He laughs again. "Wow. You're starting to remind me of me at that age."

He doesn't have to gesture, or even stand up; a portal appears, a shimmering oval floating in midair with its lower edge just touching the ground. Within its bounds, instead of the solid earth of Skygarden, there is only sky.

The man picks up a clod of dirt from the ground beside him and tosses it through the portal. It spins, falls—slows—stabilizes—grows, turning rapidly from an apple-sized lump into a grassy platform big enough for the both of them to stand on.

He gets up and walks through, glancing back from the other side to see if she's following.

She hesitates for a moment, but then shoos her water-column and steps through the portal.

It closes behind her.

The new flying island reaches its full size moments later; its growth slows, then stops. It's a little bigger than the park.

Wherever they are, it's high up in the sky, up among the clouds.

"So," says the man who claims to be the Emperor. "Proof enough for you?"

She looks up at him consideringly. Walks to the edge of the little island, looks down at the ocean far below.

"Suppose so," she says, turning to walk back to the middle of the island where he's standing.

A tree sprouts from the ground and twists itself into the shape of a chair under him, fast enough to be done by the time he's done sitting in it. He gestures invitingly, as though to ask if she'd like one too.

She shrugs.

He grows another one, facing his, within a comfortable conversational distance but not intimidatingly close. Well. That may depend on one's personal definition of intimidatingly close, and whether it expands when the Emperor is involved.

"And what did you want to talk to me about?"

She takes a seat, shrugging again.

"The books and the rumours leave me with a very strange picture of what kind of man my Emperor is. I thought I'd find out for myself."

"And you're not afraid you won't like the answer?"

"It's been tolerable enough so far."

...he sighs. "It's been a long time since I took a slave illegally, but there is, actually, nothing stopping me from grabbing you right now, putting my mark on your wrists, and taking you home to play with. Just as an example of how badly this could have gone."

She pauses for a moment, watching him, silently drawing attention to the lack of any grabbing going on.

Then she says, "Seems to me you're stopping yourself."

"...you're not wrong," he admits, although he looks a little uncomfortable about it.

(She frowns slightly, watching his face.)

"—anyway. What's your name?" he asks.

"Viasarae."

"Pretty name. Pleased to meet you, I guess. I have to say you're a lot politer than most people who come looking for me with questions about what kind of man their Emperor is."

"Am I?" She raises her eyebrows. "How many of those do you get?"

"It happens now and then. Usually somebody who just finished a self-dedication not quite long enough for me to check on in person. Usually their questions are a lot more pointed and their threats are a lot more dramatic."

"...there are people who threaten you with something more serious than a splash of water?" she asks, amazed. "And here I thought I was being reckless."

He snorts. "Ah, she admits to being reckless!"

"I never said I wasn't."

"I guess not."

He leans back in his chair.

"So you're not here to threaten me."

"Of course not! What good would that do anybody?"

"You'd be surprised how seldom people stop to ask themselves that question."