The blood came first.
A hot, red jet that flowed from Zirinos's lips and stained Zequila's necklace. The drops, dark against the gold, fell to the wooden floor like small explosions of dying life.
Xiollor screamed. The sound, sharp and frightened, echoed in the room like a broken bell. Xailla, calmer, grabbed Zirinos by the shoulders before he fell.
"Zirinos!" she called, her voice trembling but controlled. "Zirinos, look at me!"
He tried. His eyes, once shining with the Cort-eran's energy, were now cloudy, dull. The fatigue, which he had kept at bay with the drug, returned like a wave—not a gentle wave, but a tsunami that dragged him to the bottom of the sea.
"The necklace..." he whispered, his voice hoarse, broken. "Don't... let go of the necklace..."
His trembling hand gripped Zequila's necklace with a force that surprised Xailla. His knuckles, white, seemed to want to fuse with the metal.
Xiollor ran to him, tears streaming down her face.
"What's happening?" she shouted, to no one in particular. "Help! Someone! Quickly!"
Hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. The chief physician, a tall woman with graying hair and deep eyes, entered the room with the calm of someone who had already seen too many deaths.
"Leave," she said, her voice firm, without raising her tone. "Leave him with me."
Xiollor hesitated. Her trembling hands were extended toward Zirinos.
"But..."
"Leave," the physician repeated, and there was something in her voice that brooked no argument.
Xiollor stepped back. Xailla, who still held Zirinos, laid him gently on the bed.
"Let's go," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "He'll be fine."
Xiollor looked at Zirinos. At the blood flowing from his lips. At the hand gripping the necklace with the strength of someone clinging to life.
"Will he be fine?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Xailla didn't answer. She just pulled her sister out of the room.
The door closed.
Celer Cunqana, the chief physician, knelt beside the bed. Her hand, warm and firm, touched Zirinos's forehead. A purple light, soft and pulsating, came from her palm and enveloped the prince's body.
Celer's eyes closed. The light danced over Zirinos's skin, penetrating him, examining him, searching for wounds that weren't visible.
When she opened her eyes, her face was pale.
"Leave," she said to the physicians at the door. "Leave me with him."
The physicians stepped back. The door closed.
Celer looked at Zirinos. At the blood. At the necklace. At the hand still gripping it.
"What have you done to yourself, prince?" she murmured, her voice low, almost a lament.
Zirinos didn't answer. He just kept gripping the necklace.
+-+
In the corridor, Xiollor trembled. Her hands, once still, were now clenched, her knuckles white.
"That necklace," she said, her voice trembling. "It was Zequila's."
Xailla looked at her. Her silver eyes, once cold, now fixed on her sister with an expression that wasn't surprise—it was curiosity.
"How do you know the necklace was Zequila's?" she asked, her voice calm.
Xiollor hesitated. Her eyes, once fixed on her sister, were now fixed on the floor.
"Ariana," she said, finally. "She had a necklace just like his. Only pink. He gave it to her before... before everything."
Silence settled.
Xailla felt the weight of those words. Ariana. The queen of A. The woman who conquered Z. The woman Zequila had loved.
"For a man as good as Zequila," she said, her voice low, "falling in love with Ariana was a curse."
Xiollor didn't respond. She just kept looking at the floor.
"He whispered, once, while sleeping," Xailla said, her voice even lower, "that he killed his brother out of mercy. Or else he would suffer."
Xiollor raised her head. Her eyes, once fixed on the floor, now fixed on her sister with an expression of horror.
"He killed his own brother?"
"Out of mercy," Xailla repeated. "It's different."
"It's not different," Xiollor replied, her voice trembling. "It's always the same thing. Killing is killing."
Xailla didn't respond. She just placed her hand on her sister's shoulder.
The corridor was silent. Only the sound of the two sisters' breathing, and the distant echo of hurried footsteps.
The footsteps approached.
A guard, in silver armor with a pale face, appeared at the end of the corridor. His hands, once still, were now trembling.
"Ladies," he said, his voice faltering. "A letter has arrived. From M."
Xiollor paled. Her hand, once resting on her sister's shoulder, was now clenched.
"What does Malicius want from us?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What the hell does he want?"
The guard trembled. His eyes, once fixed on the sisters, were now fixed on the floor.
"It's from your bastard brother," he said, his voice low. "Manertólius."
Xailla felt the ground slip from under her feet. Her hand, once still, was now trembling.
"Give me the letter," she said, her voice firm, but with a hint of fear she couldn't hide.
The guard handed her the letter. His trembling hand touched hers. Xiollor remembered Manertólius as a child. Before he became a monster. Before he called her a whore and threatened her with death. Wondering what he could want from them.
"I'm leaving X soon," he said, his voice even lower. "I'm going to see my family. Before..."
He didn't finish. He just turned and ran down the corridor, his footsteps echoing on the stone.
Xailla looked at the letter. The seal, of red wax, bore the Malice family crest—an open hand with an eye in the center.
She opened it.
The words, written in hurried calligraphy, danced before her eyes:
My dear sisters, I promise to return in a few weeks. Prepare yourselves and open your arms to me and let me twist those giant nipples.
From your bastard brother,
Manertólius Xavier Malice
Xailla felt the blood freeze in her veins. Her hand, once holding the letter, was now trembling.
Xiollor looked at her.
"What does it say?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Xailla didn't answer. She just hid the letter in her pocket.
The bedroom door opened.
Zirinos was standing, leaning against the doorframe. His face, once pale, was now even paler. The blood, once flowing from his lips, was now dry. His eyes, once cloudy, were now fixed on Xailla.
"I could hear you in the room," he said, his voice hoarse but firm. "Give me the letter."
Xailla stepped back.
"No," she said, her voice trembling. "You don't need to see this."
"Give me the letter," Zirinos repeated, his voice louder. "Or do you plan to cut my throat?"
Xailla hesitated. Her hand, once holding the letter, was now trembling. Her eyes, once fixed on Zirinos, were now fixed on the floor.
"No," she said, finally. "I don't plan to cut your throat."
She handed him the letter. Her trembling hand touched his.
Zirinos read the letter. His eyes, once tired, scanned the words with a calmness that wasn't natural.
And he laughed.
The laugh was short, dry, without humor. But it was there.
"Your brother," he said, his voice low, "is an interesting man."
Xiollor looked at him. Her eyes, once full of fear, now fixed on his.
"Interesting?" she asked. "He's a monster!"
"And do you think I don't already know that?" Zirinos retorted. "That's exactly why I call him interesting."
The laugh died. Suddenly, a wave of pain fell upon him. His body, once firm, was now trembling. The blood, once dry, now flowed from his lips again.
Zirinos vomited.
The sound, wet and painful, echoed in the corridor. Xiollor ran to him, her trembling hands holding his shoulders.
"Zirinos!"
"I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "Don't worry."
Xailla said nothing. She just looked at him, her eyes fixed on the blood flowing from his lips.
Zirinos wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Listen to me carefully," he said, his voice low but firm. "Hide the women and children. Hide them where no one can find them."
Xiollor looked at him. Her eyes, once fixed on the blood, now fixed on his.
"Why?" she asked, stupidly, knowing better than anyone why.
"Because," Zirinos replied, his voice cold, dangerous, "if your brother finds them, he will impale them through the vagina until he reaches the brain. And then he'll stop. And something similar will happen to the children."
Silence settled. Xiollor trembled. Xailla trembled.
The chief physician, Celer Cunqana, appeared at the bedroom door. Her hands, once still, were now trembling.
"Prince," she said, her voice low, "you need to rest. Now."
Zirinos looked at her. His eyes, once fixed on the sisters, now fixed on the physician.
"Rest?" he repeated. "When the world is burning?"
"You're not helping anyone if you die," Celer replied, her voice firm. "And you're dying."
Zirinos didn't respond. He just let the physician lead him into the room.
The door closed.
Xiollor and Xailla stood in the corridor, looking at each other. The fear, once hidden, was now stamped on their faces.
"Is he going to die?" Xiollor asked, her voice trembling.
Xailla didn't answer. She just placed her hand on her sister's shoulder.
The corridor was silent, along with everyone's fear.
Inside the room, Zirinos lay in bed. His hand, once holding Zequila's necklace, was now resting on his chest. His eyes, once fixed on the ceiling, were now closed.
"Manertólius," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Zirinos felt fear, a hint of fear, grow inside him. He knew that, without the Julqam-Totalus and without the Zarendei-se-rai'O, he would die at Manertólius's hands.
*Perhaps that's not a bad thing,* he thought. *Perhaps I'll find death when I try to kill him.*
A lion knows another lion.