I drank.
I did not believe them. I had read every treatise on moral philosophy in the Silver Library. I had resisted the urge to steal moonberries from the High Gardener’s private grove for three consecutive centuries. I was, in my own humble estimation, uncorruptible.
Stage one of corruption: Caffeine. My first assignment was merciful. “Go to the Ninth Circle,” Malaxus said, “and retrieve the ‘Infernal Just-in-Time Inventory Logs.’ Don’t make eye contact.” You Can-t Corrupt Me- -Tale of the Naive Elven ...
My elven heart cracked. I did not use force. I did not use my enchanted binding words. Instead, I gave him a hug.
I looked into the black liquid. It swirled with geometric patterns that hurt my fae-touched retinas. “This is distilled from the tears of the damned.” I drank
Acquisitions & Despair Firm: Malachar, Sorrowfield, & Grim (A wholly-owned subsidiary of the Netherium Pact) Role: Junior Ethicist (Unpaid)
Malachar laughed—a sound like a collapsing galaxy. “Finally. A honest employee. You’re promoted.” I did not quit. I had resisted the urge to steal moonberries
“What’s wrong?” I asked, kneeling. (Mistake one.)
I opened my mouth to argue. But the words died. Because I realized he was right.
“It’s dark roast,” Malaxus replied. “Drink.”