22. Malorg

twenty-two

Malorg

Malorg had left the meeting today barely able to contain his rage. Rage at Pelorak for his incessant scheming and for forcing him to become an unwilling participant. At Sarilian for his single-minded commitment to the Covenant that had left him vulnerable to such a ploy. At all the Immortals, past and present, that had created and fostered this divide between Infernals and Celestials in the first place.

But most of all, he was furious at himself for not immediately putting a stop to this farce.

He'd intended to tell Sarilian the truth despite Pelorak's warnings right up until the moment the Celestial delegation arrived. One look at Sarilian's hopeful face, however, had dispelled that notion.

How could he so utterly destroy Sarilian's faith in peace? Because Pelorak was right—if word of this betrayal got out, it would be generations before any Celestial trusted an Infernal again. Tensions would skyrocket. And Sarilian…

Fear had gripped Malorg, darker and more pervasive than any Dusklands shadow, at the thought of what Pelorak might do to Sarilian if Malorg stepped out of line. Perhaps the Aspect's threats had been little more than bluster. If Pelorak's reach extended to the Dawnlands, he wouldn't need this risky scheme. But even the best warriors could fall fighting voidspawn, and it would be all too easy to fake an accident along the outskirts.

It was safer to maintain Pelorak's charade. After all, it might take decades, even centuries, before the Celestials caught on, and by then, there'd be no way to trace the origin back to its source. This current attempt at reforging the Covenant would fail, but at least Celestial-Infernal relationships wouldn't sour in the short-term any more than they already had. Sarilian would keep his hope and, most importantly, escape unscathed.

For that, Malorg would gladly sacrifice what little remained of his honor and soul.

Or so he'd told himself. But maintaining his composure had proven more difficult than he expected. When faced with Sarilian and the other delegates, it had taken all his willpower to avoid spilling the truth or outright fleeing the room. That indecision had made him obstinate, leading to that disaster of a session. The instant it was over, he'd retreated to his quarters to brood in private.

Word of the debacle had probably already filtered back to Pelorak. Malorg needed to get a grip before the next meeting unless he wanted to provoke the Aspect of Ambition's wrath and make all his subterfuge for naught.

When a knock came at his door some hours later, he'd assumed it was his former friend, coming to spout new threats and ensure he stayed in line. He knew he should answer and get the confrontation over with, but he couldn't bring himself to rise.

When the insistent knocks continued, he'd given in and stormed over. It was only as he'd opened the door that he'd realized in all his recent visits Pelorak had never once bothered to knock. He'd had a split second to react, his pulse quickening, before he found Sarilian standing on his doorstep, cloaked by the fading remnants of some Celestial spell.

Even now, lost in the heat of Sarilian's seeking mouth, clutching hands, and writhing body, Malorg could scarcely believe this was where they'd ended up. He'd tried to resist—to send Sarilian away again for his own good.

But this time, Sarilian had refused to go. Warmth melted through him as he recalled the determination on Sarilian's face and the resolved set to his shoulders as he'd stared Malorg down.

A part of me wanted to take your hand and leap through that rift with you, regardless of the consequences. A part of me still does.

So, here they were, taking a different sort of leap into the unknown.

Sarilian's hands mapped the cool expanse of Malorg's back while Malorg traced the delicate ridge of Sarilian's collarbone with his lips. The sight of Sarilian's duskflame necklace brought Malorg up short. He blinked, swallowing down sudden emotion. After all this time, after everything that had happened between them, Sarilian had never stopped wearing it.

As Malorg skimmed his fingers down the hardened planes of Sarilian's stomach, then lower still to follow the soft trail of hair there, he tried to forget the other concerns and dangers pressing in on them. Here, now, there were just the two of them in this room. And that was enough— more than enough.

He groaned at the pleasurable heat of Sarilian's hands and mouth, so stark and bright compared to the frigid coolness of his usual world. The Dusklands might be beautiful, alive in its own way with shifting patterns, but nothing he'd seen in his long centuries of life could compare to the rapture of Sarilian's bronzed face tensed with ecstasy, his eyes rich golden pools of love and lust that Malorg wished to drown in forever.

Covenant or not, he would gladly watch the rest of existence succumb to the Void if that was the price he had to pay to keep Sarilian here in his arms.

But of course, nothing lasted forever, and as they both caught their breath, Sarilian resting his head in the crook of Malorg's neck, harsh reality reasserted itself. Simply being here put Sarilian in grave peril. And though Malorg might be willing to sacrifice the world for him in a heartbeat, he would never risk Sarilian himself.

He'd done his best to suppress Pelorak's nascent curse the instant the Celestial appeared on his doorstep, sneaking the magic in alongside a darkvision enchantment. But while the protection should last until Sarilian returned to the Dawnlands, that offered no guarantee they were safe.

Something of his creeping tension must have translated to Sarilian because the Celestial shifted, lifting his head to eye him. "Don't start. No regrets." He linked his fingers with Malorg's and raised their joined hands. "Whatever else happens, we'll find a way to keep this . Because I meant what I said. I'm not walking away from you again."

Sudden self-loathing gripped Malorg, tying his stomach in sickening knots. What was he doing, sitting here relaxing with Sarilian mere hours after helping to betray him and his people? Forget walking—Sarilian should run away, this time for good.

"Malorg? What's wrong?"

Sarilian's worried face loomed over him, his chiseled brow knit together.

Malorg squeezed his eyes shut. "You need to leave."

Sarilian's grip on his hand tightened. "I thought we'd covered this. No regrets, remember?"

"I have none. These past few hours have been the best of my existence. Every moment I spend with you is." The honest words hung between them, and he cracked open his eyes to see Sarilian staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he continued. "I care about you more than life itself. And that's why you need to go."

A frown split Sarilian's face. He shuffled to extricate himself from Malorg, sitting up beside him. Malorg instantly missed his warmth. "You mean return to the Dawnlands? I suppose you're right—I don't want Darius or the others to worry about my absence. But perhaps I can visit you again before our next meeting. I still remember our old spot—"

"You don't understand!" Frustration roiled through Malorg. "You need to go…and not come back. Tell the Dawn Council you withdraw as emissary. Remain in the Dawnlands, where you belong."

Sarilian didn't reply.

Malorg kept his eyes downcast, too ashamed to meet Sarilian's gaze.

"And what about you?" Sarilian asked at last, his voice unreadable.

"Forget about me." Malorg traced his finger across a line of duskflame on one of the pillows, following its twisting path until it abruptly ended. "I don't matter."

"No!" Pillows tumbled around Malorg, and his eyes snapped up to find Sarilian leaping to his feet. The Celestial fixed him with a scathing glare. "You do not get to push me away—not again! Not after the things we've confessed to each other."

"I'm sorry."

"Did you mean them?" Sarilian ignored Malorg's pained apology, his eyes narrowing to slits. "All those things you said to me just now, about loving me more than your own life?"

Sensing a trap, Malorg hesitated. But he couldn't bring himself to lie—not about this. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Sarilian threw up his hands in exasperation. "Then, why are you doing this? Tell me!"

"To protect you!" Malorg blurred into shadows, solidifying upright in front of Sarilian. He thrust his hands out in a desperate plea. "Staying in the Dawnlands, away from me, is the only way to keep you safe!"

Sarilian gave a slow blink as he processed Malorg's words. "Safe from what?" His searching eyes never left Malorg's face.

Malorg let out a breath, silently cursing his loose tongue. Instead of answering Sarilian's question, he turned, breaking their linked gaze. "You should cancel the Accords. Return to your people and tell them it didn't work out. That the unreasonable Infernals refused to treat fairly." He gave a despairing snort. "That won't be a hard sell." Nor was it all that far from the truth.

Sarilian was quiet for a long moment. Then, Malorg heard his footsteps on the floor, heavy clomps compared to an Infernal's near-silent tread. A burning hand fell on Malorg's shoulder, gently squeezing.

"Whatever this is about, you can tell me. Please. I think I deserve the truth."

Malorg bowed his head, warring with himself. But like so many other things involving Sarilian, the result was a foregone conclusion. Because Sarilian was right. Malorg might not be strong enough to offer him much, but he could offer at least this much: a choice.

"Do you remember what I said before, about sensing duskflame within you?" At Sarilian's soft affirmative, he continued, still standing faced away. "Well, I realized that it bore a suspicious resemblance to an Infernal curse, so I went to confront Pelorak…"

As Malorg related everything that had happened, from Pelorak's confession to his own inexcusable role in perpetuating the ploy, he struggled to maintain his composure, wary of Sarilian's reaction. Throughout it all, however, Sarilian gave nothing away, his firm grip on Malorg's shoulder offering warm comfort. By the end, that tenuous connection was the only thing keeping Malorg from falling apart.

After he finished, he stood there, silently awaiting judgment. Despair curdled his gut when he felt Sarilian's hand fall away. Not that he could blame Sarilian for no longer wanting to touch him after what he'd been a part of, even if he'd been oblivious much of the time.

"Now you understand why you have to go," Malorg said. His voice broke on the final word. "Not even Pelorak's reach extends to the Dawnlands…not yet, in any case."

Sarilian's voice when he spoke was surprisingly calm. Even still, the words stabbed into Malorg like cursed blades, making him wince. "You weren't going to tell me. Were you?"

Shame beat against Malorg's chest like a voidspawn's tentacles as he shook his head.

He braced himself for Sarilian's accusations—for the Celestial to scream and berate him the way he deserved. Instead, he heard the rustle and clink of Sarilian resummoning his clothes, his clomping footsteps as he moved toward the door.

This was it—the final moment Malorg would probably ever have with the Celestial. Despite the pain flaying him open, he forced himself to turn, to drink in Sarilian's divine beauty before he walked away again, this time for good. He found Sarilian standing by the door, a hand resting on it.

As if he sensed Malorg's attention on him, Sarilian turned, their eyes meeting. There was none of the anger Malorg had expected in that amber gaze—only sorrow and regret.

Somehow, that was worse.

"Why tell me now?" Sarilian's words were soft, almost pleading. "You could have kept up the charade, let me walk out of here as if nothing had happened. Why didn't you?"

Malorg's heartbeat echoed in his ears as he cautiously approached. He gave Sarilian every chance to retreat or halt his advance, but the Celestial remained unmoving. He simply watched, his enigmatic expression unreadable, until Malorg halted right before him.

Swallowing, Malorg gingerly pressed a hand to Sarilian's chest. The illusory disguise didn't take long to form, duskflame warping Sarilian's features to mimic those of an Infernal. Malorg allowed his fingers to linger an extra second, his fingertips seeking to memorize the warm contours of Sarilian's muscled flesh beneath his tunic.

"Because," he said, reluctantly dropping his hand, "I know how important your duty is to you. And the thought of anyone perverting it like that was more than I could bear."

Sarilian's expression softened. For an instant, he looked ready to stay, his arms twitching as if to wrap Malorg in an embrace. Then, he clenched his jaw, turned, and walked out.

Malorg stared at the empty spot where Sarilian had been, his mind adrift with everything that had happened. Had he made the right choice telling Sarilian the truth? He'd betrayed his Covenant—betrayed Pelorak and his people.

Whatever legacy he might've left behind had been forever tainted. He would be branded a traitor, or worse—forgotten entirely, having failed to enact a single positive change in all the centuries he'd lived.

Except for Sarilian. Him, at least, I managed to save .

The thought comforted him even as worry clawed at his throat. Sending Sarilian away should remove him from Pelorak's clutches…but the Aspect of Ambition didn't often make idle threats. He would come for Sarilian someday, if for no other reason than to make Malorg suffer. Malorg could only hope that Sarilian proved up to the challenge.

At least, we had this time together—a final memory to anchor me within the darkness. I've done all I can to keep you safe, Sarilian. The rest is up to you.

Seeking refuge in that thought, Malorg sank into the nearest chair to wait.

As usual, Pelorak didn't bother with the door. One instant, Malorg was alone with his thoughts. The next, Pelorak stood before him, duskflame coating his body in leaping tendrils of darkness, his furious eyes black as the darkest night.

"What have you done?" Pelorak hissed, his voice tight with barely constrained rage.

Even before the Aspect finished speaking, Malorg was moving, leaping through the shadows to slip behind Pelorak. The two daggers he'd already thrown pierced Pelorak's chest while the fresh pair in his hands stabbed into Pelorak's side.

Had Pelorak been a voidspawn or Celestial, the fight would've already been over. But duskflame curses had little effect on other Infernals.

Pelorak bellowed in shocked pain, but the distraction proved insufficient to stop him from twisting away. Malorg's follow-up strikes caught only empty air as Pelorak took to the shadows, retreating in a blur. Gripping his daggers tight, Malorg pursued his prey.

What followed was an intricate dance, two shadows twirling and weaving around one another in an impressive display that would have been beautiful had the stakes not been so high. Their duel took them around the walls and ceiling of Malorg's quarters before eventually spilling out the door, down the hall, and into the streets, drawing curious glances from passing Infernals.

Though they must have sensed Pelorak's station, none came to his aid. Perhaps Pelorak's position and fame worked against him. No one wanted to interfere in the business of an Aspect for fear of drawing his ire or ruining whatever scheme he might be about.

Or maybe everyone hates him as much as I do.

Gradually, Malorg added a dozen small cuts across Pelorak's body. Though none did enough damage past Pelorak's potent duskflame to seriously wound him, each nick slowed him a hair more.

Pelorak might have the strength of a Dusk Aspect on his side, but Malorg had spent centuries honing his skills against voidspawn. Pelorak's power did him little good when Malorg didn't allow him a spare instant to channel that power toward anything other than desperate flight.

At last, Pelorak collapsed against the back wall of an alley, no way to escape except the narrow exit past Malorg. Savage triumph surged through Malorg as he duskwalked to Pelorak's side, raising his daggers high for a lethal thrust to the Aspect's neck.

"No, please." Pelorak cowered back, raising his trembling hands. "Forgive me, old friend. I-I'm sorry. Please, don't do this."

Malorg knew better. He knew Pelorak's tricks, knew that one didn't hesitate against a deadly foe, even for a heartbeat. And yet, despite that knowledge, some part of him hesitated anyway—some lingering remnant of the decades of friendship they'd once shared.

That was all it took. By the time Malorg came to his senses, shoving down his regret and driving his blades home, Pelorak had tightened his fingers into a fist. Malorg's entire existence dissolved into pain. His daggers fell from limp fingers as he bellowed a silent scream that wasn't permitted to escape his tightened lips.

Pelorak straightened with feigned casualness, making a show of repairing his ruined suit. A twitch of his fingers sent Malorg to his knees. Another had him bowed with his face pressed to the cold, lifeless stone. All the while, tendrils of agony rippled through him, exploding like fireworks of shrapnel constrained to his blood.

"Well, I admit, that was unexpected." Even amid his agony, Malorg registered surprise when Pelorak grinned. "It's been ages since I had a good fight. It would appear there's more spirit left in you than I expected." Pelorak's grin faded, his gaze dancing with malevolence. "Good—it will make it all the more fun to break you."

The Aspect of Ambition curled his fingers, and Malorg felt himself rise, his jerky movements once again like a puppet on strings. The duskflame enveloping him stripped him of any choice but to obey. Pelorak stepped forward until their faces aligned.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Malorg as he recalled Sarilian's face hovering over his only hours earlier. Gazing into Pelorak's eyes, however, revealed no kind concern—only insatiable cruelty.

"I should have let you kill yourself," Pelorak sneered. "Shatter yourself against the endless waves of voidspawn or hurl yourself into that Dark-cursed rift you're so obsessed with. Instead, I gave you a chance to make a difference. To serve your people. And you threw it all away. For what? For that Celestial whore?"

Blinding rage gripped Malorg, and for just an instant, he felt Pelorak's control over his body falter. Pelorak's eyes widened as Malorg raised a trembling fist. Then, the foul magic surged back over him. His fist fell to his side.

Pelorak huffed out a breath and stepped back, giving a disappointed shake of his head. "I hope it was worth it. I hope that, when you're screaming alone for the next thousand years, when every Infernal alive curses your name and I present your precious Celestial's head to you on a platter, that you think back to this moment and remember how different things could have been had you only played your dutiful role."

Malorg strained against his bonds, begging them to break, until the agony finally became too much to bear. And as his mind retreated into merciful darkness, his last thought was a desperate prayer that, wherever he was, Sarilian would be all right.