Page 56 of The Immortal Covenant

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 donotget 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, heavyclompscompared 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, hecontinued, 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.

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