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“…and that was when I realized: the roots were sentient!”
Elidibus smiled politely, swirling the near-black wine in his glass. The rich, heady scent of the wine wafted pleasantly upward. He took another minute sip of the concoction, suppressing a grimace at the tannins — he had never quite developed the taste for dry reds, despite their supposed maturity. Then he nodded at his enthusiastic conversation partner. “Mmhmm.”
Halmarut paused their recounting of the barely-averted disaster in their Akademia department the prior month. They gave the Emissary a quizzical look. “Forgive me for being so casual,” they said, “but are you alright, Elidibus?”
“Yes, quite,” he said with all the conviction of a boiled noodle, and all the focus of one, too. His gaze was fixed across the room, on a group of three. A pair of men towered over a smaller woman, all of them engaged in what appeared by all accounts to be a lovely and energetic discussion.
Halmarut followed his stare. Upon noticing the object of his attentions, they chortled in delight. “You know, I have it on good authority that if you pine any harder, you’ll turn into a tree.”
“What?” said Elidibus, with a degree of alarm.
“You should talk to her,” the older member of the Convocation said, patting him on the shoulder. “Go ahead. I’m certain I can bore Pashtarot with my stories instead.”
Indeed, the overseer of governmental discipline was seated alone in a corner looking dour and in need of entertainment.
“It’s— it’s not an appropriate setting to approach her with personal matters,” Elidibus said, bidding his heart to stop hammering so hard at just the prospect of talking to Azem. Although in truth, appropriateness had flown through the window when he had stumbled upon her and Emet-Selch in a most un-co-worker-ly position a fortnight prior, the sight of their tryst caught through a gap in the shelves. And in the file room, of all places!
Of course, Elidibus, who had long admired the both of them, had been aware that Azem was closer to Emet-Selch than her appointment provided. It was common knowledge that the two of them were wed, along with their third spouse, with whom he was only passingly acquainted, the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, Hythlodaeus.
And yet Elidibus had harbored something a little more than admiration for them both. While his feelings for Emet-Selch could be described as a sweet crush even by himself, he would have trouble describing his feelings for Azem. After all, what poetry could suffice for someone whose very presence made the breath in one’s lungs cease to flow, who had been the most prominent beacon of light in one’s life since the moment they had entered it?
Which was partially why it had been so shocking to witness them in such a compromising position. Of course, the majority of the shock came from the fact that it was in a public room in the Capitol building in which they all worked. But even Elidibus, who technically had the authority to reprimand or even censure if he desired, mostly wished to forget it had happened at all.
What use was the memory, after all, of what Azem’s quiet, throaty moans of pleasure sounded like when her lover’s hand was pressed over her mouth? What the milk-in-coffee color of her thighs looked like when they were lightly dewy with sweat and pressed together in desire? What color of red Emet-Selch’s forearm turned when her nails had raked desperate, parallel lines into them with her nails? The husky sound of his voice as he whispered unintelligible, seductive nothings just above her neck? The air faintly tinted with the heady musk of their sex?
It was not as if Elidibus were a child — he was familiar with all the beats of such physical intimacy, even if he had not partaken in the joys of flesh since his appointment as Emissary. He was not offended or even embarrassed by the tantalizing display he had unwittingly seen.
He simply didn’t need the hours in bed lying awake, eyes wide open in the darkness, as he remembered what he had witnessed and — preposterously! — longed for more. He dared not even touch himself to the recollection, even as his hardened cock twitched against his thigh, aching for friction. Such an act would be a step too far, an undeniable failure to restrain himself from that which he could not have. And his lack of self-control could only spiral out from there, of that he was certain.
Once, he had been perfectly content to be happy for them from afar. While he never buried his feelings, he also never acted on them or made them obvious. So why could he not get the damnable thoughts out of his head now?
As he stood and hesitated, like a man on the precipice of certain doom, Halmarut only laughed and gave him a little shove in the direction of the object of his desires before wandering off, leaving him utterly alone with his curiously shaky glass of wine.
His feet moved unbidden, and it seemed he had only blinked before he was hovering outside the small circle the three people formed, just behind Azem. His face reddened as he waited for an opening to cut in, unsure of what to say and too nervous to focus on anything any of them were talking about. His saving grace was Hythlodaeus, lavender braid peeking out improperly from beneath his hood, who noticed his presence and gave a little wave.
Azem whirled on him, gasping histrionically, clasping his hands between her own and sloshing a splash of wine from his glass onto the floor. “Elidibus, my shining star, our emissary and guide!” she sang loudly, gathering him into the circle with arm around his shoulder. Despite himself, Elidibus giggled at the absurdity of her mannerisms, at the lavishing attention. Emet-Selch was scowling, which was nothing out of the ordinary.
“It has only been a few hours since you last saw him in Convocation,” the serious man complained. “Must you act like it has been years?”
“You of all people should know, by now, that your grumbling cannot repress our dearest friend’s affections,” said Hythlodaeus with a broad grip, a delicate hand on his hip.
“I see none of you as frequently as I would like,” retorted Azem, who still had not let go of Elidibus. She smelled of apple and a flower he could not place, and he had to force his mind to stay put in the territory of only platonic ideas. “If only I could shrink each of you down and stick you in my pockets! Only then would my heart be truly content.”
A dramatic roll of the eyes from Emet-Selch. “And yet, you make no hesitation to call upon us for assistance at even the most trifling of obstacles.”
“An Azem should never work alone, that’s what I always say. Right, Elidibus?”
He coughed slightly, standing straighter, making great efforts to put his thoughts in order. “Indeed, we are compelled to assist our fellow Convocation members at every necessary juncture if it is requested. And I, for one, would not mind being called upon more often, if you wish, Azem.” He only hoped the red of his mask hid the furious burn of his cheeks.
“That’s what I like to hear. Perhaps I’ll start calling him instead of you,” jeered Azem, sticking a tongue out at her husband. “Elidibus, what use is an Emissary who never travels to other cities? An Azem can’t do all the diplomacy alone, you know. Perhaps I ought to bring you along on my next adventure.”
His heart fluttered at the notion. In his life, he had done far too little adventuring although he had often wished to be a hero of the people. Life as Elidibus had proven to be less negotiating and investigating, and more pushing papers around than he would have preferred. And an adventure with Azem… it could mean battling back-to-back in the wilderness, huddling for warmth in the cold, staying at inns with questionable numbers of available rooms and beds. Well. He dared not hope.
“Perhaps,” he said, smiling coyly, consciously attempting to slow his breath.
“Five more minutes!” yelled Igeyorhm from near the chronometer, almost immediately devolving into tipsy giggles with Loghrif, who was hanging off her shoulder and ogling a grinning Mitron.
Although the party was stuffed to the brim with Convocation members and their loved ones, in truth, there were many more people present, most of whom were Nabriales’s underlings. On this night, there would be a full eclipse of the moon, turning the lunar face a dusky red. Those who were interested in cosmic matters were understandably buzzing about the event — one such thing only happened rarely, with sometimes spans of years in between them.
So, of course, everyone knew that Amaurotines took any and all excuses to turn a rarity into a celebration. Why not this, as well? Their city was nothing if not endlessly joyous.
“Shall we all find a vantage point near the window, for better view of our lovely Selene’s metamorphosis?” asked Hythlodaeus, dangling his hand in offering to Emet-Selch, who miraculously took it in his without protest.
Elidibus half expected to be left behind, but he swallowed hard as Azem’s own hand found his, and she pulled him behind her in the wake of her husbands. He placed his wine glass on a table along the way, figuring it wasn’t to his liking anyway. Some readjusting and jostling was underway, but before long, those with shorter statures were ushered to the front while taller Amaurotines huddled behind. Their collective breath fogged the room-length window, everyone watching eagerly for the transformation of the orb in the sky from white to red.
And Azem did not let go of his hand.
“Was there some kind of metaphysical significance to this full moon, again?” asked Azem, loud enough that all their neighbors could hear, peering over her shoulder.
“The blood moon,” said Nabriales.
“The moon of love!” cried Halmarut, giving Elidibus an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“Or of battle,” muttered Igeyorhm, a contemplative fingertip on her bottom lip.
“Or of chaos,” said Hythlodaeus, chuckling, “which would explain why you’re home this time, Azem.”
“Or of new beginnings,” murmured Elidibus. Azem tilted her head to hear him better, so he explained his musing further. “Like the blood of birth. Of creation.”
“I think I like that one best,” she said, squeezing his hand.
That had been the first night she kissed him, under the dampened light of the moon’s eclipse, in full view of her spouses and everyone.
There had been some cheering and some jovial claps on the back afterward, much to Elidibus’s deep embarrassment.
But in the moment, he had been lost in her hand on his hip pulling him towards her, the loose tangling of her fingers in his the soft press of her lips and the surprise that she had kissed him. Him! When he had been too frightened to even approach her before. And there was so much to untangle, so many thoughts and misgivings and questions, and they all faded in the presence of what simply was.
“To new beginnings,” she whispered against his mouth, her tongue tasting of sparkling champagne.