Page 39 of The Immortal Covenant

Which, in retrospect, Malorg had to admit had been a fair point. Even Sarilian, for all his constant exposure to the Dusklands’ perpetual night and Malorg’s duskflame over a period of months, had needed to return to the Dawnlands after less than a day to recover.

At the time, however, facing off with Sarilian across the hexagonal conference table, Malorg hadn’t been able to move past the wordcorruption. As if whatever Infernals touched would ruin the purity of the holier-than-thou Celestials. As if the Celestials were inherently better than their Infernal counterparts.

Malorg could see it in the eyes of the other Celestial delegates when they spoke. The way they’d glance around the beautiful hall and shudder. The disdain marring their tones when they talked down to Malorg and the other Infernals as their lessers. Only Sarilian refrained from such antics, but that might be because of his single-minded focus on the Accords’ success.

“I see,” Pelorak said. “A pity.”

The Aspect picked up a knick-knack he’d been examining. It depicted a mortal’s vision of a Celestial, dawnflame wings unfurled and spear uplifted, every bit the radiant warrior. Malorg had acquired that one on his own because it reminded him of Sarilian’s indomitable spirit. Now, he wished he’d discarded it, along with all the other leftover relics cluttering his space.

“I had hoped you’d have better luck engaging the Celestials in dialogue and making them feel heard.” Pelorak’s lips curled with distaste as he let the statue clatter back to its spot on Malorg’sdesk. “After all, you’ve always been unusually sympathetic to their cause.”

“Once, perhaps.” Malorg stared at the wall, closing his eyes as he fought against the jagged memories that scraped at his consciousness. “But no longer. I told you before that I’m not the right person for this assignment.”

“And I disagreed. In fact, I still do.” Pelorak’s voice grew closer, his footsteps as silent as a passing shade. “This is your chance to redeem yourself, Malorg. I know it. The Dusk Council knows it. Even the Dawn Council knows it. The Celestials asked for you by name, remember?”

Thinking of Sarilian, Malorg clenched his jaw. “A mistake. Find someone else. I quit.”

A dangerous silence followed his pronouncement—the kind of quiet that heralded the furious howling of a storm. Inwardly, Malorg braced for another of Pelorak’s outbursts. Which would it be this time—more honeyed words? Or had Pelorak finally reached the limits of his patience? Malorg had witnessed Pelorak’s rage in the past, swift and brutal like a flash of lightning.

Perhaps he’ll save me the trouble of dying in battle.

It took Malorg a few heartbeats to notice the creeping numbness pervading his flesh—a deeper chill than he’d ever felt that burned him as surely as dawnflame. Hissing in pain, he tried to move, but his limbs responded with little more than faint spasms. As if of its own volition, his body shuddered and rose in a series of jerky motions, like a puppet tugged up by its strings.

Malorg’s eyes sprang open to find a cloud of cloying shadows enveloping him in a dark haze. Pelorak stood a few paces away, one hand outstretched. With a casual flick of his fingers, he forced Malorg to stumble to his knees. Malorg met Pelorak’s amused smirk with a grimace.

“Release me, Pelorak.”

“I will. But not yet.”

Another twitch of Pelorak’s fingers sent ripples of agony roiling through Malorg like a thousand slivers of ice puncturing his flesh. He struggled to react—to dissolve into shadow or conjure a blade. To charge Pelorak or bolt for the door. And when all that failed, he tried instead to scream, seeking some outlet for his agony. Yet even that release was denied to him, control over his own flesh stripped away.

Pelorak waved his hand, appearing almost bored. The duskflame enveloping Malorg withdrew. Malorg crumpled to the floor, shivering at the memory of pain.

“I am not some lowly Infernal you can bark orders at, Malorg,” Pelorak hissed. “I am the Aspect of Ambition, one of the five seats on the Dusk Council. Mortals rightfully fear me, and despite the leniency I show you because of our old friendship, you would do well to remember your place and grant me the respect I’ve earned.”

Earned.Malorg wanted to scoff at the word, to spit out a diatribe against the petty scheming and backstabbing Pelorak had employed to rise to his current station. Malorg had seen glimpses of it while Uryqh still lived, even participated in some of it himself back when he’d thought he desired to walk the same path. Now, such games seemed laughably foolish to him. What was the point in ruling over a prison you couldn’t escape?

But he didn’t speak. He couldn’t—not while shudders continued to rack his flesh.

Pelorak knelt beside his trembling form, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder in a near-caress that had him longing for another, warmer touch. “Allow me to make myself perfectly clear.” Pelorak’s voice was as soft as a serpent’s hiss. “The Accordswillcontinue. Youwillensure the Celestials remain invested. The very future of the Dusklands depends on it. If your obstinacy makes them walk away, or if you refuse to participatein good faith, then I will ensure you spend the next century wishing you had killed yourself while you had the chance.”

“The Dusk Council’s demands…” Malorg strained to get the words out, but Pelorak seemed to understand.

“Are entirely negotiable,” Pelorak said with a shrug. “We expect you to mediate on our behalf and strike a fair bargain for our people. And of course, we’ll need to review whatever terms you and your Celestial counterpart decide. But the rest is up to you.”

Even in his current agonized state, Pelorak’s nonchalance set Malorg’s intuition blaring alarms. Altering the Covenant had never been done before, and with the threat of a voidspawn invasion looming, it would be all too easy for the Infernals to sign away too much to secure temporary aid. Yet, Pelorak acted unconcerned—almost like he cared more about thediscussionof peace than peace itself.

What aren’t you telling me, Pelorak?

He didn’t dare voice the question aloud—not after Pelorak’s recent demonstration of power. Instead, he did the only thing hecoulddo, forcing the expected words out.

“I live…to serve.”

Pelorak clapped his hands together, a delighted smile stretching his face as he rose. “Glad we got that nasty business sorted. Now then, you have a few days before the Celestials return. In the meantime, I expect you to prepare. We don’t want a repetition of that last meeting, do we?”

Malorg imagined conjuring twin daggers to ram into Pelorak’s smug throat. He shoved the tantalizing vision away while shaking his head.

“Marvelous,” Pelorak said brightly. “In that case, I look forward to your next report.”

---