Page 48 of The Immortal Covenant

Sarilian wrinkled his nose as if he’d tasted something sour. “I’ll never understand the Infernal propensity for lying and backstabbing. What’s the point of personal advancement if the rest of reality burns in the process when voidspawn break past your lines?”

A retort hovered on Malorg’s lips about Sarilian’s own questionable decisions, but he held it back. That was his wounded heart talking, nothing more. Sarilian owed him nothing beyond what he had already given. It was important Malorg remembered that.

Instead, Malorg steered the conversation back toward the Covenant itself. They only chatted a few minutes more beforeSarilian departed with a sigh, saying he had to hurry if he wanted to catch the rest of his delegation at their temporary waypoint.

As Malorg watched him retreat down the hall, navigating easily with his darkvision still in place, he had to admit Sarilian had been right: talking without all the pomp and circumstance had been both refreshing and productive. Five minutes in that sitting room had accomplished the equivalent of an hour of formal discussion.

Why, it would be inefficient and downright irresponsiblenotto take advantage of such an opportunity in the future.

That was what Malorg told himself over the next few weeks as he and Sarilian turned their after-meeting chats into a regular habit. Dark only knew how Sarilian explained his absences to his comrades. Malorg had caught the Aspect of Justice giving them appraising looks that made his skin crawl. Still, it seemed better not to ask and risk spooking Sarilian into bringing their discussions to an end.

At first, they dutifully stuck to the agenda, using the extra time to iron out thorny issues left over from their regular meetings. But as time went on, they began to go off-script with increasing regularity. Sarilian told stories about his past year—the training he’d performed, the battles he’d won, the good he’d accomplished.

Malorg, for his part, focused more on Twilight than on himself. What was there to tell about his endless voidspawn hunts and the countless times he’d stumbled back to his quarters to collapse near death?

Sarilian wasn’t stupid, and Malorg could tell that he guessed at least some of what Malorg refused to say. Still, he was grateful that the Celestial never pressed.

Those unofficial meetings began to feel almost like the easy camaraderie they’d had before. Almost…but not quite.

There remained a wall neither of them dared breech: certain topics that stayed off-limits. The rift into the Shroud. Their past entanglement. The fleeting touches or lingering looks they sometimes shared. It was exhilarating yet terrifying to have Sarilian so close while remaining tantalizingly out of reach—as if they danced ever closer to a precipice, one Malorg wasn’t sure they’d be able to come back from if they leaped.

“I don’t think I have it in me to discuss any more politics today,” Sarilian groaned, covering his eyes with his hand as he sank back in his chair.

As usual, they’d retreated to the sitting room atop the clouds after their official meeting. Malorg liked the way the mountainous landscape made everything else seem so distant, as if they were the only two beings left in existence.

“Agreed.”

Today had been a particularly exhausting back and forth over one of their earliest sticking points: the border. The original Covenant decreed that the border would adjust based on the relative strength of each side. Thus, neither the Celestials nor Infernals would ever possess too few troops to defend their territory from Void incursions.

The Celestials were perfectly content with this arrangement—they consistently brought in more souls, so their territory had expanded over the centuries until fully three-quarters of the Immortal Realm belonged to them. The Infernals, however, sought to permanently set the border at a 50-50 split, arguing smaller borders meant weaker magic.

Thus far, both councils had refused to budge, and despite their best efforts, Sarilian and Malorg had failed to devise an adequatecompromise. Their latest attempt, a 60-40 split in favor of the Celestials, had been shot down by Pelorak earlier in the week.

Malorg had believed it a fair bargain—a way to expand their current bordersandstop any future losses. So what if it gave the Celestials greater space? They’d already be sacrificing far more than the Infernals in any kind of partnership. But, as always, his points had been overruled.

He hesitated, biting his lip as he snuck a covert glance at Sarilian slumped in his seat. “If you’d prefer to depart early today, I understand.”

“No!” Sarilian sat up a touch too quickly, giving Malorg a crooked grin. “The others are so used to me taking my time, it would throw off their schedules if I showed up now.”

Malorg chuckled. “Indeed.”

Silence stretched between them, uncertain at first before gradually veering toward awkward.

Usually, this was when Sarilian would chime in with some enthusiastic recounting of his latest patrol, but the Celestial didn’t look any more up for talking right now than Malorg felt. Malorg swallowed down an uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach as his traitorous mind turned tootherways they might occupy their time together.

Striving to keep his voice casual, he cleared his throat. “If not politics, then perhaps another topic? You never seem to exhaust your questions about the Dusklands, no matter how much time you spend here.”

Sarilian flashed a tired grin. “What can I say? I have an interest in the corrupt and wicked.” His grin faded, and he sighed, reaching up to trace the enchanted vista painted along the wall. “To be honest, I’m sick of being cooped up in the Dusk Citadel. We’re not permitted to deviate from our assigned route. I miss exploring the city with you, taking in the sights.”

Concern rippled through Malorg. Sarilian wasn’t suggesting that he planned to sneak out into Twilight, was he? There were far too many ways for that to go horribly awry.

“Don’t worry,” Sarilian said when he caught Malorg’s expression. “I’m not asking for another grand tour. I know the risks are too great.” He gave another forlorn sigh as he dropped his hand. “Still, I wish I could see more than the same sets of walls, just once.”

Malorg studied the wistful look on Sarilian’s face, self-preservation warring with his desire to do whatever it took to make the Celestial happy regardless of the cost.

In the end, it was no real contest. With Sarilian, it never was.

Malorg held out a hand for the Celestial to take. “Come with me.”

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