"I will remember that, if I visit again," says the god.

"What are you planning to do while you're here?" she asks, her cat winding around her ankles with occasional glances of catly disdainful curiosity in Rae's direction.

"And what are you going to do about it, besides walk through the portal?"

"I don't know yet. Explore."

"We aren't telling anyone about the other worlds yet. You look like a regular guy, if oddly dressed, but when you talk it's clear you are not a regular guy. Please don't talk to or in the presence of anyone besides me, Edarial, our familiars, or Zevros while you're here."

"That is acceptable," shrugs Rae.

"I wasn't going to. I am not going to make a place my domain where I am entirely unknown and unwanted." He looks at Cricket. "You may come with me."

"...Okay. If you run into trouble during that time please send Cricket to tell me rather than making a conspicuous beeline for the palace."

"Okay."

And Iobel goes off to do queening.

Leaving Cricket peering supervisorily at Rae, tail swishing.

"I will be flying," he informs Cricket. "It will be faster if I carry you."

"Then pick me up. Do not pull my fur," says Cricket.

"No," scoffs Cricket. "But do not drop me."

Cricket peers curiously at the view. "The canals look more unnecessarily numerous this way. Canals are an uncivilized way to travel," he opines.

"Flight is better," agrees Raezenoth. "Faster. Better view. No annoying water." He says the word like it's a curse. A godly, disdainful curse.

"Iobel has cast her flying spell on me before but it does not last very long and I have not looked at canals with it. Water is for drinking and for fish to be in and it should not be for persons to be in."

"Yes. Large bodies of it should not be trusted. Storms are fickle things, as are the gods that rule over them. Drinking and fish acquisition are both quite sensible. Swimming or sailing are not."

"I have occasionally had to be in boats to accompany Iobel places," sighs Cricket.

"You have my sympathies," says Rae, and it sounds like he means it.

"Yes. Well, it is very important that she have me with her when she goes places. I am her cat."

"That makes sense. I would have all of the world fly, if possible, and avoid such uncivilized travel as boats, but I cannot make everyone my acolyte."

"Why not?"

"Acolytes are able to usurp me. If given the chance, many would jump at the chance for divinity, even if it meant my death."

"Is being a god so great?" wonders Cricket skeptically. "Now, if they could become cats, that would be something."

"I enjoy it. I may make changes to my domain to suit me, and never have to suffer through mortals that annoy me. I simply make it known that they are not welcome, and they leave. Or die. Either. But then, I have never been a cat."

"Having a domain sounds like much more work than being a cat," says Cricket. "My Iobel feeds me and listens to my opinions on things and pets me, and I sleep in the sunshine and chase things when I feel like it."

"That sounds agreeable. It's likely that having a domain is more work, but I find it's worth the effort."

"What for?"

"It is having a place that is entirely suited for me, in every way, where ever I go. Mortals that I don't like rapidly make themselves scarce in one way or another, mortals I do like stay. I have the ones I like do much of the annoying parts, I don't have to deal with those."

Cricket yawns. "Iobel thinks that I am unsatisfiable but that is not quite true, I think. But a satisfying place for me cannot be very big or I will find fault with it, so she makes a small place for me instead."

"That makes sense. I would be be hard to satisfy if I were not a god, I think. But I am."

"Have you always been a god?"

"Yes."

"I was a spirit cat instead of a real cat once. It was not as nice."

"I am sorry. When I was a young god, my domain was pathetically small and it was like I was trapped and suffocating. It was unpleasant."

"How did it get bigger?"

"I made it known what type of god I was, and realized very quickly that a neighboring domain advocated slavery. I took offense to it. Most of her followers defected - especially the former slaves - and she died a few centuries later."

"There is no slavery in this country but there are canals."

"Yes. I would be offended by them, if they were in my domain, but they are not."

"Some binders are not nice to their familiars," muses Cricket. "It is a little like slavery. Iobel is working on it. She is good."

"Good. I have known Iobel's other, Ayabel, for some time. Idania has chosen her friend well."

"Anyone who likes Iobel or her alts has good taste," pronounces Cricket, "at least some of the time."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome," Cricket says magnanimously.

"You don't speak as if you're afraid I will smite you where you stand, and say whatever you like with no regards for my opinion. This is an admirable quality."

"I have no regard for most opinions," says Cricket, licking one of his forepaws. "Most opinions are terrible and even the ones that are not are not particularly important usually."

"Yes. I have no patience for those lacking spines."

"If you smote people who disagreed with you that would make your opinions worse, not better, anyway."

"They would, indeed. I would not be worthy of any sort of respect, if my opinions couldn't even stand up to a simple challenge."

"And then anyone who knew about your smiting behavior ought to be fomenting rebellion instead of talking to you at all."

"And rightly so."

"Yes. But that is not how things are," Cricket purrs.

"Thank you," says Rae. "May I pet you?"

"Yes. In the correct direction of my fur."

Cricket purrrrrrrrrs.

Cricket contemplates this offer, then says, "I would like helpful wind."

"Thank you," purrs Cricket.

"Yeah?"

"Why is Cricket flying with a - new friend?"

"Oh - Rae came through, agreed not to talk to anybody who doesn't already know about multiverses, I sent Cricket along to sort of supervise."

"Yes. Spring doesn't seem to think he's dangerous or anything."

"Right, just - that's - not how I was expecting my morning to go. Is he planning on doing anything here?"

"Exploring, he said. People will figure he's a spellbinder if he doesn't talk to them."

"Huh. Well. Okay then. We'll just. Have the personified god as a visitor. Is - do we have to worry about Cricket insulting him...?"

"I don't think so. He can understand Cricket, but according to Spring he doesn't like being - handled with reverence? Cricket might be a bit much if they wind up not getting along, but I don't think he'll actually do any harm if that happens."

"All right. I'll stop worrying over it. Out loud."

Iobel pats him on the shoulder. "He's been here for a while, and nothing has happened yet. Cricket isn't visibly displeased, even."

"Good." Pause. ".... I haven't asked, and I should. Has his opinion of me gotten less terrible lately? I've just avoided talking to him."

"Cricket's? Yes. He has almost entirely stopped referring to you with uncomplimentary epithets."

"Oh, good. Those were distressing."

"I wouldn't draw his attention to it, though, if I were you."

"I wasn't planning to. There was a reason why I wasn't asking him."

"Yeah. I am sorry about him."

Hug!

"What, visiting gods and rude cats?"

"Mhm. I'm not complaining, just observing."

"We could have ordinary problems instead. We could run out of pepper and bicker over the covers at night and have contrary opinions on our respective family members."

"Pass. Those sound like boring problems. Also, one of us would have to not hate my father, and I don't want either of us to be consigned to that fate."

"Very well, I will go on despising him."

"Good, good. We can be united in hatred."

"It will be a bonding exercise."

"Bonding! Hurray!"

She giggles and squeezes him. "If we think of five more we get a prize?"

"Do we? What's the prize, do you know?"

"...A bonding hex?"

"What would it do?" she wonders.

"I have no idea. But it would probably beat the soul birds!"

"I dunno. The soul birds seem very useful."

"Well. Yes. But I can have dreams. Maybe the hex would give us a time machine."

"That'd be really something." She turns her face against his shoulder. "We're managing without, I think? Some?"

"We're managing just fine," assures Edarial. "I'm mostly just stuck on the idea out of solidarity now."

"Solidarity? With whom?"

"Well, you, I'd thought. But also with the idea of not letting my father win. In any form."

"He does still meaningfully have something he wanted. You and me, king and queen."

"Mm. True. But I - like you being my queen. So. I'm not petty enough to make myself lose because I don't want him to win."

He smiles at her. "Realistically, if I wanted to properly win, I'd need a time machine and go back to before he thought you were a good queen candidate, then send past-me to your shop to romance you while keeping you as far away from him as possible until the wedding."

"And then at the wedding make a rude gesture in his face?"

"Yes. That. In all of my kingly finery and with everyone watching."

"And time-traveled-to me would be very confused."

"So confused."

"And I'd say, 'Edarial, if you don't like that man, why did you invite him to our wedding in the first place?'"

"I would of course reply, 'Because I wanted to rub his loss in his face, I picked someone excellent as a queen on my own and he has no power over me.'"

"And probably since in this timeline we were conducting enough of a relationship to get married deliberately I would want to know why I was not informed of this apparent feud."

"And then I would explain everything and say how he was a terrible person and such. Along with the time machine, of course. Communication's important for a healthy relationship."

"It is. I might be miffed with you for not mentioning the time machine first thing."

"I - probably would have mentioned that within fifteen minutes of meeting you, really. Because I don't see myself good at seduction."

"If you were good at seduction you think you'd keep me in the dark?"

"No, I wouldn't spout it out in a panic on our first meeting in lieu of actual romantic words."

"It's just as well. Information is a better opener than, I don't know, elaborate compliments on my eye color."

"Oh? No love of me saying, for example, they are liquid pools of warm brandy? Or that you definitely stole the best stars out of the sky? .... That second one was pretty bad, I apologize."

"Wasn't it established that you are the one with starlight hair? Anyway, please, no comparing my anatomy with alcohol."

"I think I may be exceptionally bad at this," snorts Edarial. "No comparisons between you and alcohol, agreed."

"Should I be coming up with mediocre poetic compliments on my end?"

"Not unless you want to. On my end - I don't think I have it in me to manage even mediocre poetic compliments. Or poems in general. Alas."

"I'll make do."

"You sure? There's still time to flee, find someone who can actually compose poetry."

"We are married, occasionally kissing, and co-ruling a small country. If I were going to flee I think I've missed my optimal window."

"Probably a bit. But recall, that marriage doesn't count on account of you being under duress at the time and the vows being utterly terrible. So, just occasionally kissing and co-ruling a small country."

"It counts from a - public recognition standpoint. Which is most of what marriage is really for."

"... Technically. But the lesser portion of what marriage is really for is the part I find most important."

"What do you think it's for?"

"Picking one person from all others, with full disclosure of their flaws and quirks and finding you love them anyway, to be your partner and confidant. Sticking by them through - whatever happens after, whether it be the apocalypse or war or famine or - something that could potentially be distressing and drive you apart. And trusting them. Absolutely."

"That's a tall order."

"Just a bit. It was something of a problem, before, if you happened to notice."

"I noticed."

He kisses her forehead. "I'm going to guess that it is slightly less of a - thing for you."

"Considerably less, yes. I mean, it's serious - but it is a thing you do when you are serious rather than a serious thing intrinsically."

"Huh. Interesting."

"I wonder if Ice and Cypress have had this conversation."

"I - have no idea. I assume so, they are married and all. But we can always ask."

"I mean, they are probably on the same order of magnitude of seriousness, so it may be academic."

"Yeah. They seemed pretty happy to spend the rest of eternity together. While flaunting."

"And cuddling souls."

"I still think the soul birds are cheating."

"We could get a set," she points out. "If we wanted them."

"Mmm. Tempting, but I don't think the danger's worth the ability to cuddle souls and talk to myself. Besides, we can't lose our nerve now. We got this far without the cheaty soul birds."

"We did," she agrees. "Sometimes-kissing."

"And cuddling, don't forget the cuddling."

"And there was that one time we fell asleep together."

"Yeah. That was nice."

"I'd like that."

"Okay."

"Excuse me," says Rae, completely unconcerned with the display of definitive couplehood in front of him. He's seen lots of mortals in all sorts of compromising places, this display doesn't matter to him one way or the other. "Iobel."

"Uh, yeah?"

"Is your familiar very trustworthy?"

"I... basically? It doesn't come up as a question in general since mostly people except me don't trust him to do things? Why?"

".... Okay?"

"I wonder where he put Cricket."

"Should we check? If your cat's on the roof or something, that would be very bad."

"No, he could get down from there, I think - but I would like to know where he is."

"Then we can go look for him."

"Hello," says Edarial, carefully.

"Hello," replies Cricket. "The flying god is sensible."

"Good to hear it."

"He gave me a blessing of cooperative wind."

"That was - very nice of him."

"He has good taste," purrs Cricket.

Edarial is not going to challenge that statement. He just - nods. Smiling and nodding seems to be the best bet, here.

Iobel has no comment either. She just pets her cat.