20. Malorg

twenty

Malorg

Malorg's pulse quickened as Sarilian stared at his proffered hand. A quiet wistfulness flickered in the Celestial's eyes, and Malorg wondered if his mind had returned to the same moment Malorg's had—to a similar gesture beneath the Dusklands' black-gray trees before their first journey to Twilight.

Would Sarilian make the same choice now?

Wordlessly, Sarilian rose and grasped Malorg's hand, his grip warm and firm. Malorg didn't give regret a chance to take hold. Dissolving them both into shadows, he flitted under the door, down the hall, and up a winding staircase.

A sharp pain sliced his heart as he recalled the last time he'd followed this route with Uryqh at his side. That had been mere days before their fateful trip to the Dawnlands that ended in ashen screams at the Blistering Fields.

Sarilian must have sensed Malorg's distress because, even while duskwalking, he felt the faint pressure of Sarilian's fingers squeeze his with a flash of searing heat. The contact helped ground him, keeping him focused on the here rather than the then .

They ascended higher, climbing one of the narrowing spires that comprised the Dusk Citadel's spiked crown until at last they reached its pinnacle. Only then did Malorg release his duskflame and return them from the shadows.

Sarilian staggered, clearly unused to duskwalking after so long. Malorg caught his arm, worried the Celestial might fall. Sarilian flashed him a wan smile.

"Not as bad as I remember. Merely unpleasant instead of downright terrifying."

Malorg chuckled dutifully, but most of his attention remained focused on Sarilian. Now that Sarilian mentioned it, shifting him had taken less effort than Malorg recalled. He quested out with his senses and once again detected the faintest hint of duskflame clinging to the Celestial, barely noticeable if you weren't searching for it.

"I think the duskflame in you is growing stronger." He fixed his gaze on Sarilian's face, carefully noting his expression. "You're certain you don't feel anything amiss—no ill effects or symptoms since you began coming here for the Accords?"

Sarilian frowned and shook his head. "As I said before, it's probably just my body acclimating to the Dusklands." He raised a mischievous eyebrow. "Though a certain Infernal's continuous use of magic on me might also have something to do with it."

Malorg scowled and let the topic go. He hadn't brought Sarilian all the way up here to fuss over him. Instead, he watched as Sarilian took in their new surroundings.

They stood in a cube of a room barely large enough for both of them to fit comfortably. The only door was the one they'd entered from, leading back down into the Citadel.

"Where are we?" Sarilian's eyes lingered on bare walls that lacked any of the Dusklands' usual shifting adornments. "Somewhat austere for Infernal tastes, isn't it?"

Instead of answering, Malorg sent his duskflame rippling out into the room to activate its enchantments. The walls instantly flickered and vanished. Though Malorg knew they were still there, they had become completely transparent. Sarilian drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening as he took in the revealed vista.

They stood at the top of the tallest spire in the Dusk Citadel. From here, the dome above Twilight seemed almost close enough to touch, the intricate detailing on its shifting surface fully revealed. The rest of the city extended below them in all its chaotic glory, interwoven lines of duskflame and blurred figures rendering a constant stream of motion.

"It's not much," Malorg said quietly. He stepped up beside Sarilian, their shoulders brushing. "But it's all I can give you."

"It's enough," Sarilian said, his voice breathless. His groping hand caught Malorg's again, and though he knew he shouldn't, Malorg held on.

Together, they gazed out over Twilight.

But while Sarilian took in the stunning view, Malorg found himself more entranced with the Celestial beside him, sneaking covert looks at Sarilian's awe-struck face. His breath caught when Sarilian abruptly turned his head, their eyes locking.

He swallowed. He should step back. Return them to the bowels of the Dusk Citadel and send Sarilian back to his own people. Instead, he leaned in, a shudder arcing through him as he imagined the decadent press of Sarilian's warm lips.

Then, he didn't need to imagine.

Sarilian kissed him with a desperate need that surpassed mere passion, seeming to savor every nip and lick and caress as if they were a healing balm he required to survive. A soft groan clawed its way out of Malorg as he pressed himself against Sarilian, frantic for more of the Celestial's touch, his heat—for more of him .

They stumbled back without breaking the kiss until Sarilian collided with an invisible wall. Propped against it, the backdrop of the city extending behind them, they almost appeared to be hovering in midair, held aloft by shadows. Not that Malorg needed this moment to be any more magical than it already was.

"I missed you," he heard himself say as if from a great distance.

Sarilian's bright gold eyes darkened to something closer to Malorg's own stormy gray. His arms snaked around Malorg's waist, holding him in place while he trailed light kisses down Malorg's neck that made Malorg moan and arch his back.

"So did I," he murmured.

Malorg raised a hand to trace the muscled ridges of Sarilian's chest. That's when he felt it again—that odd pulse of duskflame within the Celestial. The way it clung to him wasn't so different, really, from duskwalking or a darkvision enchantment. Despite its subtle nature, the weaves of magic felt almost… intentional.

That fledgling revelation proved enough to pop the fragile bubble of denial he'd been in. Eternal Dark, what am I doing? He dissolved into shadow and retreated as far as he could in the tight space.

A confused smile flashed over Sarilian's face. He started to step toward Malorg before catching Malorg's expression. His smile faded. "What's wrong?"

"This is a mistake." Malorg's mind reeled, still struggling to interpret what he'd sensed. "I…I shouldn't have brought you here. I'm not good for you."

"And yet, I came." Sarilian's hands opened and closed as though they yearned to reach for Malorg. "I want this just as much as you do."

"Then, why did you walk away?" Malorg regretted the words as soon as they'd escaped, but it was too late to take them back.

Appearing stricken, Sarilian bowed his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have."

The pained confession pierced Malorg more than any angry denial ever could. A part of him wanted to pretend this blip had never happened—to pick up right where they'd left off and lose himself in Sarilian again. But there was simply too much at stake.

Forget the risk of another broken heart—what about the success of the Accords themselves? If Malorg's budding suspicions about the source of the unexplained duskflame were correct, then the peace talks might be in greater jeopardy than he'd realized. He needed time to think, which was impossible with Sarilian standing there, staring at him with that raw mix of regret and hope.

He held out a hand, averting his eyes. "I'll take you to rejoin your people."

Sarilian didn't move. Malorg felt his resolve crumbling like the ancient ramparts of some decrepit keep. If Sarilian pushed him now, he didn't think he'd be able to resist, no matter how much he knew he should.

He wasn't certain whether to be relieved or disappointed when Sarilian finally stepped forward and took his hand without uttering a word.

The descent into the Dusk Citadel lasted an eternity. He deposited Sarilian near the conference room, muttering awkward pleasantries to talk again at the next summit before beating a hasty retreat. There was someone else he needed to see.

Pelorak's private chambers occupied an entire section of the Citadel, one of five devoted to the Dusk Aspects. Malorg had never visited them before the Accords, and though he'd been a handful of times since to offer his reports, striding past the sheer opulence on display left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. For all he'd defended the Infernal way of life to Sarilian upon their initial visit to Twilight, Pelorak's indulgent collection of exquisite statues, shimmering tapestries, and beautiful paintings stretched even Malorg's sensibilities.

Armored guards lurked in every corner, there to protect Pelorak's assets as well as the Aspect himself from anyone foolish enough to make a direct play against him. The guards didn't bother Malorg, allowing him to pass unimpeded once they recognized him. When he reached the closed door to Pelorak's office, he skipped knocking and duskwalked inside.

Pelorak sat behind a grand desk that took up a full quarter of the cavernous space. Though the surface directly in front of Pelorak retained the same steady shape, the rest of the desk appeared in near-constant flux, shifting between different animals and vistas at random while moving anything Pelorak needed so that it sat within easy reach.

The Aspect of Ambition glanced up sharply. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? How dare—" He cut off when he saw who it was. "Malorg. We don't have a meeting today, do we?"

"We do now."

Without waiting for an invitation, Malorg moved to sit in a chair before Pelorak's desk. Pelorak narrowed his eyes but didn't chide him. Instead, his expression shifted to an obsequious smile. "Of course. Whatever you need, old friend. Did something come up during your latest meeting?"

"In a manner of speaking." He took a deep breath. "What are you doing to the Celestial delegates?"

Pelorak paused. Slowly, he shoved aside what he'd been working on, clearing the space in front of him so he could steeple his fingers. "I don't know what you—"

"Let's skip the part where you deny it and I call you out. I don't have the patience. I've seen the duskflame on the delegates, and it has your fingerprints all over it."

Pelorak studied him for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. He shrugged, his thin lips turning up in an amused smirk. Malorg's jaw tightened. The Dark-cursed Infernal was threatening to ruin everything, and he had the gall to look pleased with himself.

"Fine. I've been using Sajix and Wiriv to implant a minor curse on the Celestial delegation. Nothing overtly harmful," he said when Malorg grimaced. "They may be our insufferable rivals, but that doesn't mean I want to see them fall to the Void. Consider it a… contingency."

"What kind of contingency?" Malorg's mind returned to Sarilian.

Being here had ensnared him in Infernal games, just as Malorg had feared. Yet another reason to keep him at arm's length, as far away from Malorg and Pelorak and the Dusklands as possible.

Pelorak dissolved into shadows. Malorg tensed, readying duskflame to shape into a blade. But Pelorak didn't move to attack. He reappeared across the room near one of the dozen tapestries draped along his office's walls.

No, not a tapestry , Malorg realized, sidling closer. A map of the Immortal Realm.

Pelorak stabbed a finger against the map. "Every year, the Celestials grow stronger while we weaken, their borders expanding along with their supply of souls. If we are to survive, to dominate as is our right, then we need to fight back."

"Isn't that the point of these Accords—to revise the Covenant on more favorable terms?"

Pelorak snorted, his eyes still riveted to the map. Malorg followed the Aspect's gaze and saw that the map didn't only show their borders, the Dusklands and Dawnlands outlined in black and white, respectively. It also conveyed the relative strength of each side. The Dawnlands blazed while the Dusklands…well, did not.

"Revising the Covenant is a lost cause. Even if we could convince those stubborn fools on the Dawn Council to part with their precious traditions, whatever we passed would represent little more than a stopgap." Pelorak's mouth twisted into a hateful sneer. Duskflame burned along his outstretched fingers as he clenched them into a fist. "Allowing Celestials free reign in our lands, relying on their compassion and mercy for our survival, means all but surrendering our way of life—permitting their naive ideals to corrupt and subvert our own. Such a compromise is utterly unacceptable."

For the second time in an hour, Malorg felt like he'd had the ground yanked out from under him. "But if you had no intention of honoring the Accords, then why—"

"Why call for them at all?" A coy smile returned to Pelorak's face as he unclenched his fist and tapped the Dusklands on the map. "Because, old friend, I have devised a method to equalize our strength more than any treaty ever could."

"Your curse," Malorg whispered with sudden understanding.

Pelorak nodded. "All but undetectable to the Celestials, it will allow us to spy on their operations, gather intelligence—even use them as a conduit to work our own magic at a distance." Pelorak let out a delighted chuckle that made Malorg's skin crawl. "Once established, the possibilities are limitless, from siphoning off a portion of their incoming souls, to subtly influencing the Dawn Council's decisions, to perhaps even gradually claiming portions of the Dawnlands itself! And since the enchantment is hidden within their own dawnflame…"

"It won't be stopped by the Dawnlands' influence," Malorg said, aghast. "That's why you've been so adamant about the Accords continuing. You don't care about their completion—in fact, you said yourself you don't want the Covenant to change. You just want to present an illusion of progress to keep the Celestials here long enough to finish implanting your curse."

Pelorak's black eyes sparkled with malicious mirth. "Precisely. The enchantment remains too weak in its current state to last. If we wish for it to serve as an indefinite conduit, we require more time to strengthen it. A few more months, a year at most, should suffice."

"But—what about the voidspawn? Your reports of increased activity, the impending invasion?" He read the answer in Pelorak's smirk. Eternal Dark, I'm a fool. "There is no invasion," he said slowly. "You invented the entire thing. Didn't you?"

Pelorak gave an unabashed shrug. "I needed bait to dangle before the Dawn Council—something that would appeal to their moral high-ground. Trust me, they have no intention of allowing a revised Covenant to go through either. But their consciences wouldn't allow them to reject us outright without at least pretending to extend an olive branch."

Malorg wanted to scream and shout. To rage or attack Pelorak. How dare the Aspect subvert the Covenant like this for his own selfish agenda. It was Infernals like him that gave them their vile reputation. But memories of that miasmic cloud Pelorak had used on him once before stayed his hand.

"This is not the way, Pelorak. The Celestials are not our enemies. You have forgotten your duty." Thoughts of Sarilian gnawed at his gut, but he soldiered on. "If this is what we have become, then perhaps we deserve to be wiped out."

There at last came Pelorak's vicious anger. Malorg hadn't even realized he'd been thrown until his back slammed against the far wall. Shadowy tendrils wove around him, binding him in place and squeezing his chest until he scrambled for breath, wheezing and hacking. An instant later, the tendrils vanished, dropping him to his hands and knees before Pelorak.

"It is not I who has forsaken their duty," Pelorak sneered. "Or have you already forgotten your intent to kill yourself? The hours upon hours you spent staring into your precious rift as if oblivion held the key to your salvation? You may be ready to take the coward's way out, but I intend to fight until my last gasping breath."

A lance of duskflame burst from Pelorak's palm, impaling the map of the Immortal Realm. The section depicting the Dawnlands withered until nothing but empty space remained. "Only the Infernals can drive back the Void and usher the Covenant to an end. Because unlike the Celestials with their lofty, useless ideals, we possess both the strength and the will to do whatever it takes to win. So, yes—if it means ensuring our victory, I would betray and sacrifice every last Celestial. Not all of us possess the same fondness for them you do."

Malorg forced his head up, glaring at Pelorak. "And if I refuse to continue the Accords? If I warn the Celestials about what you intend?"

To Malorg's surprise, Pelorak gave a genuinely amused laugh. Slipping back into the shadows, he emerged sitting in the chair behind his desk, the tension bleeding out of him. "Even you wouldn't dare. You might not care about your own fate, but think of the ramifications to our people if the Celestials learned the truth?"

Pelorak's grin gained a sinister edge, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Not to mention how it might affect your poor counterpart. I know how close you and the Dawn Emissary have grown. What was his name again? Jafav?" Malorg's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Sarilian's old alias. Pelorak clucked his tongue. "No, that wasn't it. Ah, yes!" He snapped his fingers. "Sarilian. Why, it would be such a shame if anything were to happen to him as a consequence of your hasty choices."

Pelorak met Malorg's gaze, his eyes dancing. In that moment, Malorg loathed his old friend more than he'd ever hated anyone or anything, even the Void itself.

"Then, I suppose it's a good thing I intend to continue the Accords," Malorg said stiffly. He stared at his feet, every muscle in his body taut with rage. "To avoid such an unfortunate outcome."

"Of course, you will." Pelorak's voice oozed false cheer. "I knew you'd do the right thing, old friend. Now, I really must get back to business. Until we meet again."

Malorg stumbled, almost losing his footing, at the Aspect's parting words. It took a colossal effort not to turn and give Pelorak the satisfaction of seeing the shame and anguish writ across his face. The instant he was beyond Pelorak's sight, he sagged against the nearest wall, gulping down deep breaths as he tried to still his pounding heart.

Pelorak knew . He knew everything. And if Malorg didn't continue to play along, it wouldn't only be him that suffered the Aspect of Ambition's wrath. Either he confessed the truth to Sarilian, destroying any hope of peace and placing Sarilian at risk of retribution…or he kept up this charade and helped turn Sarilian into an unwitting pawn against his own people.

Despair rippled through Malorg as he bowed his head. Either way, he had lost.