When they were children, they were the only two children in the palace.

Diurn, a year younger, had long ago caught on to the fact that his older brother was not treated as well as him. He had some pity for him, but he was scared of him as well.

When Queen Mother Irdat struck Ifrit across the face, she would turn to him and, with the same arms, hug him tightly, soothe back his hair.

He always squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see how his brother stared at them every time, dead-eyed.

If Ifrit did something bad, it was expected then that Diurn would do something good.

It wasn't necessarily that he did good things because he wanted his mother to be happy. Actually, originally, it had been because he feared that if he did not, he would be the one who was hit. After all, Irdat's punishments for Ifrit were so erratic that it seemed completely plausible that she could one day change her opinion of who was favored. For as many times as her judgment seemed justified in Diurn's mind, there were an equal number of incidents in which it was not.

When she became pregnant again, her mood worsened. Diurn was not ever called for at all, and yet it seemed daily that he would see Ifrit slink down the hallway in shame, hiding tears.

The servants cast a wide berth around him, looking away, and Kalidhe would warn him as she trimmed his fur not to behave as his brother had.

While they were studying one day, Ifrit spoke.

" Come to the back garden later tonight," he said. " I have something to show you."

Ifrit had said such things before. Normally it was that he had caught a large winged insect, or that he had found a peephole to spy on the servants, or some sort of crude thing like that. Lately he had grown to enjoy playing cruel pranks, and had gotten in trouble for sneaking into a changing room and putting tacks in all the servants' work shoes.

So Diurn thought that it would be something like this.

And he never got in trouble when he was dragged along, anyway, because either Irdat didn't care or Kalidhe would make up an alibi for him.

He followed Ifrit to the back garden of the palace's east wing. It was rarely visited, and in disrepair. Their mother seemed to dislike it as much as she disliked Ifrit.

" Come here," Ifrit said, gesturing to him. In the blue haze of the moonlight, he somehow seemed dangerous, scarier than usual. He was standing beside a hedge that faced the back of the estate, the imperial forest.

Diurn didn't want to go into the forest alone with him, especially at night. But he didn't want to seem weak, either.

He walked forward, stopping just short of the end of the stone path.

" Look, come see," Ifrit said, grabbing his arm and dragging him over.

There was a terrible smell.

A dead remslach lay behind the hedge, in the tall grass. It had been pregnant, and cut open.

" Lately I've been practicing killing these things," Ifrit said nonchalantly. " It's secret, but I thought I'd show you this one. Even though it was dead when I cut it open, the things inside were still-"

Diurn shoved him, hard, and ran away, crying.

He ran all the way back to his room, and could not sleep for the rest of the night.

Kalidhe came to wake him.

" Lya, what's wrong? You haven't slept?" she asked, looking concerned.

Her face grew pale as Diurn told her what had happened, crying still.

Like every bad thing Ifrit did, this was related to their mother.

She held Diurn, tightly, and comforted him.

" You must've been so scared," she soothed him. " Don't worry. I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Diurn was too afraid to look at where Ifrit lay on the floor.

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