Page 29 of The Immortal Covenant

“Ah, Malorg!”

Malorg flinched, turning toward the soft, lilting voice. An Infernal stood just inside the still-closed door, wisps of duskflame curling off him. Everything about the man appeared pristine, from the tailored suit he wore in the style favored by high-ranking mortal merchants, to the authoritative way he held himself, to his immaculately groomed features.

Malorg inclined his head. “Pelorak. I see your new position has made you forget how knocking works. It’s rude to duskwalk into someone’s private residence without permission.”

Pelorak’s smile held a dangerous edge Malorg didn’t miss. His old friend had always been that way—perfectly cordial, even pleasant, so long as you did as he wanted. But the instant you crossed him, all bets were off. “Perhaps. But isn’t it also rude to keep an old friend waiting on your doorstep? Especially when said friend has such a demanding schedule.”

Malorg crossed his arms, trying to ignore his fizzing nerves. “Then, perhaps said friend should keep to his demanding schedule rather than bothering me.”

Pelorak’s eyes narrowed to slits. Malorg tensed, worried he’d pushed the Infernal too far. Relief eased some of the tightness in his chest when Pelorak chuckled and pressed a hand to his heart.

“You wound me, Malorg! I know it’s been a while since we last spoke—my fault—for which I sincerely apologize. But it’s past time we caught up, wouldn’t you agree?”

Once, Malorg would have welcomed Pelorak’s company. Even sought it out himself. But that was before everything that had happened with Uryqh. “What do you want, Pelorak?”

Pelorak gave a cold smile. “Why, nothing but to check up on a dear pal. Eternal Dark, you act as thoughyouare the one with no time on their hands, though by all accounts, you…”

Pelorak trailed off as he finally noticed Sarilian sitting quietly in the back of the room. Malorg had to resist the urge to throw himself between them. Better not to show any weakness in front of Pelorak: nothing the opportunistic Infernal might exploit.

“Well now, who is this?” Pelorak nearly purred. His smile widened as he arched a brow at Malorg. “No wonder you seemed so put out. Am I interrupting something?”

Sarilian shifted awkwardly on the cushions, and Malorg clenched his jaw. “No. In fact, he was just leaving.”

Hoping Sarilian wouldn’t take offense at the brusque dismissal, Malorg jerked his head toward the door. It was risky sending the Celestial into the city alone without the ability to duskwalk, but they’d made the trip enough times by now that he should be able to find his way. Besides, the less time he spent around a schemer like Pelorak, the better.

To Malorg’s relief, Sarilian didn’t argue—merely stood, bowed his head, and moved toward the door. Before he could reach it, however, Pelorak slid smoothly in front of him, still wearing an obnoxious grin.

“No need to hurry off onmyaccount.” His eyes flicked to Malorg, then back to Sarilian. “After all, Malorg and I go backcenturies. Any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

Pelorak offered his perfectly manicured hand. Malorg noticed he wore fingerless gloves embroidered with the downward-facing triangle of the Dusk Council. Unlike the Dawn sigil with its five converging lines representing beams of light, this one bore five lines that speared the triangle at various positions and angles such that none of them ever intersected. A symbol of independence…and of arrogant selfishness. It suited Pelorak.

Sarilian eyed Pelorak’s hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Jafav,” he said, using the fake Infernal name they’d invented for him. He hesitantly gave the hand a quick shake before dropping it like a voidspawn’s claw.

Malorg’s heartbeat quickened, but if Pelorak noticed Sarilian’s Celestial warmth, he gave no indication. “Jafav, hmm? Can’t say I’ve heard of you before.” His eyes flicked again to Malorg’s, coldly calculating. “But you must be remarkable to have caughtMalorg’sinterest.” He gave a slight, flourishing bow. “I am Pelorak, though most know me as the Aspect of Ambition.”

If Pelorak thought that would catch Sarilian by surprise, Sarilian’s reaction didn’t disappoint. He stumbled, his illusioned complexion somehow paling even further as he fell into a deep bow. “A-apologies, Aspect, if I failed to show the proper respect. I-I did not know that—”

“That your friend Malorg here possessed such powerful contacts?” Pelorak interrupted. He winked at Malorg, who bristled but managed to hold his tongue. “He used to be quite the fearsome general back in his day. Why, there were many who expected him to rise to the seat of Wrath. But after that unfortunate incident at the Blistering Fields—”

Malorg moved before he could stop himself, shifting into the shadows to appear at Pelorak’s back, a cursed blade gripped in each hand. Thankfully, he caught himself before he drove the strikes home. It probably wouldn’t have done serious damage to an Infernal as old as Pelorak anyway, not when he possessed the power of an Aspect. Still, Malorg doubted what remained of their ‘friendship’ would have survived such a blow.

A slight tightness in Pelorak’s posture was the only sign of his tension as he turned, cocking a brow at Malorg. “I see those old wounds continue to fester. My apologies.” He pointedly turned his back despite the blades still poised to thrust.

Malorg released a breath. Allowing the daggers to melt away, he forced himself to relax and step back. Pelorak, meanwhile, returned his attention to Sarilian by the door.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jafav. Perhaps the three of us can catch up sometime. I’d love to hear about how you and Malorg met. I’m sure it’squitethe tale.”

Pelorak’s smirk set every nerve Malorg had on edge.Does he suspect Sarilian’s true nature?Malorg didn’t relax until Sarilian had escaped out the door with a murmured, “Of course, Aspect.”

Sending a quick prayer to the Dark for the Celestial’s safe return, Malorg refocused on Pelorak. The infuriating Infernal had sauntered over to Malorg’s table and taken a seat there, his eyes roving over the rest of the room.

“I see your tastes have changed little. Your quarters remain as barren as the Dawnlands despite your apparent love of collecting junk.”

“Andyouremain as obnoxious as a voidspawn.” Malorg stalked to the opposite end of the room from Pelorak and fixed his old friend with a glare. “I’m tired, so get to the point.Whyare youhere?”

Pelorak studied Malorg, his good humor fading. As if a switch had been flipped, he straightened his back in the seat and folded his hands, his posture turning business-like.

Pelorak had ever been the consummate schemer. From the stories Malorg had heard over the years, he’d more than earned his position on the Dusk Council. Once, Malorg had thought to join him—Wrath and Ambition, the sword and the hand to direct it. But that had been a long time ago. Before Uryqh. BeforeMalorg rejected the Covenant and the trappings of power that went with it.

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