that fountain, mesmerized by her beauty, her strangeness, and her blood dripping from her wrist to the water. The main roads from both gates met there before turning north toward the castle. If his brother was to pass through the city, he was most likely to meet him there.
“What do you plan to do?” Tessanna asked. She leaned against the toppled stone horse the statue had ridden upon. She stared at her hands, unwilling to look her lover in the eye.
“I’m not sure,” Qurrah said. He scanned the sky, filled with demons and angels locked in combat. He heard sounds from both gates, and several trumpet calls.
“What happens when they arrive, Qurrah?” she asked. She glanced at him, only briefly. “What happens then?”
“I said I don’t know!” He made a movement with his hands, as if dismissing the whole notion. “And it doesn’t matter.”
“If Tarlak or his wife is with him, they will attack me,” Tessanna said. “Or my mirror, she will attack as well. What do you want me to do?”
“It won’t happen,” Qurrah said. This time he avoided her stare. “I want you to leave me be.”
Tessanna’s eyes widened. Her face locked into a ferocious stare, as if chiseled out of marble.
“You bastard,” she said. “You want to die, don’t you?”
“It’s more than that,” Qurrah said.
“No!” she shouted. “You lied. You’ve lied to me, again and again. You won’t seek forgiveness of your guilt, and you won’t rise above it either, so you crawl to your brother and beg for death?”
“Enough!” Qurrah shouted. He turned toward her, clutching his whip in his left hand. Tessanna felt her heart shiver at the way he looked at her. She wasn’t a lover to him, not then. She wasn’t even a friend.
“You coward,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “What will you tell him? That it was all my fault? I have loved you, in all my frailty. Everything I’ve asked of you, I did because I loved you.”
“Does it even matter?” Qurrah asked. “What good has come of it?”
She took a step back as if stabbed.
“We made a child,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “We gave each other warmth.”
“Then why?” asked Qurrah. “Why did you sleep with Jerico?”
She bit her lip and had no answer.
“You always ask why you’re not enough, why I don’t accept you as you are,” he continued. “But what of him? Am I not enough for you? What warmth can I be if you go fucking another man?”
She clutched her arms and looked around. She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her. She felt wretched and vile. It felt like the whole world would better for her own death, like a disease being cleansed from the flesh of Dezrel.
“I hate you,” she said. “So much, I hate you.”
She ran north, toward the castle. Qurrah watched her go, the wound in his heart bleeding all the more. Angels died in the sky. Blood fell like rain. Demons joined the angels. Several fell nearby, and he stared at their bodies with a creeping disinterest. He kept searching for troops, listening for armies, but none appeared. And then he saw his brother. He walked down the street, his swords drawn and held low at his sides. Qurrah felt a sudden flush of shame. An urge to flee gripped him, and he almost surrendered to it. Coward, Tessanna had called him. Deep down, he shoved his fear, his shame. He would not give in. Not now.
“You’ve lost,” Harruq said as he approached. He kept his swords ready, certain bloodshed was to follow.
“Perhaps,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the skies where demons and angels battled. “But what does it matter to you and I?”
“The whole world’s crumbling,” said Harruq. “I think that matters a bit to us.”
Harruq tensed as his brother stepped toward him. He braced for a spell, but something was wrong. Tears flowed down the scars on his brother’s face.
“My child,” he said. “My daughter. She died, brother. I held her in my arms, but no life, none.” He shook his head, and in his eyes, Harruq watched something break.
“Qurrah,” he started to say, but his brother cut him off.
“Let me speak,” Qurrah said. “I understand now. I cannot imagine your suffering. I’ve had only a taste, but the pain crushes me and robs my sleep of rest. My child never lived. Yours did, and I stole that from you.”
He fell to his knees and lowered his head. He could not meet his brother’s eyes, which like his, welled with tears.
“I have but one request,” Qurrah said, his hissing voice cracking. “Kill me now, and make it quick. I can bear this guilt no more. For all you have done, I owe you this.”
Harruq felt his swords shake in his hands. He stepped forward, and the times he had fought with his brother flashed before his eyes. He had refused to kill Qurrah before. Because of that, demons now flooded the lands. Because of his choice, many had died.
He raised his sword. He remembered Aullienna, the way she had smiled at him as he tickled her feet. He remembered the way she had floated face down in the water, her life gone. That pain seared him, and the grip on his sword tightened. He stared down at his brother, a broken shell of what he had once been. So many memories. So much pain. What had they done? What glory did they accomplish?
Harruq prepared to swing. He remembered his own kills. He remembered the children he had butchered. He remembered serving Velixar, his body bathed in unholy strength. He remembered the innocents in that small village, pleading as they fled. Women and children. What monsters had he and Qurrah been? Side by side, nothing but monsters.
And then he remembered that moment, broken and on his knees, he had cried out to Ashhur for a shred of mercy, for grace on his pathetic being, all so that he might see his daughter one more time.
“What are you waiting for?” Qurrah asked, his face still cast to the dirt. “Kill me.”
He remembered that first meeting with Qurrah after Aullienna's death. He’d searched for any hint of guilt or regret, and found none. But now, he looked down and saw a broken thing. While Harruq’s hurts had healed, Qurrah was an open wound, festering and bleeding as time only increased the rot. Sad. Miserable. A soul of regret and sadness crippled and abandoned of all hope.
Harruq shook his head. He understood. He finally understood. If he was to receive, he had to give. He sheathed his swords.
“Get up,” he said.
“What?” Qurrah asked, looking up from the ground.
“I said, get up.” Harruq reached down and offered his hand.
“No!” Qurrah shouted. Tears streamed down his face, and his mouth turned into an ugly scowl. “You will not deny me this!”
Harruq grabbed Qurrah’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. And then he hugged him. Qurrah stood there, his arms hanging limp at his side, his jaw quivering and his heart aching.
“How?” Qurrah asked. “How could you do this to me?”
“I forgive you,” Harruq said. He stepped back and made sure his brother could look him in the eye. “For everything you’ve done, I forgive you.”
The words were like a sword through his heart. All his anguish, all his guilt, it broke, as did he. He couldn’t bear it any more. All his anger, his hate. He’d destroyed how many lives? Part of him refused. He wasn’t worthy. He needed death. He deserved it. But he was so tired, so damn tired. His brother’s arms were around him. His smile was upon him. No malice. No lies. Karak had never loved him so. The drain of the portal, still releasing demons into the city, was something he could no longer endure. He let it go.
Qurrah took a breath, and it seemed an enormous weight left his shoulders. He stepped back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He felt naked before his brother, and foolish and confused.
“The others,” he said. “They will not forgive so easily.”
“Then shame on them,” Harruq said. A smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “You’re back, Qurrah.” He gestured to the battle raging above him. “Damn it, you’re back!”
“The portal,” Qurrah said. “It should be closed now, but it’s not. I still feel it lingering.”
“The castle, right?” Harruq asked.
“Behind the throne. If we hurry, I might be able to close it. Velixar should be with it, and if he isn’t crushed by the weight, he should still be rendered helpless.”
