“Qurrah?”

He glanced up, wiping away his tears. There were no torches or campfires nearby for light, but both the orcish and elvish blood in his veins granted him excellent vision in the darkness. When he saw the sleek figure sliding into his tent, her beautiful green dress rippling in the moonlight, he knew his tears would be seen by Aurelia's keen elven eyes. He said nothing, though he had much he wished to say. He knew so little of her. She was his brother's wife and, in a distant time, a friend. Now she was a stranger, wounded and tired.

“Harruq will be fine,” she said, breaking the silence as she crossed her legs and sat across from him. Outside the tent, the angels guarding him shuffled, their weapons clacking against their armor.

“He has certainly endured far worse before,” Qurrah said.

“You could say that,” Aurelia said, and Qurrah felt a stab in his gut. How many of his brother’s scars bore his name, scrawled with whip and dark magic? The elf saw the brief flash of pain in his eyes and quickly apologized.

“He told me what happened,” she said, tucking errant strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes refused to meet his. “Of what you wanted, and what he did. You have a good brother, Qurrah.”

“And you a good husband.”

Aurelia smiled again, a weak smile.

“Why is Tessanna not with you?” she asked.

Qurrah opened his mouth, a lie on his tongue. He closed it, and another lie replaced it in his heart. He brushed both away, and spoke freely to the woman he had so deeply hurt.

“Tessanna gave birth to a stillborn,” he said. “It broke me. I never could have anticipated such pain. And as I held that small, lifeless form, I knew a shred of what I had done to you. Guilt is a funny thing, Aurelia. I had never felt it before, and when it came upon me, I was a wretched child lost in confusion and self-pity. I waited in Veldaren for my brother, for I wanted him to kill me. Dying was preferable to living with the guilt I felt. Tessanna figured as much, and was furious at my cowardice.”