The glowing black parchment slid across the smooth white marble table. Lord Silas caught the heavy scroll with one hand and inspected the crimson wax seal. The veteran deity wore flowing sea green silk that shimmered like moving water under the bright crystal chandeliers of the private pavilion. He lounged in a tall velvet chair and looked at Malakor with an expression of deep amusement.
Malakor sat opposite him. The ruler of the Obsidian Cartel had abandoned his heavy volcanic glass armor for a formal dark tunic. He poured himself a cup of dark wine and watched Silas read the contract. The private pavilion was located in the highest tier of the Exchange District. It offered a sweeping view of the golden avenue below and provided total privacy from the prying eyes of minor gods.
Malakor
