Chapter 14: Naked and Afraid

“There you are. I was about ready to give up and try again tomorrow.”

There, sitting on a bench in front of the fountain, was Razia Rashid.

The aches and pains of the night thrummed. It was as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over Quentin, leaving him painfully awake and shaky. She not only knew who he was, but where he lived. What else did she manage to uncover in just a few days? Who else knew?

“Sorry for dropping in on you like this. I knew you were working tonight, so I came by around the same time we bumped into each other and waited.” Razia stood, brushing her skirt off and hefting a reed basket up to her side. “I’m glad you made it home and didn’t…You know.” Her smile was wide and wicked as she closed the distance.

Quentin fought the instinct to back away from her. Everything in him screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. He settled for freezing in place, swallowing a growing lump in his throat. “What...What are you doing here?” He choked out.

Razia’s low, throaty laughter made his face burn. “You came looking for me, didn’t you? Samantha passed on your message. I appreciate the warning, but that wasn’t the reason you came looking for me, now was it?”

Quentin slowly shook his head. His racing thoughts swirled around him like a sandstorm. A mixture of fear, excitement, and to his disgust, a horrible fixation on how beautiful she was. There she was, a tiny woman with a big smile, possibly the biggest threat to his life in memory, and all Quentin could do was gape. If she looked good the night they met, it was nothing compared to now.

Razia wore deep red silks, wrapped around her small chest and winding around her hips and legs, as if one good pull would unravel it all. Her eyes were lined with a solid green, standing out against her dark skin. The moonlight glinted off her silver jewelry, twinkling when she moved. Quentin realized he was staring when she arched a brow at him.

“Hey there,” she said, laughter in her voice. “You still with me?”

Quentin shook his head clear. “Y-yeah. Sorry. I...You...It’s been a long night. How did you find me?”

She shrugged, somehow making it a full body motion. “I went to where you wanted to drop me off and looked for all the grocers within a half mile. I focused on the pricer ones and asked about customers who use Fleetfoot shoppers. One of them pointed me in this direction, and it turns out one of your neighbors is a sometime client of mine. He was happy to point out your house if I would leave before his wife saw me.”

Quentin gawked at Razia. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m good at finding information." Razia motioned to the door. "You going to invite me in? It’s nice out, but I can’t help but think you would prefer some privacy if we’re going to talk.”

Quentin snapped out of it. Grabbing his keys from his belt, he grunted an affirmative and opened the gate. Razia murmured a thanks and walked past him, through his garden and right into his home. Quentin trailed behind her wordlessly.

“Oh my,” said Razia, craning her head to look around. Quentin’s villa was dim, lit up by a couple of lamps burning low and in an open atrium. In the low light, his empty home looked endless, doors just barely out of sight. “This is quite the place you’ve got here, Quentin. Doing pretty well for yourself?”

He grunted an acknowledgement. “I want for nothing,” he said, voice flat. He turned up the lamps to a gentle glow. Door after door of empty, unused rooms sat on the edge of that light. They were like faces, watching in the dark.

“I doubt that,” Razia replied, turning around and taking it all in. “Everyone wants something. What do you want, Quentin?” Her voice dropped to something softer, less flippant.

“For starters?” Quentin said, “Fine, you found the Butcher. How? What tipped you off?”

“Other than covering your face, you weren’t doing much to hide it, honey.” She didn’t laugh out loud, but he saw it in her eyes. “I saw the executions from one of the close seats. The man sitting next to me said it was just one of the gladiators painted and in costume, but I knew that couldn’t be it. When you were moving around and fighting, the only thing on you was dirt and blood. There’s no way you were getting that rough and tumble without costume paints running. Trust me, I know.”

“You knew? Just from that?” There was no way. There were theories, most of them lunacy, about who he was. The only story about his “paint” Quentin could recall was that he took the ashes of his victims and blended them into his paint as he killed for his next set of paint. He actually kind of liked that one.

His disbelief must’ve shown. Razia looked closely at him, stepping around and looking him up and down. “No, there was more. You’re a big man. Not the biggest I’ve seen, but you stand out. When you’re wearing your cloak you slouch, but it doesn’t hide how big you are. It makes you stick out even worse.”

His stomach twisted. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Razia. “You made it clear you worked in the Colosseum. So you could’ve been a number of people. But I don’t imagine too many people work closely with the prisoners. A practice dummy wouldn’t, but a medic?” Razia’s face lit up with excitement. She was circling him now, he realized. Like she could go in for the kill at any time.

“Maybe a medic. You did say you worked in the infirmary. But still, most medics aren’t built like you. I was pretty sure, but then your leg gave out. That’s when I knew for sure.”

Quentin deflated. “That’s what I was afraid of.” She’d hid her reaction perfectly. Or maybe Quentin just wanted to believe she didn’t know. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes.

“Look,” he said, putting some strength in his voice. “Executioners are anonymous for a reason. If anyone finds out who I am, then they could kill me. Or they could sell the information to someone who would. I imagine you could get a lot of shards for that information. So please, please stop toying with me Razia. What do you plan on doing with me?”

Razia looked thoughtful then. For a second, Quentin thought she might give him a straight answer. But then her smile bloomed once more, playful and borderline sadistic. “That’s a good question. But first…” Razia took one of the lamps and went deeper into his house. Darkness settled in the space she left behind.

By now Quentin’s heart settled somewhere right in his throat and wouldn’t go down, no matter how hard or how many times he swallowed. She was still playing with him, and he was powerless to stop her. Maybe not powerless, he reflected, remembering the talk with Demetrius. Quentin had no desire to hurt the tiny woman, but if that’s what it took to keep himself safe...He swallowed again and took off after her.

“Now this is proper luxury,” Razia said, leaning against the open frame of the bathroom. She had a good eye. The large pool carved into the ground was one of the deciding factors for buying a family villa without having a family. She lowered the lamp and ran a hand over the tiles of a mosaic of ships at sea.

“I don’t see a place to stoke a fire underneath,” she said. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Quentin grunted. “Ember chips,” he said, reaching up and rattling a wooden box. They were bright orange slivers of alchemical resin. They were good for starting fires or, if you tossed it in water, instantly bringing the heat up to steaming. “It’s good for easing pain,” he added defensively. “Will you please tell me what you’re going to do?”

“You’re looking at it,” Razia replied, still smiling that infuriating smile. “Having a look around. I’m sizing you up. It’s something of a game I like to play.”

“I’m not having very much fun right now Razia.”

Her smile finally cracked. “Ah, that isn’t what I mean. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to torment you.”

“And yet you are.” The words were clipped, forced out. Quentin was surprised to find most of the fear turning into anger at the audacity of the woman. “Do you think it wise, playing with me like this? I have every reason in the world to keep you silent by any means necessary. Do you know how many people I’ve killed? What makes you think I won’t wring your neck to stay alive?”

The petite islander fell silent. She looked up into his scowling, hawkish face, with a look both thoughtful and serene. “You won’t.” She set the lamp down on a wall hook and stepped up to him. Quentin held his ground. Razia took his hands in hers and placed them around her throat. She squeezed.

“W-what are you doing?” Quentin started, trying to pull away. Her grip was firm as she kept their hands in place. His panic subsided when her grip didn’t tighten. Still Razia had that damnably serene look on her face. She managed to look both calm and smug at the same time.

“Here’s your chance, Quentin,” She said. This time when she squeezed his hands it was gentle. “If you want to silence me, I’m at your mercy. No one knows I’m here except your neighbor, and he won’t say a word. No one will. Buuuut,” Razia drummed her fingers along his hands before letting them go. “You won’t do it. You won’t kill me and we both know it.”

It was tempting. The thought of getting a good grip and giving her one good squeeze, just to wipe the smile off of her face. In the end Quentin couldn’t hurt her or even just squeeze a little to scare her. He hated her for being right.

“If you were wrong you’d be dead,” Quentin said.

“Yeah,” Razia said with a twinkle in her eye, “and if you lost a fight you’d be dead. That’s the game, Quentin. It’s silly, it’s dangerous, it’s just asking to die and it makes you feel alive like nothing else in the world.”

A chill ran down his spine. Quentin finally swallowed the lump in his throat. She understood. Razia knew why he fought. She was telling him she saw him for what he was, without condemnation or judgment. That understanding, that awful knowing stripped him bare. Quentin pulled his hands away from her throat.

“Hey,” Razia said, cupping his face. Her hand was soft and warm. “From here on out, no more playing with you. I’ll be open and honest if you will.” Her thumb stroked his cheek, cautiously. Nothing as forward as the other night, more curious. It almost felt like pity, but Quentin knew pity and this was different. “And I’ll make it easy on you. Ask me what I want, Quentin. One more time.”

“Okay, Razia,” Quentin sighed. “What do you want?”

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Razia took the lamp in one hand and Quentin’s hand in the other. She pulled him back towards the atrium, where the moonlight illuminated Quentin’s only real piece of furniture. Razia ushered Quentin down on the couch. He was too tired to resist or care. Retrieving a bottle of wine from her basket, Razia said, “Quentin Quintius, I want to have a few drinks and feed my curiosity. I want...I need to get to know the man who kills for a living but won't in his personal life. Let’s start there. Why couldn’t you?”

The question threw him, if only because it made him really think about it. He was silent as he mulled it over. Razia was content to let him think about it without prodding him for the answer. “This is what you want?” he asked. “Just to ask me questions and look at me like a novelty?”

She rolled her eyes. “No Quentin. I want to understand you. I have absolutely no intentions of telling anyone who you are. You know, so long as I get what I want. And right now I want you to answer my questions. Including the one you’re trying to dodge!”

Quentin didn’t expect the short, sharp laugh that escaped him. He shook his head, finally starting to relax just a bit. “I don’t know. Because you hadn’t done anything. I kill when I’m working, but it’s not like I want to kill people. And you haven’t done anything yet. I can’t hurt you if you haven’t done anything. It would be wrong.” Saying it out loud sounded stupid, but Razia looked pleased.

“I believe you mean that.” Razia took the seat next to him on the couch, just barely avoiding touching him. Quentin wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved she was giving him space. She held up the wine. “I think you might be a good man, Quentin Quintius.”

He took the bottle from her and worked the cork out. “You think wrong. The other night, you had it right. Not everyone who comes to me is guilty. I have no way of knowing how many people I’ve killed were innocent. It doesn’t matter if they are. I kill whoever they put in front of me. It doesn’t matter how much I object or wish I didn’t have to, I kill them all the same. I’m not good. I’m barely tolerable.”

Razia nudged the bottle of wine up to his mouth. “Please, for the love of the gods, take a drink and lighten up some. Do it or I’ll tell someone who you are.”

Quentin jolted out of the impending resentful fog about to descend and chuckled. He took a slow pull of the wine and savored it. After the day he’d had, a little wine was welcome. “There,” he said. “Promise not to tell who I am?”

“I’m satisfied. For now.” Razia took the bottle and took a drink of her own. She wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. “We’ll see how I’m feeling later on. I’m starting to run low on shards. Might be too tempting an offer.”

“Ah, right,” said Quentin, smiling in spite of himself. “Can’t blame you for looking out for yourself. It’s a dangerous city. I just hadn’t counted on being taken down by a tiny witch.”

Her eyes widened with shock and joy. “Excuse me?” She said, fighting off laughter. “I resent that. I’m gigantic. In presence at least.”

Another surprised laugh and Quentin found himself relaxing. This was closer to what it was like the other night. When she forced him to have a good time in spite of himself. When a potential fight turned into a night of drinking and laughing. It felt...good. “No one’s ever accused you of being humble, have they?” he teased.

“Nope.” Razia took another drink and pushed the bottle back insistently. “I know my worth.”

“And your price,” he said, drinking.

“Not the same thing,” Razia shook her head. “My company has a price. There’s no price in the world that comes close to my worth. I like myself, and you should too.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Like you, or like myself?”

Razia grinned. “Both, preferably. I mean it, though. I’ve met many men in my life, and you’re not anywhere near the worst. No,” she held up a finger the second Quentin’s mouth opened to protest. “No self hating or I will find someone to rant to, and then your secret’s out. We can’t have that.”

“I guess we can’t,” said Quentin. “So what’s next? Since you’re apparently in charge.”

Razia pushed the bottle over to him. “Let’s go with my original question tonight, then. What do you want?”

Quentin frowned. “I...I don’t. There’s not really anything I want.”

“Gullshit,” Razia scoffed. “Everyone wants something. Even the dead want to be remembered. You’ve got a big house, have a big fancy bathtub you can use everyday if you wanted, and you clearly eat well. You’re healthy and doing well for yourself, but what is it you want? Anything in the world. No matter what it is, I promise I won’t laugh or be weird about it.” She held up a hand, giving a mock serious look.

The hard part of the question was just the question itself. Quentin wasn’t worried that she would laugh at what he wanted. The thing was that when it came down to it, he didn’t have an answer. Not even something he could lie about to satisfy Razia enough to move on. Every time he tried to think of something, be it drinking and laughing with the gladiators or being able to walk around during the day without being blind, they were instantly dismissed as unimportant or unrealistic.

“This is a hard one for you, isn’t it?” Razia asked after a couple minutes of silence.

“I meant it when I said I don’t want anything!” Quentin protested, taking an angry swig of wine. “I’ve got everything I need. Besides, me wanting anything seems pretty pointless anyways.”

Razia gave him a long, searching look. “Why would wanting something be pointless, Quentin?”

Quentin shrugged, standing. His body protested, aches and pains making themselves known. He was tired again, and his body begged to drop. But this wasn’t something he could dodge. Not when she could see right through him. “Because,” he said, taking a breath and bracing himself, “it’s not as though I’m going to live long enough to enjoy it.

“What’s the point of wanting something when I take each week as it comes? I didn’t think I’d survive this long, but here I am. And that baffles me. No one wins every fight. No one. Sooner or later I’m going to slip and when I do, nothing in my life will have mattered. I’ve sent enough people to face the Darkstar’s judgement. Innocent as well as guilty. When…”

Quentin’s voice cracked at the end. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Razia sat there, looking up at him with something like concern or sympathy in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Clearing his throat, he continued, “When I die, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll be a shade. Everything I ever was will be gone. Whatever’s left of me will serve the Darkstar for all time, never remembering who I was. What’s the point of wanting or enjoying anything when it will be like it never happened?”

Razia didn’t say anything at first. To her credit, she took her time coming up with a reply. When she did, she was serious, almost mournful sounding. “Does nothing make you happy, Quentin?”

“I…” Quentin grit his teeth. “Not nothing,” he said. “The only thing that makes me happy anymore is...The game. The one you were playing earlier. The only thing that makes you feel alive.”

She got to her feet and put her hand on his arm. He stopped fidgeting at once and met Razia’s gaze. “So does that mean you weren’t happy the other night, when we were drinking and laughing? Did that bring you absolutely no joy of any kind?”

The words were like a slap to the face. “What? No, I had a good time and...I guess I was happy,” Quentin admitted. “Until you revealed you knew who I really was and I nearly shat myself.”

That got a laugh out of her. “When you die and become a shade, I’ll remember that night,” Razia said. “I’ll remember it as the night I met an interesting, handsome, grumpy bastard and I still got him to have fun. And I think from now until whenever you do die, you’ll remember having fun once you let go a little. You think that’s not worth it?.”

“Maybe it is. But something’s bothering me. Why do you even care?” Quentin asked. “What’s in this for you? You can’t expect me to believe you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart.” He grimaced. “I like you, Razia. Somehow I think I like you. But this is Orchrisus. You can get whatever you can dream of, but there’s always a price.”

Razia took his hands in hers. She was close, like their night out before they parted ways. Some of his tension melted away with the stroke of her thumb across his skin. It was a small joy Quentin found himself resenting. He hated how strongly her presence affected him. He hated both of them knowing just how caught he was and he hated how it intoxicated him.

“Quentin,” she said, voice low and drawn out. Almost like she was sighing his name. “When we first met I was honestly bored and looking for some way to round out my night and make a little money. But I think I understand you. That’s what I do. I learn about people and cater to their every delight, and tend to their hurts and scars. I mean it when I say this is a calling for me. For that alone I would care about you.

“I can see that you are lonely and depressed. You’re isolated. Even if you weren’t born the way you are, the job you do must keep you apart from everyone else. You carry a hard burden, and you define yourself by it. Just as your cuts and bruises need attention, so does the rest of you. What I offer is a form of healing, in honor of my goddess. For that alone I would want to help you and ease your pains. So yes,” she said, squeezing his hands playfully. “I would do it out of the kindness of my heart.”

“But I also said no,” Quentin said, fighting to keep the heat from enveloping his face. “That as much as you’re pret- beautiful, I’m not sure I can enjoy your services.”

She bowed her head. “Of course. I respect your choice and I’m not going to push you. If you change your mind, tell me. But not all my healing is about sex. There’s a lot I can do for you. Which brings me to my next point.” Razia tugged on Quentin’s arms and directed him back to the couch. He sat back down and she sat with her back to the arm, feet landing in his lap.

He raised an eyebrow. At her cheeky smile he shook his head and rested his hand on her leg. There was no way she would object if he touched her more, but there was also no way Quentin could bring himself to do it. He was distracted enough. “What’s your next point?” he asked.

Razia took the wine and drank deeply from it. “I have a lot I can offer, and you do too. Specifically, I think there’s a way we can help each other out. When you came looking for me and met with Samantha, it started a bit of a reaction. She told everyone Otho was willing to sell their lives, and when I found out about it, I may have overreacted a bit.”

“Define overreacted.”

“I gathered as many of the girls as I could and we marched out of there. But not before turning his guards against him and starting a small riot between rival gangs so we could escape.” Razia finished the wine.

Quentin burst out laughing. Razia didn’t join him. “Oh. Oh fucking hell,” he groaned. “Mouthing off to muggers, stealing from pimps, starting riots; you really do like to play the game don’t you? What possessed you to do that?”

She shrugged. “He crossed a line. We deserve better than that, and he deserves to be punished. I took thirteen girls with me and we walked out.”

“Okay,” said Quentin, taking a deep breath. “How much power and influence does this guy have? How worried should you be?”

“A lot less than he used to have,” she grinned. “He’s going to be angry. I’ve got that handled, but that means I’ve got over a dozen girls to look out for and make sure they land on their feet. It’s my fault they’re in this mess and I intend to make sure they’re taken care of. Which means I’m not going to be making much money in the near future.”

“Okay,” said Quentin. “Where do I come in?”

Razia licked her lips. “You have a very nice home, Quentin. One with many empty rooms.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Why yes Razia,” he returned, “I do. So nice of you to notice.”

“It would save me a lot of money if I had a place to stay without having to pay for the room every night. More than that, I am confident I can trust you. You were willing to seek me out to warn me of danger and I already know you’re not being kind just to fuck me. Frankly,” she said chuckling, “I think you might be the safest place in the city for me.”

“So you want shelter and a bodyguard,” said Quentin.

“No,” Razia said. “I want a friend I can trust.”

It wasn’t like Quentin didn’t have the room. He could fit another seven people comfortably and still have room to run a business If he had one. Still, he hadn’t lived with other people for a decade now. Could he really start again? “What do I get out of it?” Quentin asked. “You said we could help each other. I give you shelter and what, you be my friend?”

Razia shook her head. “I’ll be your friend even without a deal. No, for starters, if you don’t give me shelter I’ll tell everyone who you are.”

“Would you though?” Quentin squeezed her leg. Razia shook her head.

“No, I wouldn’t do that. But either you trust me or you’re paranoid enough to take the deal. Either is good enough for me. No, I’ve got what you want, Quentin.” Razia beamed, almost giddy. “I’m going to show you Orchrisus. The Orchrisus you never get to see. I’m going to bring you out into the world and let you experience it. Our night out when we met was just the first.”

Razia stretched out her legs in his lap. She wriggled, getting comfortable on the couch. She had a smug, knowing smile Quentin was already growing to dread. “Quentin Quintius, I’m going to make you feel alive.”