18. Sarilian

eighteen

Sarilian

Sarilian entered the conference room cautiously optimistic for the first time since the Accords had begun. While the meeting last week hadn't led to any grand decisions, it had seemed a step in the right direction. Even Darius and Faeris had admitted as much during their return trip to Daybreak. If he and Malorg could build upon that rapport today, they had a genuine chance at real progress.

As he settled into his seat, studying Malorg and the other Infernal delegates across the table, he strove to temper his expectations. One cordial encounter didn't mean that the lingering tension between him and Malorg had been resolved or that any goodwill would last. Best to be prepared for anything.

Malorg glanced up, a furrow gouging his brow like a shadowed vale as their eyes met. Sarilian muffled a sudden urge to press the lines away with his fingertips.

"Good," Malorg said. "You've arrived. I thought we'd begin today by revisiting our discussion from two weeks ago."

Sarilian blinked once. Twice. To his left, Faeris seemed ready for a repeat of the past couple weeks, her posture resigned. Darius, however, gave Malorg a considering look. He must have sensed the same change I did.

Even more than last time, Malorg seemed engaged, his face eager rather than an emotionless mask. A faint flicker of hope coiled through Sarilian. Maybe the change he'd witnessed in Malorg last week wouldn't prove as fleeting as he'd feared.

Still, Sarilian kept his face carefully polite, his voice neutral as he said, "As I recall, two sessions ago we had a mild disagreement over how to handle Celestials assisting with patrols in the Dusklands." When Malorg gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, Sarilian continued, his voice gaining a cautious edge. "While I'm happy to revisit the subject, I stand by what I said. Despite my careless choice of words, the strain of remaining within the Dusklands for an extended period cannot be ignored. Any arrangement would need to account for this."

"I agree. That is why I propose that joint squads comprised of Celestials and Infernals split their patrols between the Dawnlands and Dusklands. That should allow both sides an opportunity to recharge their magic as well as offset any potential discomfort."

Time seemed to stand still, a lengthy pause stretching between them as a hush fell over the chamber. That was a far more reasonable response than any Malorg had given in the past. Though, it still left Sarilian with questions.

"You would permit Infernals to patrol in the Dawnlands?" he asked, recovering.

"I would." A faint grin passed over Malorg's pallid face, barely more than a quirk of his lips. "Let both our kind suffer the other's corruption in equal measure."

Had that been a joke? Sarilian was pretty sure it had, or at least an attempt at one. He felt like he'd stumbled into an alternate dimension. Where was the bitter, jaded Infernal of the past month? The one who could barely look at him without wanting to pick a fight? Polite discourse was one thing, but this Malorg seemed like an entirely different person.

I suppose we needed that conversation even more desperately than I thought.

Whatever the source of Malorg's good cheer, Sarilian would gladly take advantage of it as long as it lasted. "That does indeed seem fair." He hesitated, wary for the other shoe to drop or for the trap to reveal itself. "Half of a patrol cycle spent in each?"

Malorg frowned. "Given the current voidspawn threat to the Dusklands, it seems as if the greater portion of the patrol should be spent there."

Ah, here we go . With an internal sigh, Sarilian braced himself for a fight. "And yet, a greater portion of our soldiers will comprise each squad. They'll require adequate time to recharge their dawnflame, especially if they are to bear the brunt of the fighting."

Fresh surprise thrummed through him when Malorg didn't instantly object. Instead, the Infernal tapped a finger against his chin, seeming to consider. Sarilian found his gaze glued to that little digit, an unwelcome jolt zinging across his skin.

"Fair," Malorg said. Another hint of a smile, there and then gone in an instant. "I'm pleased to hear you are so amenable to our earlier proposal concerning joint squads. We'll need to iron out the precise ratio of Celestials to Infernals later. However, your current point about a greater Celestial presence required in the Dusklands only strengthens the need for them to spend more time here to better acclimate to our magic."

Beside Sarilian, Faeris scoffed. "As if any servant of the Light could ever feel comfortable in this accursed Dark."

Merciful Light! Sarilian winced, readying himself for Malorg to shut down or retaliate.

Malorg did neither, glancing at Faeris and raising an eyebrow. "But you do."

Faeris' eyes narrowed to slits. "Impossible!"

"Oh?" Malorg gave a pointed look to the air above Faeris' head. "Then tell me, where is your precious Light, Celestial?"

Faeris opened her mouth to retort, then slowly shut it.

He's right , Sarilian realized. Among the dozen Celestials in their delegation, only a handful of the guards had bothered conjuring orbs of dawnflame to guide their path, and they'd invested far less energy into those lanterns than the blazing balls of light they'd used upon their first visit.

No Celestial could ever fully adjust to life in the Dusklands—Sarilian was proof of that. But consistent, repeated exposure obviously made the oppressive darkness easier to bear.

An image came to him then: Celestials and Infernals moving freely between the Dawnlands and Dusklands. Celestials browsing Twilight's Market, perhaps even selling dawnflame goods of their own, while shifting duskflame murals adorned Daybreak's grand spires. Then, the vision progressed even further, to an Immortal Realm where there was no separation between Light and Dark—where all Immortals lived in united harmony.

Perhaps that had been the Progenitors' original vision before disagreements over how to fight the Void divided the Immortals, and the Covenant in its current form came to be. How different would the war against the voidspawn have progressed had those early Immortals found a way to resolve their issues and unified rather than separating?

No one could know. But perhaps it wasn't too late to find out.

Into the silence, Malorg spoke, his gaze returning to Sarilian. Something flickered behind his eyes that made Sarilian shiver as if a cool touch had brushed down his arm. "Surely, you of all people recognize the importance of braving the dark, honored Emissary?"

The words held a minor taunt, though Sarilian doubted any of the other delegates—save perhaps Darius—could tell. Sarilian struggled to keep his face impassive but couldn't stop the corner of his lip from twitching in amusement.

Perhaps Malorg's comment should have annoyed or even angered him, straying as close as it did to admitting dangerous truths. Instead, his nerves sparked at the acknowledgment, slight as it was, of their shared history.

Perhaps Malorg felt more than regret when he looked at Sarilian after all.

"I do," he said, holding Malorg's gaze. "Just as I am certain you recognize the importance of nurturing the light so that it doesn't flicker out when you allow it in."

It might've been his imagination, but Sarilian swore he caught a slight darkening of Malorg's eyes, an almost palpable hunger in their locked gaze. Something akin to a shared caress passed between them.

Malorg looked away first, clearing his throat. "Indeed. Let us discuss other matters…"

As the rest of their session progressed, for once Sarilian didn't feel the long, slow crawl of hours. Plenty of disagreements still arose, of course. Each of them had their own agendas dictated by their respective councils. But there were also moments of compromise that had been sorely lacking in their previous discussions.

By the end of the meeting, they had agreed on tentative terms for a joint taskforce intended to bolster the Infernals' lower numbers in defense of the Dusklands while also giving both sides a chance to fight together on a smaller scale. It was far from a finished revision to the Covenant. Nevertheless, if last week had been a kind of reset, this felt like the real start of the Accords.

Sarilian saw his own relief echoed on a few of the other Celestials' faces as he followed Darius into the hall. "Good enough for the Dawn Council?" he asked the Aspect.

"Good enough," Darius replied. He shook his head. "I'm not sure what changed, but if you can keep up this pace, you might actually have a chance at pulling these negotiations off."

Despite his slightly begrudging tone, Darius' praise washed over Sarilian. He straightened his back, feeling like he was glowing brighter despite the Dusklands' oppressive shadows. He moved to follow the rest of the delegation down the hall when he heard a call echo behind them.

"Sarilian!"

A quick glance back found Malorg standing there, watching him uncertainly. Ripples of duskflame across the Infernal's body implied uncharacteristic nerves.

Sarilian's heartbeat quickened. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing to Darius and Faeris. "I'll catch up."

Eager to depart, Faeris waved an acknowledging hand in his direction and kept walking. Darius, however, paused. The Aspect pursed his lips, considering Malorg before giving Sarilian a reluctant nod.

"Very well. But don't take too long. You wouldn't want to overstay your welcome…or to accidentally be left behind. Emissaries." With a slight bow of his head to each of them, Darius set off after the others.

Sarilian waited quietly beside Malorg, neither of them speaking, as the Celestial delegation vanished around a corner and was swallowed by the darkness. The other two Infernal delegates strode past, along with the Infernal guards. Then, he and Malorg were alone.

Sarilian's pulse thundered in his ears, tension wrapping around him like an ensnaring web. The silence stretched as they stood there looking at each other. They'd spent hours together these past weeks, but this was the first time he felt like he was really seeing Malorg since that initial meeting.

The Infernal had returned to his usual lightly armored tunic in lieu of his fancier attire. Without a darkvision enchantment, Sarilian could barely make out the tattooed lines on Malorg's skin, but he remembered how they used to shimmer and dance. He was so caught up in his examination that he jumped when Malorg spoke.

"I won't keep you long. I just wanted to apologize again. I know the past few sessions have been…difficult. But I meant what I said about a truce."

An amused snort escaped Sarilian's lips. "Difficult? They were a disaster. The Dawn Council has already discussed canceling the Accords."

Malorg fell silent.

More than ever, Sarilian longed to see his face. "Can you give me a darkvision enchantment?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

Even in the dim light, he caught the surprised shift in Malorg's posture. "Why?"

So that I can see your face properly. Embarrassment prickled his skin, and he went with a half-truth instead. "I miss seeing the Dusklands the way it's meant to be."

Malorg didn't immediately answer, and Sarilian chastised himself for making things awkward. The meeting had gone well today—better than he'd expected. The last thing he needed was to do anything that might disrupt that progress.

He opened his mouth to rescind his request, but before he could speak, Malorg glided forward and brushed a shadowed hand over his chest. The icy aura of Malorg's duskflame pierced Sarilian like an arrow through the heart. He sucked in a breath and leaned in, part of him desperate for more of Malorg's touch. But like a half-glimpsed shadow in flickering torchlight, Malorg had already retreated.

Sarilian blinked, and suddenly, he could see again. He took a moment to admire the hallway's stunning stonework and its intricate pattern of shifting lines that almost seemed to mimic the veins of a human body, pulsing to some unseen beat. Then, unable to put it off any longer, he slowly looked up at Malorg.

The sight sucked the air from his lungs. Merciful Light, Malorg was beautiful: a living statue carved from marble flecked with black and gray. From his sharp, angular jaw to his dark eyes and limber, dangerous body, everything about him called to Sarilian, achingly familiar yet painfully out of reach.

When only partially glimpsed in the darkness, Malorg had been alluring. Now, unveiled in all his glory, Sarilian found himself incapable of tearing his eyes away.

"Malorg." The word came out barely above a whisper. He hadn't meant to speak and hoped Malorg hadn't caught the half-moaned plea. From the way the Infernal's eyes darkened, however, raking over him from head to toe, Sarilian knew he had.

"We can't," Malorg said, taking a step back. Emotion twisted his voice.

Sarilian stepped forward, bridging the gap Malorg had opened. "I meant what I said before, too," he admitted, the confession tumbling out of him. "I'm sorry for how everything turned out. Sorry for staying away. Sorry for not choosing you."

Anguish and anger and regret all flickered over Malorg's face before his expression settled into a firm mask. He held a hand up to halt Sarilian's approach. "You owe me nothing. I never should have asked of you what I did. Besides, I didn't come here for you, nor you for me."

Malorg's words were like a douse of ice-cold water, freezing Sarilian in place. Merciful Light, Malorg was right. What was Sarilian doing? Nothing had changed between them. Sarilian had made his choice a year ago, putting his duty first. He'd make the same choice again now.

…Wouldn't he?

The electric tension between them snapped, and Sarilian turned away, inclining his head. "Thank you for indulging my request, Emissary. And for seeking common ground. I hope that our next meeting is equally productive."

Malorg's reply sounded almost choked. "As do I…Emissary. Until we meet again."

The familiar goodbye reverberated through Sarilian to the core of his being. He whirled, desperately seeking Malorg with his darkvision-enhanced eyes.

But the Infernal was already gone.