Page 57 of The Immortal Covenant

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 awayshouldremove 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 quartersbefore 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 tochannelthat 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.”

Malorgknewbetter. 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 existencedissolved 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.

twenty-three

Sarilian

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