Chapter 89: A Dimmed Flame

“I don’t want to forget you.”

The words stabbed Razia in the heart. Quentin slumped and moved no more.

The room was silent for a second, like everyone was holding their breath in disbelief. Eventually, someone had to exhale and it was Jonas who just whispered, “Fuck.”

She was already crying, but with the silence broken Razia let out an inarticulate scream and threw herself onto Quentin’s battered body. He didn’t stir. He wasn’t breathing. “You can’t do this,” she whispered, voice still raspy from being choked. “Get up.”

The body lay there silently. Anger took her then, easier to grasp onto than acceptance. “Get up you bastard! You can’t lose, you never lose!” Razia hit his chest. Once, twice, then she was pummeling it while crying until someone pulled her away. She just fought them too, kicking and screaming until one of them physically lifted her and took her away from Quentin. “Stop, let me go. Let me go right now!”

“You need to calm down,” Jonas whispered behind her. “You need to get your head on straight. We need you.”

We? Gods, that’s right. Razia stopped fighting, and Jonas let her down. She turned, and she wasn’t alone. Aside from all of Cicero’s various men looking on with a mixture of interest and disappointment, there were her people, drawn away from their dates by the duel. Now they faced the same cold, horrible reality Razia did: Quentin wasn’t getting back up.

“Mr. Q,” Samantha whimpered, stepping forward, Lynne at her side. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wasn’t alone. Lucy was nearby and broke down crying. Kelli looked horrified, while Jenna stared blankly in disbelief. Tenchi was unhappy but hadn’t been especially close with Quentin, and Cullen was pensive but kept a strong face. The worst of them was Isa.

Isa’s face held the same disbelief Razia had, but worse. The stabbing feeling in Razia wasn’t going anywhere. She knew in her heart what all of this meant, even if she didn’t want to accept it…wasn’t ready to accept it. Isa looked lost. All of her irritation and contempt was gone while she stared as if unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

“We need to go,” Jonas said gently. “We need…We need to get him home. And to get all the girls home safely.”

His words made sense, but it was hard to listen.

“Fucking hell, why did we just let that guy go?” Bruce growled. “He fucking killed Quentin and we just watched and let him go!”

“It was a duel,” Jonas said, frowning. “As far as I can tell by whatever rules are set up among the bastards here, they would’ve turned on us if we interfered.”

“We just let him do it,” Bruce repeated, pulling at his hair. “We should’ve jumped in and killed that bastard. Now he’s gotten both Demetrius and Quentin.”

Razia turned from them back to Quentin and nearly let out a scream. “What the hell are you doing?” she almost shouted in her tortured voice. Kneeling beside Quentin was Fish, head cocked to the side like he was looking at something interesting. “Get away from him!”

Fish looked up at her, face screwed up. “His heart’s still beating.”

It was like a bucket of ice water was dumped over her. “What?”

“His heart’s still beating,” Fish repeated louder, looking around at the rest of them. “He’s not breathing or moving or anything, but his heart’s still beating. It’s fucking weird, man.”

Razia rushed over to him, shoving him out of the way. A trembling hand went to his chest. Sure enough, it thudded beneath her hand. It was slow and weak, but obviously there. She touched his cheek, and it was still as warm as he ever was. If it was possible, Quentin somehow looked paler than normal, and he very much was not breathing, but his heart still chugged along.

Behind her, Mr. Cicero came up to them. He waited until she noticed him to address her. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Rashid. I had higher hopes for him than this.”

Her anger flared, hot and ready to be unleashed. “Keep your hopes. Quentin’s going to be fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, staring directly at Quentin’s still warm corpse.

“He’s going to be fine,” Razia repeated, louder than before. “Just give us a week or so.”

Cicero cleared his throat. “So you’re saying he’ll be…okay, to attend the peace talks?”

Razia shook her head fiercely. “No, no peace talks. Those fuckers want war, so war they’ll get. In a week Quentin will be back on his feet and we’ll be ready to fight.”

It wasn’t even as if there was a part of her telling her she was right, and that all she had to do was wait. All Razia had was the unflinching refusal to accept what was happening to her, like she could just will Quentin back to life. Maybe she couldn’t do anything about it, but she could buy time. Maybe that’s all she could do.

Mr. Cicero grimaced. To his credit, he actually looked unhappy rather than mildly amused at everything going on around him. “Do you know something I don’t, Razia? Do you have reason to believe Quentin will get back up?”

She took a deep breath. “I do. And I’ll make you a deal. Give me a week, keep the streets safe and be prepared for fuckery from Piro. If in a week Quentin isn’t better, I’ll let you trade me to him for a bunch of shards. All I need from you is patience and time.” Razia wiped at her eyes.

Something like pity showed in his face. Mr. Cicero sighed, shaking his head. “You’ll have it. You might consider using that time to plot your exit. Quentin had more than enough money for you all and I could get you access to it. Leaving the city might be preferable to turning yourself in.”

Razia laughed, earning startled looks from everyone around her. “I don’t need Quentin’s mountain of shards. He’s going to be okay.”

“Right. If you need to take your girls and go home, this party has been thoroughly crashed. I’m going to have my work cut out for me, maintaining control over those jackals. But that’s my problem and Piro will pay for this insult. Go home.”

“Raincheck,” said Razia. “We owe you a hell of a party, and we’ll throw one as soon as Christophe is dead.”

With one last look and a short nod, Cicero left her alone with Jonas, Bruce, Fish, and Quentin’s abnormal corpse. The girls remained a distance apart, and Razia intended to keep it that way at first. “Jonas,” she said, startling him to attention. The teen’s eyes were red and there were some tears as well, though now he mostly looked confused. She could hardly blame him. “How’s your arm doing? Do you think you and Bruce can drag him to a cart?”

He and Bruce looked at each other. “Yeah, of course we can,” Jonas said. “My arm’s mostly healed. We can handle this.”

“Where do you want us to take him?” Bruce asked, shifting from foot to foot. He didn’t look especially comfortable being asked to drag a badly battered body out, but it’s not like Razia could manage it herself.

“Beetle cart,” she said, looking at the body once more. It was still, save for the twitching of his chest. She had to assume this was weird savant shit she didn’t understand, or maybe even moonkissed related. He didn’t believe, but Razia would believe anything right then if it meant getting him back. “We need to get him home and safely in bed so he can sleep this off.”

The gladiators shared an incredulous look. “Razia,” Jonas started.

Razia smiled wide enough she could feel her lips twitching. “He’s going to be okay, and the first step in making that happen is taking him home. From there we’ll get a physician, a surgeon, anything we need to make sure he wakes up.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Miss,” Bruce said, frowning. “He’s dead. Look at him. I don’t think a bit of R and R is going to do the trick.”

Razia took a long, deep breath. “Even if it won’t bring him back to life, we still need to get him home so we can tell his father and arrange things. But that’s not going to happen, you understand me? We’re going to go home, and within the next week, Quentin is going to open his fucking eyes and get on his feet and stop worrying me this badly.” By the end of the sentence Razia realized she was yelling and sounded unhinged, even to herself. She cleared her throat. “And if you help me out I’ll give you an extra aquilo for your troubles.”

Bruce made a face. “I’ll do it, no need to bribe me for more. Just…What happens if he doesn’t get up?”

It was a stupid question. Why didn’t anyone believe her? Quentin was going to be okay. They’d laugh about this later, even. Maybe then people would realize that Razia knew what she was talking about, her plans worked, and Quentin was entirely too tough and reliable to just die like that. How foolish they all were. She let herself have a brief laugh about it that clearly unnerved the two gladiators.

“If he doesn’t get up then I’m going to be sold down south and someone’s going to need to take over. You up for it, Jonas?”

The look on Jonas face told her he was not only not ready for it, it was the last thing he expected. “What?” he asked, gaping at her.

“Are you up for taking over if Quentin’s really dead?” she repeated impatiently. “We’ve got a whole bunch of people relying on us and he wouldn’t want them left high and dry if something did happen to him. Permanently, I mean.”

He had to think about it but in the end he blew out a breath and shrugged. “If I have to, sure. I like the girls well enough and I don’t want anything to happen to them. But…He’s going to get up, right?”

“Right.” Razia wondered how old Jonas was. Quentin told her that as far as he knew, Jonas was still a teenager. And now he’d lost his mentor and a big brother figure. Maybe he needed to believe too.

“Alright Bruce, let’s…Let’s get Quentin in a cart.”

Grunting in acknowledgement, Bruce went around to the body and took his arms while Jonas grabbed his feet. With some difficulty they lifted him up and awkwardly shuffled out of the room, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Razia followed after them, wincing with each jostle and bump as if Quentin could still feel it. She watched them go out of the room, which left her with the other problem. There was no one else between her and the girls, and watching Quentin get dragged out made Samantha burst out crying.

“Is he really dead?” Samantha wailed. All around them, the party goers were exiting the building while the serving slaves darted around, already cleaning up. The temporary hires came up and joined their group, now the only real concentration of people in the entire room.

“No, he’s just hurt really bad,” Razia said, raising her hands and motioning for quiet and calm. “He just needs to rest. It’ll be okay.”

Silence.

Isa stared at her in disbelief, with a clear storm on her face. Before she could go off Razia handled it. She looked around to make sure they were alone enough. The members of Cicero’s Kingdom were mostly gone now, with only a few stragglers remaining. Like Fish, who hung nearby slack jawed but interested. Maybe this was an opportunity.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you all this, honestly,” she said. “But I don’t think there’s much choice. Quentin may look dead, but he’s not. He’s…Quentin’s touched by the gods,” she said, hating herself for how much Quentin would hate this, “and he can’t die. Not permanently. He’s immortal, and just needs to rest.”

All around her, her people stared unblinking. It was Jenna who broke the silence, saying what everyone was thinking. “Are you serious? C’mon, do you really expect us to believe that?”

“I do,” said Razia. “It’s the truth. How do you think he’s lasted this long in Orchrisus and been so successful?” This was much more comfortable. Maybe Razia had a problem with lying too much, but this wasn’t lying because she was right. Quentin must’ve been fine if his heart was still beating. She grinned fiercely. “Everything will be okay. We just need to let him rest.”

Nobody believed her. That much was plain to see. Setback after setback, and something as minor as Quentin being beaten to death was going to ruin it all. Where was their faith? The more Razia spoke, the more she clung to what she was saying. If she believed it, why couldn’t they? Her smile slowly faltered. Some of the temporary hires just shook their heads and walked out. Others followed, until only a few of the new people and their original group remained.

“Okay,” said Lucy, looking miserable. “He’ll be okay.”

“He’ll be okay,” Samantha echoed. Then came Lynne, Jenna, Kelli, and even Tenchi and Cullen. The only one who didn’t say it was, surprise surprise, Isa. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything. Not yet, at least. Razia would have to deal with that sooner rather than later if she wanted to maintain control.

“He’ll be okay,” Razia said one last time. She walked out of the hall, expecting the others to follow her. After a second, they fell in line and headed on out to the beetle carts.

Most of them were already gone or in the process of leaving. That left the original three carts they came in, as well as a smaller cart pulled by a charger beetle. Quentin’s body was in that one. Without even thinking about it, that’s where Razia headed. She climbed in and carefully sat down, keeping her feet off of him. A second later, Isa joined her, wearing an expression that screamed she would not be denied.

Jonas and Bruce handled wrangling the gladiators, telling them the plan and helping keep order. It was thanks to them that the girls all got on board and headed back to their part of the city. Their own cart driver waited until the others were on their way before the beetle got moving, skittering forward. Isa waited until they were out of the complex before she started in on her.

“What’s the real plan?” she asked. “For when like every other person who’s ever died, he doesn’t get back up.”

Maybe Razia could lie to herself, but lying to Isa was pointless. She’d see right through it and punish her for it. “I don’t know,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “I’m going to pray. A lot. Every single day. I’ll go to the temples if I can and pray that I’m right and that he’ll be okay. That he can heal this. He’s a savant, Isa. That’s what he does. He can heal from anything.”

Rather than respond with her usual snark or accusations, Isa tentatively reached down and put her hand on Quentin’s chest. She jerked it away after a second. “Whisperer’s tits, that’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Razia agreed, putting her hand down there. It was scary and unnatural, but comforting. It felt like there was a part of Quentin still there, even if he was completely still. She dragged her hand across his chest and cupped his battered, broken face. He was even still warm, somehow.

“I think you’re crazy,” Isa said. “I don’t think he’s going to get back up. I think you’ve cracked, and you want to believe it’s true. Whatever’s going on with Quentin, I think he’s really dead and you can’t handle that.” There was no heat in her voice, no bitterness or hate. It sounded dangerously close to pity.

“Maybe that’s true,” Razia conceded. “Maybe I can’t handle it, but if there’s even a chance I’m right, I’m going to take it. If a week goes by and he doesn’t get up, then…” Then what? No matter how much she tried to scheme and plot, it was like running into a brick wall. She couldn’t see past the next week, couldn’t picture anything.

Isa considered her again, and Razia felt like she was oddly naked in front of the other woman. She didn’t like how Isa seemed to be looking right through her like she could see it all. “This is hard for you, isn’t it? You’re not used to being tied down to something. Now that he’s gone, you can’t handle it.”

Razia said nothing. That must’ve been seen as an invitation, because Isa kept going, plowing right through her. “You love to talk about being a good companion and loving a little bit of everyone but not getting attached. You got attached. That’s why you’re talking about staying.”

“You don’t know that,” Razia said, looking back down on Quentin. Even in death or whatever this was, he looked like he was scowling. As much as she could read an expression on his pummeled, bruised, and bloody face. “For all you know I’m just saying that as a smokescreen and will dip as soon as the rest of you aren’t looking.”

Isa shook her head. “No, I don’t think you are. Not this time.”

Razia didn’t answer. What would be the point? She just let the ride continue in silence for a bit, nothing but the sound of insects and the sound of wheels on sand. They continued that way for the next several minutes, until they approached the city. The carts in front of them were already there and would wind through the streets until they got back to the Moonlit Garden.

“Is there anything I can do to help make things easier?” Isa asked, looking off in the distance. “Anything to help?”

Razia thought about it. “You can make sure everyone gets paid tonight while I get Quentin situated. Just deflect questions and keep everyone calm. If…” Razia chuckled. It turned into a full on laugh that had Isa staring at her. “Gods,” Razia said. “No one could help me as much as you can right now. If you of all people aren’t screaming doom and gloom and to run away, then clearly things will be fine.”

Isa chuckled a little. “Maybe I should be screaming doom and gloom. Every step of the way I’ve been right at least a little. Maybe now is the time to run. But if it is, I won’t say so. I’ll keep them calm. You’ve got one week.”

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence. They got back to the Boulevard of Saint Trassius, where Jonas and the gladiators were already helping people off the carts and ushering them towards the neighborhood. Two of them came up and helped Razia with Quentin, taking him through the courtyard and into his garden. The guards didn’t stop them, but she saw a couple of them whispering at the odd sight of two muscular men carrying Quentin in.

They put him in bed, and silly as it was, Razia made sure he was laying in a position he normally found comfortable, pillow fluffed and in place. The room was dark, quiet, and peaceful. Jonas broke that peace.

“If…” he started, licking his lips. “If you’re wrong, I’ll do what I can for the girls. But I’m not him. Things will get ugly if he’s really…”

“I know,” said Razia, putting her hand on his arm and squeezing. “But I refuse to believe this is the end.”

Jonas sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

End of Part 7: Into the Underworld