“A Vitch!, You are a vitch?" Ilias closed his eyes for something longer than a blink. "Veylan vill burn you himsev; and mother? Vat will she say? It vill end her. I...I...” Ilias froze for a moment; though he looked composed at first, he was raging inside. So angry, his only recourse was to burst into a momentary, uncharacteristic and near hysterical laugher. A laugher squarely directed at his brother.
“Vat...” he had to pause for anther burst of incredulous guffaws, “Vat is it you can do?”
Tycho raised is brow, his mouth slightly agape, “Ahhhhh...I don’t really know. Well...I mean, I can do this.” Tycho flicked his finger idly at a candle and it ignited.
Ilias let out a single sharp laugh, “Traded your soul to light a candle?”
“I traded my soul to save your life,” Tycho’s quiet words and earnest look cut through Ilias’ mirth and anger.
Ilias winced as if he had stepped on a tack, then nodded subtly, “Yah, ya did, and vell...” Ilias knew Tycho had hated magic, and the magnitude of his brother's sacrifice dawned on him. He became sanguine and simply repeated, “...yah, ya did.” His grateful expression said what words would not.