16. Sarilian

sixteen

Sarilian

"These Accords are a waste of time."

Sarilian glanced at Darius and stifled a sigh as they walked together through the immaculate marble halls of the Dawn Citadel. Every surface gleamed as if with its own sheen of light, leaving no corner of the massive, high-ceilinged rooms in shadow. Other than the white stone, tasteful gold accents spaced at even intervals served as the palace's only decorations.

The Aspect wasn't wrong. These past few weeks had been an exercise in patience. Each time they returned to the Dusklands, Sarilian tried to put on a fresh face and approach things with cautious optimism. And each time, Malorg's stubbornness hit him anew like a slap to the face.

The memory of their argument after that disastrous first meeting sent a flush of shame coursing through him. How could Malorg think so little of him and what they had shared? It was as if he'd taken Sarilian's presence as a personal affront. At least Sarilian was willing to give peace a chance. Malorg seemed determined to let their animosity ruin any hope of reconciliation.

"I am certain the Dusk Emissary and I can manage to better communicate our differing points of view," he replied.

"How very diplomatic." Darius shook his head, his expression souring further as they passed beneath an arch and entered the grand hall marking the Dawn Citadel's entrance. "Hard to believe he's the same Infernal I once watched preach for amicable compromise. Centuries spent in the Dusklands must have dimmed whatever reasonableness he once possessed."

Sarilian bit back the instant retort on his tongue. It wasn't his place to defend Malorg, particularly not after how the Infernal had been behaving. His gaze lingered on the Celestial seal inlaid in the floor as they tread over its gold lines, a hollowness filling him.

Like Daybreak itself, this entire structure stood as a testament to Celestial restraint and their devotion to preserving order. Yet where Sarilian had once seen pristine beauty, he now saw empty artifice. With its blank walls and echoing corridors, the Dawn Citadel reminded him of a tomb: a lifeless monument devoted to an unachievable ideal.

That's your frustration talking. The Dawn Citadel's not the problem— you are.

Sarilian exhaled. "I know the last few weeks have been challenging. But I have faith we'll find a way forward."

If I can just convince Malorg to stop being so Light-blinded stubborn…

Darius leaned in, lowering his voice so his words wouldn't carry. "The Dawn Council grows impatient. Our own reports show no sign of increased voidspawn activity, and while any potential threat warrants a thorough investigation, the consensus is that, if the Infernals won't take these talks seriously, then why should we?"

"But sir, we're immortal! The current Dawn Aspects have all ruled for centuries . What are a few more months or even years if it means genuine progress?"

Darius' expression grew distant, his eyes uncharacteristically heavy with melancholy. His voice, when he spoke, came out weary. "You're too young to have felt it yet—the slow creep of years, into decades, into centuries. Memories of past deeds fading until they are nearly as lost and foreign to us as our own recollections of the Mortal Realm. It is our very eternal nature that drives us to seek out new experiences—fresh ways to combat the tedium of our endless existence so that we continue to feel alive."

The Aspect's words stirred up memories of similar sentiments Malorg had espoused. A tight knot formed in Sarilian's gut. Did all Immortals eventually come to feel Malorg's same hopelessness and were simply better at hiding it? Was that to be Sarilian's fate someday as well?

A wry chuckle escaped Darius' throat. "For all we Celestials like to pretend to be perfect, ascendant beings, the truth is that, at our core, we are little different from the mortals we once were. The Progenitors created us that way, ensuring we still laugh, still cry—still feel pain and joy and loneliness. Still feel love."

Sarilian swore Darius' keen gaze flicked to him for a brief second before shifting away as he continued. "Faced with the alienness of the Void, the Progenitors feared fabricating their own inhuman protectors. They wanted beings who could think and act on their own—who, despite forgetting their mortal existences, remembered on some unconscious level what it was like to be human." The Aspect chuckled. "And part of being human is eagerly awaiting results."

"In that case, sir," Sarilian said with a small smile, "we'll have to make sure we don't disappoint."

He clung to that newfound optimism as they exited the Dawn Citadel and set off down a wide boulevard forged from silver that shimmered like liquid glass. The occasional Celestial bowed to Darius as they passed, the Aspect returning their gesture with a respectful nod. As they neared the dawnbeam waypoint, however, Sarilian's hope began to wane.

He could spout platitudes until the end of time, but unless Malorg chose to cooperate with them, they stood little chance of making any actual progress. And based on Malorg's attitude these past weeks, cooperation didn't seem likely. Perhaps the Dawn Council was right to question their endeavor. Perhaps this new Covenant had been a doomed effort from the start.

In the blink of an eye and a blinding flash of light, a dawnbeam transported them to the temporary waypoint they'd set up in Twilight. Faeris was already there along with the rest of their honor guard, all of them engaged in a tense staring contest with the Infernal guards.

Faeris tore her eyes away, her face smoothing as she bowed to Darius. "Aspect." She repeated the gesture to Sarilian with noticeably less enthusiasm. "Emissary. Shall we get this over with?"

Though she directed the question to Darius, the Aspect faced Sarilian and raised a brow. At Sarilian's hesitant nod, their delegation set off, a pair of Infernals falling in alongside them.

Faeris glared at the escort. "They act like we're the ones who can't be trusted. As if we didn't possess the strength and numbers to erase them from the Immortal Realm if we so desired."

From the way the Infernal guards stiffened, Sarilian assumed they'd heard her. He muffled a wince. "Perhaps we should limit our discussion to more pertinent matters?"

Though Faeris' eyes narrowed, she grunted her assent, and they made the rest of the trip in silence. Soon enough, the Dusk Citadel's spiked spires loomed ahead. A familiar anxious anticipation took root in Sarilian's chest, his excitement to see Malorg again and his enthusiasm for the Accords warring with his fear that this would amount to another wasted trip.

Malorg still cares—if not about you, then about the Accords…even if he wishes he didn't.

The Dusk Citadel's darkened halls passed in a blur. As they approached the familiar conference chamber, Sarilian glimpsed the hint of a mural along a wall and longed for Malorg's darkvision enchantment so that he could better appreciate its obscured beauty. Unlike the Dawn Citadel's barren walls, this place screamed of energetic life. Chaotic, yes, but enticing as well.

Or perhaps that's your memories of illicit rendezvouses with a certain Infernal speaking.

Embarrassment flickered through Sarilian when he spotted the Infernal in question standing outside the meeting room. Malorg glanced up as the Celestial delegation neared, his pale gray gaze locking on Sarilian. Sarilian's stomach sank as he took in the Infernal's narrowed eyes and tensed posture. Better start bracing myself for another fight...

"Emissary," Sarilian said by way of greeting.

"We need to talk."

Malorg's blunt response hung between them like a crackling storm. Sarilian blinked and glanced at Darius, who appeared equally taken aback. Clearing his throat, he forced a diplomatic smile.

"I believe that's why we're here. Now, if you'll please accompany me inside, we can begin—"

"Not yet." Malorg gestured to Darius, Faeris, and the other Celestials. "They can wait inside." As if suddenly remembering himself, Malorg gave a belated bow. "If it pleases the Dawn Emissary, I wish a word in private before we begin."

A nervous jolt buzzed Sarilian's veins at the thought of being alone with Malorg. He shoved the feeling down, studying Malorg while he considered the Infernal's request. The last time they'd spoken with just the two of them, it had devolved into a shouting match in the hall. But if there was even a chance that Malorg wanted to clear the air, Sarilian had to take it.

"Very well. Lead the way."

Malorg nodded and set off down the hall. Sarilian caught Darius' eye as he hurried to catch up, though he couldn't read the Aspect's stony face well enough to tell if he approved. Darius had made no secret of his mistrust for Malorg and for Infernals in general.

If I bring the Dawn Council results, then they'll have no choice but to approve.

Malorg didn't travel far, leading them around a bend and down a side passage before ducking into a narrow alcove. Though the alcove afforded them some privacy from the main hall, it didn't offer much space, and Sarilian had to flatten himself against the back wall to leave a comfortable distance between them.

He crossed his arms, regarding Malorg. "So, what's this all about?"

Waves of discomfort poured off Malorg as he shifted, a scowl plastered over his stormy face. When he didn't speak, Sarilian raised an eyebrow. Malorg's scowl deepened.

"I…I wanted to apologize," he ground out. "For how I've been behaving. It was unprofessional. Starting today, I promise to do better so that we can make some genuine progress."

Sarilian peered closely at Malorg. Despite his obvious reluctance, the Infernal appeared sincere. He slowly nodded. "Thank you. I apologize as well for any part I or my delegation played in…exacerbating tensions. We should all strive to set aside our differences for the sake of the Accords."

"Agreed." Malorg expelled a heavy breath. "Well then, if that's settled…" He turned, his back still rigid, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" The Infernal paused, and Sarilian hesitated, considering what he wanted to say. Now that he had this opportunity to speak candidly with Malorg, he didn't want to waste it. "Look…about what happened at the rift—"

"Forget it." Malorg's harsh words carried a warning. "Whatever happened is in the past."

"Clearly not, given how you've acted toward me since I arrived in Twilight. If we're going to collaborate, we need to be able to occupy the same room without biting each other's heads off."

A tremor racked Malorg's back. "I took you aside to apologize. Now that I have, there's nothing more we need to say to one another except what pertains to the Accords."

Malorg resumed his long strides down the hall. Refusing to give up without a fight, Sarilian called after the retreating Infernal, "This does pertain to the Accords. Or was your promise to bury the hatchet nothing but empty words?"

Malorg continued without looking back. Sarilian's heart fell. So much for clearing the air. Then, Malorg jerked to a halt near the end of the corridor. He stood there for a long moment, seeming to war with himself, before finally spinning around and stalking back.

"Fine," he snapped, stopping right before Sarilian. Shadows pooled around them, though Sarilian couldn't tell if that was just a trick of the dim light. "Say whatever it is you have to say."

Nerves fluttered Sarilian's stomach as he considered where best to begin. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you about the new Accords. It wasn't fair for me to blindside you like that."

Surprise flickered over Malorg's face, quickly concealed beneath his stony mask. "Why didn't you tell me you were the Dawn Emissary?"

Sarilian shrugged. "I told myself it didn't matter—that you would be thrilled for the opportunity to finish what you'd started no matter who sat across from you at the negotiating table. But the truth is, I was scared."

Malorg snorted a humorless laugh. "Perhaps you were right to fear my reaction given how things have gone."

Heat warming his skin, Sarilian shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I wasn't afraid of your reaction but of mine . I didn't know what to expect seeing you again—how I'd respond to dredging up old memories. You aren't the only one concerned about the past."

Malorg's expression softened as he regarded Sarilian. He licked his lips, suddenly seeming nervous. "I…I only ever wanted what I thought was best for you. That's why I tried to convince you to come with me. Why I…I pushed you away. To keep you safe."

A mix of fond exasperation filled Sarilian as he processed Malorg's words. "Like I told you before, that was never your responsibility. It's my choice what I do with my time here."

Malorg bowed his head, his eyes storm clouds of regret. "I know. And I'm sorry for not respecting that. What we had was never meant to last—not in this life. Perhaps how everything worked out is for the best."

Judging by the churning in his gut, Sarilian wasn't so sure. But now didn't seem the time to delve any deeper into lingering wounds than he already had, so he forced a smile. "For what it's worth I'm sorry as well for how I handled…well, everything. Destined to fail or not, I want you to know that I don't regret a single moment we shared. Even now."

Sarilian's pulse quickened at Malorg's gentle smile. "Neither do I."

Time stretched as they regarded one another. Sarilian suddenly grew conscious of the handful of paces that separated them. His skin tingled with nerves, and though he continued to draw in air, he felt a heady rush as if holding his breath.

Then, Malorg cleared his throat and looked away. "We should return. We don't want to keep the other delegates waiting."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sarilian nodded. Before Malorg could leave, however, he jutted out his hand. "Truce?"

Malorg eyed the offered hand for a long moment before grasping it in a firm grip. Sarilian shivered at the icy touch. "Truce," Malorg agreed, his face unreadable once more. "For the good of the Accords."

They shook, Malorg maintaining his hold a second more than necessary before starting down the hall. Sarilian trailed after, his emotions a jumbled mess as he stared at Malorg's back. For the first time since returning to Twilight, however, he found himself genuinely hopeful for whatever the future had to offer.