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It was a rare night when Emet-Selch found himself both home and completely alone. There was something of a situation at the Bureau of the Architect. He hadn’t dared press Hythlodaeus for more details, knowing he would no doubt be invited to help with whatever problem had arisen. With Azem also not expected home for a few days yet, he’d seen the perfect opportunity to enjoy some quiet and relaxation. Not that he didn’t enjoy spending time with the two of them— quite the contrary— but it was impossible to get a moment’s peace when they were around. All he wanted was to enjoy a glass or two of wine, sit back, and while away the evening in his favorite seat.
So, glass in hand and a smile painted on his lips, he did just that. The apartment was nearly silent as he sank into the deep, wingback chair. From there he had a sweeping view of Amaurot. He loved the city at all times but it was especially charming at night. It pulsed with the light of life, both artificial and that of the myriad souls who called the city home. It was a constellation more beautiful to Emet-Selch than anything that could be seen in the heavens above. He could have enjoyed that sight for an eternity.
Could have, had one very familiar light not found itself at the door. Not that he needed to see the color to know exactly who it was. There was only one person he knew on all the star who was so fond of singing bits of absentminded nonsense to herself. Emet-Selch drained the rest of his glass. So much for a peaceful night alone.
“You’re home early,” he said before that soul had time to take so much a step beyond the entryway.
Azem popped her head through the door to the living room. “Spotted me with your soul sight, did you? And here I was hoping to catch you and Hythlodaeus by surprise.”
“You should know better than that by now,” he replied. “And I hardly need any sort of special warning with you always warbling to yourself like a bored songbird.”
“Does it bother you?” she asked, not sounding at all bothered herself by the implication.
“If it ever did, I’ve long since grown immune.”
Azem laughed, the sound every bit as melodic as her singing. “Not that I would have stopped on your account but it’s good to know it’s one less thing I have to worry about putting a frown on those pretty lips.”
Emet-Selch frowned and knew the moment Azem laughed again that he’d fallen right into her trap. “You still haven’t told me why you’re home so soon. Your message to the Convocation implied you’d be gone for at least another few days.”
Azem let one shoulder rise and fall in a halfhearted display of guilt. “I may have fibbed slightly so that I could have some time to unwind before I’m expected to give a report. That isn’t so bad, is it?”
He opened his mouth to disagree but all that came out was a sigh. She would skip out on her duties in front of another member of the Convocation and expect him to stay mum on the matter. And he would, because he’d missed her and was silently overjoyed to see her in good health. With the trouble she got into, it wasn’t uncommon for her to spend her first few days back on the mend rather than relaxing.
“I suppose I can look the other way,” he said. “Just this once.”
She bent to dust a kiss across his brow and then looked around the empty room. “Where is Hythlodaeus? I was hoping we could all spend the night in together.”
“You know how it is. If it isn’t one of you causing problems, it’s the other.”
“What sort of problem?”
“Despite what he might say, nothing that he can’t handle himself, I’m quite sure.” He resisted the urge to turn his gaze in the direction of the Bureau, just in case he saw anything to weaken his resolve. “If you’d like to enable whatever nonsense he’s gotten into, I’m sure he wouldn’t turn you away.”
Azem took a seat on one of the arms of the chair. “Trying to be rid of me already? I’ve only just returned.”
She turned those wide, purple eyes on him. Why did they both have the same eyes and why was he so weak against them? Emet-Selch grabbed his glass and remembered belatedly that he’d already finished the contents.
“I am simply making a suggestion,” he said. “Don’t expect any excitement here. I planned on a quiet night and I aim to have it.”
“Well, don’t let me interrupt.”
She reached across him and grabbed the bottle of wine. After refilling his glass, she wandered off to fetch a glass of her own. Rather than find her own seat, she resumed her perch on the arm of his chair. True to her word, she sipped quietly. She stroked his hair idly while she drank but didn’t say another thing. He let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the sensation for a moment, before he turned his gaze back out to the city.
While Azem remained silent, it wasn’t long before she started to fidget. It wasn’t in her nature to sit still long. Even less so to do so silently. One corner of his mouth curled up. He waited. Though it would mean an end to his quiet evening, he was amused. And, if he was honest, endeared. He needed only wait a few more anticipatory breaths before she spoke.
She placed her glass aside so that its contents didn’t spill as she gestured toward the window. “What do you see out there?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. Of all the things he’d expected her to ask, that wasn’t one. “I believe you have eyes,” he replied, though there was a soft smile on his face that belied his tone.
She cuffed his shoulder affectionately and slid from the arm of the chair into his lap. “Yes, but I do not see quite as you do, now do I?”
“There can’t be anything I could tell you that you haven’t heard from Hythlodaeus and I’m certain he’d tell it with more flair than I.”
“I have asked him,” she acknowledged, winding an arm around his neck as she did, “but I’d like to hear it from you.” She tugged lightly at one of his ears. “Oh lord of the Underworld.”
Emet-Selch let out a small huff of breath, a mix of amusement and weariness. “Very well. You wish to know what I see?” He turned his eyes back to the large, arched window. It was the sort of sight that he could never tire of. “Light,” he said. “The light of stars and torches, of the aether that flows in and around everything. It is the souls, however, that outshine them all and each bears a color of its own. There are more than I could even begin to describe.”
“Then how about just one?” Azem put a hand on his jaw and turned his face to hers. “What does my soul look like to you?”
He felt his cheeks heat. This was getting ridiculous. She had already admitted to asking Hythlodaeus the same. He wanted to ask her why she persisted in bothering him about it. What did it matter? It could only serve to emphasize what she lacked and would never have. He could hardly imagine what it would be like to see what he did now only to lose that ability. All the worse to have it painted by clumsy words.
“Please?” she asked.
Again she trapped him with those eyes. He groaned but didn’t dare protest. They both knew he would do as asked. “Your soul,” he started slowly, “is the color of the sun. It is warm and bright and sometimes seems nearly blinding in its brilliance.”
Her responding smile was certainly brilliant. Before he could turn away, she caught his chin and kissed him.
“And you try to pretend it’s only Hythlodaeus who has a way with words.”
He sniffed. “I’m only describing what I see, as asked.”
Her smile grew all the brighter and she kissed him again.
It seemed as though they couldn’t be away fast enough, the so-called Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their new allies. Only their hero dallied near Emet-Selch. He was momentarily surprised they would leave her alone with him. He would have felt insulted but he supposed he had acknowledged her as a dangerous Ascian killer. If only he actually considered her a threat or she him. It would be far simpler that way. Instead she was smiling at him. Hesitant or not, that was a wound to his villainous pride.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “If you’re going to thank me, there’s no need. I had my fill from your friend.” He flapped an impatient hand at her, eager to have her rejoin her fellows. “So go on. Shoo.”
“I don’t want to thank you.” She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Or, I do because you saved a dear friend. Without you, she would be lost to us. So, thank you.”
Her smile this time was earnest and bright. There wasn’t a shred of her earlier hesitancy. It was a perfect echo of a life she’d forgotten and Emet-Selch found it utterly insufferable. He crossed his arms with a frown, as deep as her smile was wide.
“Well then, what is it you want, hmm?”
“You claimed to be here in a spirit of cooperation and claimed you would lend your knowledge if we so desired. I had hoped to collect on that offer.”
His own curiosity piqued, his frown melted away. “Oh?”
“It’s nothing of much import, I suppose, but there was something you said earlier. Before you brought back Y’shtola.” She spread her arms up to the dark boughs above. “Above I see only green, thick enough to block out the ever present light. But you… you mentioned the color of her soul. What do you see out there?”
He flinched at the strike of words from another life, echoed back through a familiar mouth. He was quick to turn his gaze aside, lest the pain that flared so hotly in his chest show on his face. “What does it matter? You will never see as I do. You could never hope to. Not as you are. I see whole worlds that will ever be invisible to the likes of you. I shan’t waste my breath trying to detail it all for your gawping curiosity.”
She was silent for long enough that Emet-Selch hoped he had put her off the subject. Let her slink back to her little friends and leave him in peace. But, as they ever were, his hopes were ultimately squashed.
“Well then, if not all of it, perhaps you can spare the breath to describe a small portion,” she said. “What does my soul look like to you?”
His heart, ancient and scarred as it was, skipped a beat in his chest. Those words. The cadence of her voice. The earnest, unspoken desire to see the world from his eyes. It was all so painfully, exactly as she would have said it.
“Your soul?” he repeated, still not daring to look back.
“I assume they’re all rather distinct, if you could pick out Y’shtola’s so easily from the flow of the lifestream. So what does mine look like?”
He held a hand to his breast and closed his eyes. “Your soul,” he murmured, “is the color of the sun.” He half expected to find Azem there once more when he turned, to see her brilliance. Instead there was that same shattered mirror. The light in those familiar eyes were so dulled as to be dead. His lip curled. “But dimmed and dull. Sickly as the sun trapped behind the spew of smoke. A pale imitation of the real thing.”
Hurt flashed across her face and a part of him rejoiced at finding his mark. Let her hurt as he did.
“I see.” She recollected herself and gave him a curt nod. “Thank you for answering my question.”
When she turned to go— singing nonsense to herself as she went— he did the same. You didn’t live as long as him without learning the peril of staring at the sun.