat.

I am screaming.

I am incandescent.

I am power incarnate.

And I am better than him.

I have had to do more with less. I've had to be better than anyone else would dare to dream.

The power surrounding me, burning off me, I funnel into a single point. Like compressing the power of a thousand suns.

And I snap his goddamn wand in two.

Just like the last one after all. No matter how much power he brings to bear against me, the result will be the same.

The crack sounds unreasonably loud in my ear, like the snapping of a bone.

A surreal beat, in which Evram's eyes widen in shock.

And then the shockwave blasts us both back with a thunderclap.