19. Malorg

nineteen

Malorg

Until we meet again.

In the days that followed, those four little words ricocheted around Malorg's head like shrapnel, lodging in his skull and refusing to budge. An image of Sarilian, with his dull glow and concerned golden eyes, accompanied them.

Malorg didn't think he'd imagined the tension buzzing between them, nor the open longing on Sarilian's face. Perhaps the Celestial yearned as he did for their lost connection.

Not that it mattered. Pelorak's threats aside, Malorg found that now that he'd fully committed to the Accords, it didn't take long for him to become invested in their outcome. In the dream he'd thought long since abandoned of standing united against the Void. Seeking a relationship with Sarilian beyond their official capacity as emissaries risked everything they hoped to achieve.

Besides, Malorg held no illusions. Pursuing whatever feelings still lay between them would only lead to more heartbreak. Sarilian had walked away from him once before for what he saw as his duty. When the Accords concluded and he no longer had an excuse to be here, he'd do so again.

That's why Malorg made a valiant attempt to keep his distance over the course of their subsequent meetings. He stuck to their agreed talking points, throwing himself into the details that accompanied forging an alliance. He avoided inappropriate looks and strove to keep his voice neutrally cordial. He waited in the conference room after each session until he was certain the Celestial delegation had departed to avoid any more accidental run-ins.

It wasn't working.

Sarilian shone like a beacon at the far end of the table, constantly drawing Malorg's eye. Even while discussing the driest of topics such as the construction of infrastructure to quicken transport between Daybreak and Twilight, their gazes would meet and linger a hair too long, full of hidden meaning. Every twitch of Sarilian's lips or subtle shift of his shoulders sent a wave of warmth fluttering through Malorg. He'd never been so painfully aware of another living being—not even Uryqh.

Though memories of Uryqh still haunted him, working on the Accords helped. Perhaps Sarilian's presence eased some of his lingering ache. Or perhaps it was knowing he was finally doing something about it. With the creation of this new Covenant, he could at last right that old wrong and make Uryqh's unwitting sacrifice mean something. Give his loss purpose.

Planning for the Accords occupied Malorg's every spare moment, and it wasn't until a passing comment by Pelorak during one of their routine check-ins that he realized it had been months since his last battle with a voidspawn—not since his encounter with those three raw recruits. That old itch that had compelled him to drive himself ever closer to the jaws of oblivion had eased. For now, at least, he'd achieved a tentative peace.

The one exception was the Aspect of Ambition himself. Pelorak had seemed pleased when Malorg informed him that he'd stopped the Dawn Council from walking away. Yet since then, Pelorak had stubbornly dug in his heels on every decision Malorg brought to him for approval.

There was always some fresh concern or alternate position Pelorak claimed the Dusk Council demanded. Getting him to sign off on even the simplest of terms felt like enduring another bout with the void god that had given Malorg his scar.

"The voidspawn are a threat, yes," Pelorak had insisted when Malorg grew frustrated enough to call him on his obstructionism. "But so are the Celestials. It would not do to trade one for the other."

"But this is our best chance to adjust the Covenant in millennia!"

Pelorak had merely shrugged, an infuriating smirk playing over his lips. "All the more reason to ensure we get it right and end the negotiations with favorable terms."

Though the Aspect's obstinacy infuriated Malorg, he didn't mind the delays as much as he probably should. The longer the Accords dragged on, the more time he got to spend with Sarilian. And he was beginning to think that there was no more precious a commodity.

After another successful meeting hashing out possible avenues for exchanging goods between the Dawnlands and Dusklands—made surprisingly difficult by the Celestials' current lack of an actual economy—Malorg lingered in the conference room as he usually did to wait for the Celestial delegation to depart. He spent the minutes perusing his notes, jotting down reminders of points to raise during their next discussion.

Once enough time had passed, he rose, stretched, and exited into the hall…only to come up short when he found Sarilian waiting there. Alone.

Sarilian's eyes lit up. "I have time before our scheduled pickup. I was hoping to talk to you."

Malorg glanced past Sarilian down the otherwise empty hall. His skin prickled uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I have an appointment. Perhaps another time."

He went to move past Sarilian, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Sarilian's touch sent blazing heat coursing through him as if shocking his ashen skin back to life.

Malorg could have broken the grip easily either via force or by slipping into the shadows. But he didn't. Instead, it was Sarilian who dropped his hand and stepped back, appearing flustered.

"A-apologies, Emissary. I don't mean to be presumptuous. I simply hoped we might, um, continue our earlier discussions in a more intimate setting." His eyes widened. "That is, er, in private. A private setting. With fewer prying eyes and ears."

He winced, and Malorg's lips twitched. He glanced again down the hall, then back to Sarilian, hesitating. Something settled in his chest as he made his choice. Not that it was much of a choice at all. A single fleeting touch from Sarilian had been all it took to crumble his resolve.

"I suppose I can spare a few moments. To talk about the Covenant."

He made sure to stress the last word, and Sarilian nodded quickly. "Of course. Thank you."

Expelling his breath in a sigh, Malorg started to turn to the conference room, then paused, reconsidering. He wouldn't put it past Pelorak to have enchantments in place to spy on their discussions. Better to go somewhere more private.

But where? The alcove they'd used before to speak was too out in the open, and there was no way he was bringing Sarilian back to his quarters. Even if they had enough time to make the trip, that had terrible idea written all over it.

Instead, he beckoned for Sarilian to follow and started down the hall. It had been a while since he'd spent much time exploring the Dusk Citadel, but if he recalled the layout, there should be plenty of spare chambers on this level.

Sure enough, it didn't take long to find a small sitting room not currently in use. Gray duskflame offered the illusion that they stood atop a mountain peak, snow flurries tumbling down around them.

Even with his weak Celestial eyes, Sarilian must have been able to catch some of the effect because his breath caught. "Incredible."

Before he could second-guess himself, Malorg stepped forward and pressed a hand to Sarilian's chest. The darkvision enchantment took easily—almost too easily. Frowning, he studied Sarilian.

"Your body bears unusual traces of duskflame. Perhaps you linger here too long."

Sarilian shrugged as he slid into a chair. A faint shiver rattled his spine at the duskflame's touch. "Isn't that why you've fought so hard for greater Celestial exposure to the Dusklands? Seems to me like it's working as intended." His eyes roved hungrily over the room as if devouring everything he saw. "With any luck, I'll pick up some innate darkvision of my own."

His gaze settled on Malorg, and he smiled. "Besides, it's not like I haven't spent plenty of time in the Dusklands before. A bit more exposure won't hurt me."

Malorg looked away. Too restless to sit, he paced to a corner and crossed his arms. "So, you said you had business to discuss?"

Sarilian's smile faded as he gave a curt nod. "Nothing in particular. But I thought it might be easier to iron out some of the issues that keep coming up without so many other prying eyes and ears on us. You know, less theater, more progress." Humor danced in his gilded eyes. "For instance, in here, I don't have to worry about offending anyone when I tell you that your last proposal was the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

The comment elicited a surprised bark of laughter from Malorg. "Oh? And what about your restrictions on duskwalking within the Dawnlands?"

"Those have very real practical implications to avoid burnout!"

Malorg snorted. "Perhaps if they constituted reasonable guidelines. But a near-total ban? That signifies a deep-seated Celestial prejudice against Infernal magic. Many mortals may wrongfully decry it as evil, but you should know better."

Sarilian made a calming gesture as he chuckled. "Fair point. I suspected that one wouldn't fly. But Darius insisted I raise it as a discussion point, so here we are." His eyebrows lifted. "At least I don't keep backpedaling on issues we've already settled."

Remembering his latest meeting with Pelorak, Malorg scowled. "Not my doing, I assure you. Pelorak is being even more stubborn than usual. It's as if he cares more about the concept of peace than actually achieving it. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all some political ploy to him—a way to enhance his position or weaken that of his enemies."

Sarilian wrinkled his nose as if he'd tasted something sour. "I'll never understand the Infernal propensity for lying and backstabbing. What's the point of personal advancement if the rest of reality burns in the process when voidspawn break past your lines?"

A retort hovered on Malorg's lips about Sarilian's own questionable decisions, but he held it back. That was his wounded heart talking, nothing more. Sarilian owed him nothing beyond what he had already given. It was important Malorg remembered that.

Instead, Malorg steered the conversation back toward the Covenant itself. They only chatted a few minutes more before Sarilian departed with a sigh, saying he had to hurry if he wanted to catch the rest of his delegation at their temporary waypoint.

As Malorg watched him retreat down the hall, navigating easily with his darkvision still in place, he had to admit Sarilian had been right: talking without all the pomp and circumstance had been both refreshing and productive. Five minutes in that sitting room had accomplished the equivalent of an hour of formal discussion.

Why, it would be inefficient and downright irresponsible not to take advantage of such an opportunity in the future.

That was what Malorg told himself over the next few weeks as he and Sarilian turned their after-meeting chats into a regular habit. Dark only knew how Sarilian explained his absences to his comrades. Malorg had caught the Aspect of Justice giving them appraising looks that made his skin crawl. Still, it seemed better not to ask and risk spooking Sarilian into bringing their discussions to an end.

At first, they dutifully stuck to the agenda, using the extra time to iron out thorny issues left over from their regular meetings. But as time went on, they began to go off-script with increasing regularity. Sarilian told stories about his past year—the training he'd performed, the battles he'd won, the good he'd accomplished.

Malorg, for his part, focused more on Twilight than on himself. What was there to tell about his endless voidspawn hunts and the countless times he'd stumbled back to his quarters to collapse near death?

Sarilian wasn't stupid, and Malorg could tell that he guessed at least some of what Malorg refused to say. Still, he was grateful that the Celestial never pressed.

Those unofficial meetings began to feel almost like the easy camaraderie they'd had before. Almost…but not quite.

There remained a wall neither of them dared breech: certain topics that stayed off-limits. The rift into the Shroud. Their past entanglement. The fleeting touches or lingering looks they sometimes shared. It was exhilarating yet terrifying to have Sarilian so close while remaining tantalizingly out of reach—as if they danced ever closer to a precipice, one Malorg wasn't sure they'd be able to come back from if they leaped.

"I don't think I have it in me to discuss any more politics today," Sarilian groaned, covering his eyes with his hand as he sank back in his chair.

As usual, they'd retreated to the sitting room atop the clouds after their official meeting. Malorg liked the way the mountainous landscape made everything else seem so distant, as if they were the only two beings left in existence.

"Agreed."

Today had been a particularly exhausting back and forth over one of their earliest sticking points: the border. The original Covenant decreed that the border would adjust based on the relative strength of each side. Thus, neither the Celestials nor Infernals would ever possess too few troops to defend their territory from Void incursions.

The Celestials were perfectly content with this arrangement—they consistently brought in more souls, so their territory had expanded over the centuries until fully three-quarters of the Immortal Realm belonged to them. The Infernals, however, sought to permanently set the border at a 50-50 split, arguing smaller borders meant weaker magic.

Thus far, both councils had refused to budge, and despite their best efforts, Sarilian and Malorg had failed to devise an adequate compromise. Their latest attempt, a 60-40 split in favor of the Celestials, had been shot down by Pelorak earlier in the week.

Malorg had believed it a fair bargain—a way to expand their current borders and stop any future losses. So what if it gave the Celestials greater space? They'd already be sacrificing far more than the Infernals in any kind of partnership. But, as always, his points had been overruled.

He hesitated, biting his lip as he snuck a covert glance at Sarilian slumped in his seat. "If you'd prefer to depart early today, I understand."

"No!" Sarilian sat up a touch too quickly, giving Malorg a crooked grin. "The others are so used to me taking my time, it would throw off their schedules if I showed up now."

Malorg chuckled. "Indeed."

Silence stretched between them, uncertain at first before gradually veering toward awkward.

Usually, this was when Sarilian would chime in with some enthusiastic recounting of his latest patrol, but the Celestial didn't look any more up for talking right now than Malorg felt. Malorg swallowed down an uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach as his traitorous mind turned to other ways they might occupy their time together.

Striving to keep his voice casual, he cleared his throat. "If not politics, then perhaps another topic? You never seem to exhaust your questions about the Dusklands, no matter how much time you spend here."

Sarilian flashed a tired grin. "What can I say? I have an interest in the corrupt and wicked." His grin faded, and he sighed, reaching up to trace the enchanted vista painted along the wall. "To be honest, I'm sick of being cooped up in the Dusk Citadel. We're not permitted to deviate from our assigned route. I miss exploring the city with you, taking in the sights."

Concern rippled through Malorg. Sarilian wasn't suggesting that he planned to sneak out into Twilight, was he? There were far too many ways for that to go horribly awry.

"Don't worry," Sarilian said when he caught Malorg's expression. "I'm not asking for another grand tour. I know the risks are too great." He gave another forlorn sigh as he dropped his hand. "Still, I wish I could see more than the same sets of walls, just once."

Malorg studied the wistful look on Sarilian's face, self-preservation warring with his desire to do whatever it took to make the Celestial happy regardless of the cost.

In the end, it was no real contest. With Sarilian, it never was.

Malorg held out a hand for the Celestial to take. "Come with me."