21. Sarilian

twenty-one

Sarilian

So much for all their progress.

After the abrupt, disappointing end to his trip with Malorg to the top of the Dusk Citadel, Sarilian had braced himself for Malorg to pull away again. When his mind wasn't clouded by lust, Sarilian even agreed that they were better off sticking to their professional boundaries, at least so long as they remained their peoples' emissaries. Once that duty was done, however…

An electrifying thrill set his skin alight whenever he allowed himself to consider a potential future with Malorg. Perhaps Sarilian could balance both parts of himself, honoring the Covenant while still nurturing his connection to Malorg. He just needed to survive these negotiations and prove that he wouldn't walk away again the instant the Accords concluded.

But when Sarilian arrived at their next meeting, the Malorg of the past few months had vanished. In his place was the empty shell Malorg had been when the Accords first began.

Sarilian's heart sank as Malorg brought the meeting to a curt opening. He tried to remain hopeful. Maybe Malorg needed time to work out this latest tension between them.

Yet, if anything, Malorg only grew worse as the meeting continued. Gone were the slight smiles and shared looks. Polite banter drowned beneath strict formality, and each passing comment devolved into a bitter argument.

Halfway through their allotted time, Sarilian caught Darius' exasperated expression. He hoped his own face was doing a better job hiding his irritation.

Clearly, that kiss on the rooftop had affected Malorg even more than Sarilian had feared. Merciful Light, Sarilian should have known better than to give in to his attraction. That brief moment of weakness had only made things that much more difficult for both of them.

When the meeting concluded, Malorg didn't wait around, rushing out of his seat and into the hall before Sarilian had even stood from his chair. Sarilian darted ahead of the rest of his delegation, desperate to catch him. But by the time he reached the hall, Malorg was already a blur of shadow vanishing around the corner.

Sarilian let out an annoyed huff. He considered pursuing, but he'd never be able to catch Malorg if he didn't want to be found. Instead, he waited impatiently for the other delegates to catch up.

"Yet another waste of time," Faeris sighed with an annoyed shake of her head. "So much for negotiating with these stubborn Infernals."

For once, Sarilian didn't bother defending Malorg. She was right. They should be past such pointless antics. Frustration boiled his insides, both at himself for allowing a kiss that risked ruining everything and at Malorg for going back on his word to take the Accords seriously.

"Perhaps things will be better next week," Darius said, glancing at Sarilian with what might have been sympathy. "Come—let us return to Daybreak."

Still grumbling among themselves, the delegation proceeded down the hall. Sarilian started after them before hesitating.

Darius noticed his absence first. "Everything all right, Sarilian?"

Usually, this was when Sarilian would retreat with Malorg to their private sitting room. While it seemed like a long shot after that disastrous meeting, he held out the faintest thread of hope he'd find Malorg waiting for him there.

"Everything's fine. There's just something I want to look into. I'll be along to the waypoint shortly—no need to wait for me."

Faeris shook her head. "I can't imagine why you'd want to spend an instant longer in this dreadful place than you have to."

Darius arched a brow, narrowing his eyes at Sarilian. "I know you're committed to these talks, Emissary, but there's only so much you can do to force Infernals to see reason. Perhaps you should save your efforts for our next session?"

Despite his discomfort at the Aspect's scrutiny, Sarilian stood his ground. "As always, I appreciate your advice, sir. But this is something I have to do. Trust me."

Darius gave him a long, searching look—the kind that never failed to make Sarilian squirm like an impetuous child. At last, he nodded. "Very well. Take care."

The Aspect's vaguely ominous parting words echoed in Sarilian's head as he did his best to navigate to their usual sitting room in the dim light without a guide. Eventually, he found the place, but there was no sign of Malorg within the mountaintop refuge.

Sarilian had expected no less. Still, he couldn't completely muffle his disappointment.

Remembering their shared moment atop the Citadel, that disappointment morphed into anger. He and Malorg might not be lovers anymore, but he'd thought they were tentatively finding their way back to friends. Malorg owed him better than this. Merciful Light, he owed his people better than to selfishly abandon the Accords, throwing away their progress on a whim.

So, what am I going to do about it?

The easiest option would be to do as Darius suggested—meet up with his delegation, return to Daybreak, and try to speak with Malorg again next week. However, that seemed destined to accomplish little. What was to stop Malorg from pulling this same vanishing routine indefinitely?

Sarilian could confront him in public and deprive Malorg of that chance. But he didn't dare risk exposing why this tension lay between them. No, what he needed was some other way to reach Malorg in private—one the Infernal couldn't simply retreat from.

Slowly, his gaze focused on the door leading out of the sitting room, a crazy plan percolating. If Malorg had fled the Citadel, the most obvious place for him to go would be his apartment in Twilight. Sarilian could exit the Dusk Citadel easily enough—the guards were used to the Celestial delegates by now, barely even bothering to sneer. But the instant he tried to deviate from his prescribed route to venture into the city, he'd be spotted.

Unless…unless he didn't look like a Celestial.

His magic might not be as good at forming illusions as Malorg's, but what was an illusion if not a certain bending of light? He'd watched Malorg disguise him as an Infernal countless times. Could he replicate some version of that enchantment with dawnflame instead of duskflame?

The answer, much to Sarilian's chagrin, was a resounding no . Perhaps if he'd been in the Dawnlands, his magic at full strength, he'd have had more luck. As it was, however, the spell collapsed before he could finish weaving it. So much for his daring plan.

He moved toward the door, ready to give up and rendezvous with Darius and the others, when he suddenly recalled the walls in that tower. Unlike other duskflame enchantments he'd seen, the walls hadn't changed color or adopted a fluctuating pattern—they'd gone completely transparent despite remaining solid. A faint flush shivered down his spine at the memory of Malorg shoving him against one, proving as much.

Such a uniform change seemed simpler than maintaining a complex disguise. Could his dawnflame manage that feat more readily?

After a good deal of trial and error, triumph surged through him when he held up a hand rendered nearly imperceptible as light bent around it. The enchantment was more akin to camouflage than pure invisibility, but so long as he avoided places where he'd stand out too much, he should be able to blend in with his surroundings.

He thought of Darius and gave a nervous chuckle. Merciful Light, what would his mentor say if he could see Sarilian now? Somehow, he doubted the Aspect of Justice would approve of how Sarilian was putting his lessons to use. Trickery and deception were supposed to be the domain of the Infernals, not a self-respecting Celestial warrior.

Perhaps it's past time Celestials and Infernals alike learned from each other's strengths.

Canceling his dawnflame torch plunged him into utter darkness. Malorg must have been onto something about Sarilian acclimating to the Dusklands, though, because he found he could see better than he'd expected—well enough to avoid stumbling into anything, at least.

He crept out of the sitting room, relieved to find no Infernals outside who might wonder at a door opening on its own. Then, he set off down the corridor, retracing his usual route. He passed several guards along the way, tensing each time he neared. Yet none of them appeared to notice him, their eyes gliding right past where he stood.

So far, so good.

He took a moment to steady himself once he reached the base of the Dusk Citadel, staring out at the vaguely familiar streets stretching around him. Only now was it sinking in how insane this was—how serious of a diplomatic incident he might cause should a passing Infernal detect a hidden Celestial sneaking about their city.

Several deep breaths helped, as did reminding himself why he was doing this. A candid conversation with Malorg might be precisely what they needed to salvage the Accords. He just needed to make certain he didn't get caught.

As he set off, he sent a quick prayer to the Light that he could still find Malorg's apartment in all this mess. He thought he recalled the general vicinity, but Twilight's streets were the same esoteric labyrinth as ever, and this time, he didn't have an Infernal to duskwalk with him whenever a passage grew too tight to navigate.

It took him several anxious hours to reach the right spot—long enough that his makeshift disguise had begun to flicker, his dawnflame reserve near dry. No matter how acclimated he'd grown to the Dusklands, this wasn't his domain, and his magic knew it.

Several times, he came close to discovery and had to improvise, using his dawnflame to create dancing lights that drew curious Infernal eyes away from him so he could slip past.

Hopefully, Malorg doesn't kick me out without at least listening to what I have to say . I'm not sure I can make it back to the waypoint without his help.

Sarilian squared his shoulders, fighting down a tremor of nerves as he navigated through Malorg's building. Whatever the consequences of his actions, he'd meet them head on and hope for the best. Gathering his resolve, he gave a firm rap on Malorg's door.

As seconds turned into minutes, his determination fizzled. He'd assumed Malorg would come here, but the truth was, he barely knew Malorg anymore. He had no idea where the Infernal would go to let off steam. Perhaps the Market or Gallery. Or straight into the arms of some new lover.

Clenching his jaw, he pounded again on the door. Light take his fear and his doubt! No matter what happened, this time he wasn't going to run or retreat. He owed it to their bond—and to the Accords—to get to the bottom of what was going on and see if he could salvage whatever lay broken between them.

Surprise gripped him when his knuckles hit empty air instead of the shadowy door. He stumbled forward, thrown off-balance. A familiar cold hand caught his chest, propping him upright. He met Malorg's wide eyes and saw confusion flickering there, along with buried longing.

For a fleeting instant, Malorg's fingers seemed to clutch at him as if for purchase. Then, Malorg's expression shuttered.

Duskflame surged into Sarilian. A rippling tingle he'd never felt before crept up his spine, and he shivered at the odd sensation. The more familiar darkvision enchantment followed a beat later.

What the Light was that?

Before Sarilian could inquire, Malorg stepped back, releasing his grip. "Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice hard.

All thoughts of the strange magic fled. "To see you . I should think that obvious."

He shoved past Malorg into the apartment, heart skipping a beat at the familiar surroundings. As far as he could tell, Malorg hadn't changed a thing since the last time he'd been here. All the assorted knick-knacks Sarilian had forced upon him still perched in their proper places.

A bit of his frustration melted when his eyes landed on the small Celestial statue. The thing was utterly ridiculous—a mortal's conception of a Celestial, forged from Infernal duskflame—but he couldn't help thinking of it as a tiny piece of himself left in Malorg's keeping.

Malorg traced his gaze to the statue and scowled. He shut the door and loomed in front of it, arms crossed. "You shouldn't be here. You need to leave. Now."

Everything from Malorg's expression to his posture screamed danger. Yet though Sarilian knew Malorg was perfectly capable of slaying him, he didn't feel a single drop of fear. Indeed, this was the safest he'd felt since arriving in Twilight, alone here with Malorg in this place where they'd shared so many joyous hours.

A faint flush spread through him as he pointedly avoided looking toward the piled pillows. "Not until I get some answers. What was up with you today during our meeting? You were acting like you did before—like you don't want there to be peace between our peoples."

Malorg glanced away, his body somehow tensing still further. "Of course, I want peace. That's all I've ever wanted—to make a difference instead of living and dying as another cog in an infinite war machine created by ancient mages long since turned to dust."

Sarilian took a step toward Malorg, halting when Malorg's eyes flashed a warning. Relenting, he held up his hands imploringly. "Then, why try to sabotage all the progress we've made? Why…?"

Against his will, his gaze strayed back to the piled cushions. Memories flickered before his eyes of the myriad hours they'd passed there. Not just those spent exploring each other's bodies, but all the soft, quiet moments as well. It was that intimacy he cherished most in retrospect, lost now to the seemingly unbridgeable distance between them.

Hesitantly, he said, "If this has anything to do with what happened on the tower, I'm sorry. I…I shouldn't have—"

"Don't," Malorg said, his voice harsh with pent-up emotion Sarilian didn't understand. His hands balled into fists flickering with duskflame. "What's between us has nothing to do with this."

Confusion wrinkled Sarilian's brow. "But your reaction on the tower…and then in the meeting today—"

Something that might've been guilt flickered in Malorg's gray eyes. "I apologize for today. I had a lot on my mind. It won't happen again."

Sarilian studied Malorg's face, nothing the way Malorg avoided his gaze. There was more he wasn't saying. Sarilian's heart squeezed in his chest, his throat too tight.

"If my presence here is too much for you, I can resign my post—convince the Dawn Council to appoint a new emissary. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or drive you to regret what we once had any more than you already do."

Malorg's conflicted gaze flashed back to Sarilian's face. The Infernal's mask had shattered, leaving his expression torn open like a gushing wound. The pain in Sarilian's gut squeezed even tighter.

He really does want me to leave—or at least, part of him does.

"Don't ever regret anything between us." Malorg's voice was firm, almost desperate. "I certainly don't."

Sarilian yearned to believe him, but Malorg's words from the tower (This is a mistake) rattled around his skull like chains, holding him back.

"How can you not?" Sarilian whispered. Shame curled through him. "I promised you hope when we first met, but all I've done is make your life harder."

Malorg shook his head, his breathing growing ragged. "No! That's not—"

"You asked me before why I left?" Sarilian stared at a tapestry hung on the wall. It depicted a seascape in shifting waves of gray: a boat alone on the ocean, struggling not to be swept under by a raging storm. Sarilian empathized. "I told myself that walking away was for the best—that a clean break would spare us more pain in the long run. But the truth is, I was being selfish. I was scared that, if I didn't stay away, I would end up forsaking my duty and give in to temptation. Give in to you."

"And now?" Malorg asked softly. A step closer left him near enough that Sarilian felt the faint chill emanating from him. If he stretched out a hand, he could touch him.

"I don't know."

The confession came out almost pleading. Sarilian shuddered, his thoughts and emotions both a confused jumble. He needed to focus. He'd come here to salvage the Accords, nothing more. Yet, frozen in the icy embrace of Malorg's presence, the rest of the world shrank away into meaningless obscurity.

This is why you're really here, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his head. This is exactly what you hoped would happen.

Was it? It both thrilled and terrified Sarilian to realize that he didn't know.

Their breaths came in quick bursts. Sarilian saw his own uncertainty and yearning mirrored in the roiling tension consuming Malorg. The Infernal made no move to step closer, but nor did he pull away. Does he feel as powerless in this moment as I do?

"I thought you didn't care," Malorg admitted. His voice trembled. "That it was easier for you to walk away than it would have been for me."

Shock rippled through Sarilian. "It was the hardest thing I've had to do since I arrived in the Immortal Realm. A part of me wanted to take your hand and leap through that rift with you, regardless of the consequences." He hesitated. "A part of me still does."

Malorg's body shook. Gone was the dangerous Infernal warrior, the feared slayer of voidspawn. In his place stood a lost soul desperate to hope but no longer knowing how.

"Go or stay, I'd do anything if it meant being with you." Raw truth rang in Malorg's words, carving out a hole in Sarilian's heart and lodging there like an intractable splinter.

Sarilian didn't know which of them moved first, but suddenly, the last few paces between them had evaporated. Sarilian's world constricted to their intertwined bodies. Hands scrambled to touch. Lips sought to press. The only sounds were their shared moans and mingled sighs. It was that moment on the tower again only amplified from a fire to an inferno, a storm to a hurricane, because this time, they both knew there was no stopping it.

If their love consumed them in fire and ice, then they'd gladly leap together into that glacial conflagration, hands clasped and heads held high.

"There's been no one else but you," Malorg said in-between bouts of kisses as he steered Sarilian toward the pillows.

It took Sarilian's preoccupied mind a few seconds to process the words. When he did, he pulled back, fixing Malorg with an amused smirk. "Is that your oh-so-subtle way of asking me if I've taken other lovers this past year?"

From the way Malorg's expression clouded, his lips firming, Sarilian took that as a yes . Chuckling, he nipped at Malorg's earlobe, eliciting a groan. "Even if I had, there'd be no comparison." He waited a few heartbeats to let Malorg stew, his hands gripping Malorg's lean waist, before adding, "Though, for the record, there's been no one else for me either."

Malorg relaxed slightly, and Sarilian found himself amused instead of irritated by Malorg's possessive jealousy. It made him feel needed in a way different from the rest of his responsibilities—because of who he was rather than what he could do.

"No matter what happens, I'll never walk away again," he whispered into Malorg's ear. His hands crept lower, making Malorg moan and arch his back. "I promise."

As they collapsed onto the pillows, allowing their garments to fade so that nothing stood between them and their passion, Sarilian couldn't deny that he needed Malorg just as desperately as Malorg seemed to need him. And for the first time since his arrival in the Dawnlands, he wondered if he might've found something more important to him than the Covenant itself.