15. Malorg

fifteen

Malorg

Two weeks had gone by since Malorg's first glimpse of Sarilian in over a year. The same bright eyes. The same copper complexion, lustrous despite the Dusklands' dampening effect. The same cheerful, caring air even while discussing serious matters of state.

How much of it had been an act?

Squeezing his eyes closed, Malorg sank into his piled pillows and wished he could shut out the world as easily. Two weeks might have passed, but that hadn't dispelled the coiled emotions writhing within him.

How dare Sarilian ambush him without so much as a warning! The so-called Dawn Emissary had known Malorg would be there. Eternal Dark, he'd specifically requested his presence! Would it have been so difficult to inform Malorg of his intentions ahead of time? That he hadn't bothered showed just how little he regarded their past.

Like Pelorak, maneuvering pieces around the board to suit his own ends.

Despite his anger, Malorg recognized that as an unfair comparison. Sarilian wasn't the Aspect of Ambition, diabolically masterminding events from the shadows. Even if Sarilian had sought to leverage Malorg's role in the previous Accords to his advantage, Malorg couldn't blame him for believing in the same dream of uniting their people that he once had.

Yet, that realization did little to soothe his aching heart. Seeing Sarilian again had been rough enough—a reminder of all he'd lost. But having to collaborate with him on new Accords, each fresh discussion dredging up painful memories of engaging in a similar process with Uryqh at his side, was almost more than he could bear.

Perhaps that's why their meetings thus far had been such unmitigated disasters. Several sessions in, they'd still decided nothing of consequence. How could they when every conversation between them inevitably devolved into a heated argument?

Sarilian might have been able to move on, to set aside their past and devote himself to his duty. But Malorg wasn't certain he could do the same. These past weeks had only confirmed what he'd already suspected: Sarilian was better off without him.

Malorg barely stirred from his pillows when a shadow slipped beneath his door.

"Your aides tell me the Accords aren't going well." Pelorak's tone was amicable enough, his posture relaxed. Still, Malorg caught a dangerous flash in the Aspect's coal-black eyes when he stooped to examine a small duskflame sculpture—one of the many Sarilian had cajoled Malorg into buying.

Malorg twisted away from Pelorak to stare at the shifting lines of gray that danced along his apartment's ceiling. "Your spies are correct."

Sarilian and his delegation had stormed out of this latest session after a bitter debate over…well, Malorg honestly couldn't remember how it had started, but it had ended with a shouting match over the corruption Celestials might suffer while stationed in the Dusklands.

Which, in retrospect, Malorg had to admit had been a fair point. Even Sarilian, for all his constant exposure to the Dusklands' perpetual night and Malorg's duskflame over a period of months, had needed to return to the Dawnlands after less than a day to recover.

At the time, however, facing off with Sarilian across the hexagonal conference table, Malorg hadn't been able to move past the word corruption . As if whatever Infernals touched would ruin the purity of the holier-than-thou Celestials. As if the Celestials were inherently better than their Infernal counterparts.

Malorg could see it in the eyes of the other Celestial delegates when they spoke. The way they'd glance around the beautiful hall and shudder. The disdain marring their tones when they talked down to Malorg and the other Infernals as their lessers. Only Sarilian refrained from such antics, but that might be because of his single-minded focus on the Accords' success.

"I see," Pelorak said. "A pity."

The Aspect picked up a knick-knack he'd been examining. It depicted a mortal's vision of a Celestial, dawnflame wings unfurled and spear uplifted, every bit the radiant warrior. Malorg had acquired that one on his own because it reminded him of Sarilian's indomitable spirit. Now, he wished he'd discarded it, along with all the other leftover relics cluttering his space.

"I had hoped you'd have better luck engaging the Celestials in dialogue and making them feel heard." Pelorak's lips curled with distaste as he let the statue clatter back to its spot on Malorg's desk. "After all, you've always been unusually sympathetic to their cause."

"Once, perhaps." Malorg stared at the wall, closing his eyes as he fought against the jagged memories that scraped at his consciousness. "But no longer. I told you before that I'm not the right person for this assignment."

"And I disagreed. In fact, I still do." Pelorak's voice grew closer, his footsteps as silent as a passing shade. "This is your chance to redeem yourself, Malorg. I know it. The Dusk Council knows it. Even the Dawn Council knows it. The Celestials asked for you by name, remember?"

Thinking of Sarilian, Malorg clenched his jaw. "A mistake. Find someone else. I quit."

A dangerous silence followed his pronouncement—the kind of quiet that heralded the furious howling of a storm. Inwardly, Malorg braced for another of Pelorak's outbursts. Which would it be this time—more honeyed words? Or had Pelorak finally reached the limits of his patience? Malorg had witnessed Pelorak's rage in the past, swift and brutal like a flash of lightning.

Perhaps he'll save me the trouble of dying in battle.

It took Malorg a few heartbeats to notice the creeping numbness pervading his flesh—a deeper chill than he'd ever felt that burned him as surely as dawnflame. Hissing in pain, he tried to move, but his limbs responded with little more than faint spasms. As if of its own volition, his body shuddered and rose in a series of jerky motions, like a puppet tugged up by its strings.

Malorg's eyes sprang open to find a cloud of cloying shadows enveloping him in a dark haze. Pelorak stood a few paces away, one hand outstretched. With a casual flick of his fingers, he forced Malorg to stumble to his knees. Malorg met Pelorak's amused smirk with a grimace.

"Release me, Pelorak."

"I will. But not yet."

Another twitch of Pelorak's fingers sent ripples of agony roiling through Malorg like a thousand slivers of ice puncturing his flesh. He struggled to react—to dissolve into shadow or conjure a blade. To charge Pelorak or bolt for the door. And when all that failed, he tried instead to scream, seeking some outlet for his agony. Yet even that release was denied to him, control over his own flesh stripped away.

Pelorak waved his hand, appearing almost bored. The duskflame enveloping Malorg withdrew. Malorg crumpled to the floor, shivering at the memory of pain.

"I am not some lowly Infernal you can bark orders at, Malorg," Pelorak hissed. "I am the Aspect of Ambition, one of the five seats on the Dusk Council. Mortals rightfully fear me, and despite the leniency I show you because of our old friendship, you would do well to remember your place and grant me the respect I've earned."

Earned. Malorg wanted to scoff at the word, to spit out a diatribe against the petty scheming and backstabbing Pelorak had employed to rise to his current station. Malorg had seen glimpses of it while Uryqh still lived, even participated in some of it himself back when he'd thought he desired to walk the same path. Now, such games seemed laughably foolish to him. What was the point in ruling over a prison you couldn't escape?

But he didn't speak. He couldn't—not while shudders continued to rack his flesh.

Pelorak knelt beside his trembling form, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder in a near-caress that had him longing for another, warmer touch. "Allow me to make myself perfectly clear." Pelorak's voice was as soft as a serpent's hiss. "The Accords will continue. You will ensure the Celestials remain invested. The very future of the Dusklands depends on it. If your obstinacy makes them walk away, or if you refuse to participate in good faith, then I will ensure you spend the next century wishing you had killed yourself while you had the chance."

"The Dusk Council's demands…" Malorg strained to get the words out, but Pelorak seemed to understand.

"Are entirely negotiable," Pelorak said with a shrug. "We expect you to mediate on our behalf and strike a fair bargain for our people. And of course, we'll need to review whatever terms you and your Celestial counterpart decide. But the rest is up to you."

Even in his current agonized state, Pelorak's nonchalance set Malorg's intuition blaring alarms. Altering the Covenant had never been done before, and with the threat of a voidspawn invasion looming, it would be all too easy for the Infernals to sign away too much to secure temporary aid. Yet, Pelorak acted unconcerned—almost like he cared more about the discussion of peace than peace itself.

What aren't you telling me, Pelorak?

He didn't dare voice the question aloud—not after Pelorak's recent demonstration of power. Instead, he did the only thing he could do, forcing the expected words out.

"I live…to serve."

Pelorak clapped his hands together, a delighted smile stretching his face as he rose. "Glad we got that nasty business sorted. Now then, you have a few days before the Celestials return. In the meantime, I expect you to prepare. We don't want a repetition of that last meeting, do we?"

Malorg imagined conjuring twin daggers to ram into Pelorak's smug throat. He shoved the tantalizing vision away while shaking his head.

"Marvelous," Pelorak said brightly. "In that case, I look forward to your next report."

As Pelorak melted into a pool of darkness, Malorg gathered himself enough to hobble to a chair by the table and sink into it. Though the pain Pelorak had conjured was gone, the aftereffects lingered, leaving Malorg weak and dizzy, as if he'd fought off a hundred voidspawn. Pelorak certainly hadn't possessed that kind of power back in the day. It must be a token of his seat, part of an Aspect's deeper connection to the Immortal Realm.

Mentally replaying the brief encounter, Malorg gritted his teeth. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Pelorak was pursuing some hidden agenda. Was it as simple as him seeking to leverage the existence of the Accords to improve his position with the other Aspects? Or did he have a more insidious plot underway? All Malorg could be certain of was that whatever Pelorak hoped to achieve, he intended to use Malorg as a pawn.

Not that it mattered. For the moment, Malorg had no choice but to obey and find some way to set aside his past with Sarilian so they could focus on their shared goals. In the meantime, however, he'd covertly investigate Pelorak's true scheme until he figured out what the Aspect of Ambition was up to…and then, if necessary, do everything in his power to thwart it.