Chapter 72: Father and Son

At first Quentin didn’t really have a goal, he just let his feet carry him away from home. Walking around Orchrisus had always been one of the few hobbies he enjoyed, though rarely during the day. Now that he had his dark spectacles to protect his eyes, it was more enjoyable. Knowing they were a gift from Razia, and a particularly thoughtful one at that, just made the recent pain harder to bear. Even when walking away he couldn’t escape the influence she had on his life. The same went for the dark blue cloak with stars embroidered along the back. It hid him less and was, he hated to say, stylish. There was no hiding like this, and for a change he didn’t give a damn about the people he passed by. Another thing he could tally up as being because of her. He didn’t like it, but what could he really do about it now?

Quentin kept walking. It was normally easy to get lost in his anger and just stew in it for hours and hours. When one lived alone, cut off from the rest of the world, it became a natural habit. Being angry at least meant feeling something other than loneliness. Now he couldn’t claim to be lonely, and that was just another thing to be angry about when all was said and done. Another thing for the pile, matched up against two distinct wrongs.

Lying to him was bad, but Quentin really didn’t expect any better out of her. What did that say about their relationship? How healthy was it to be attached to someone you couldn’t fully trust? Over the last ten years he’d seen the results of lying and cheating and betraying your partner’s trust. He’d lost count of how many executions came down to vengeful lovers acting out while hurt. Quentin wasn’t sure he’d ever be angry enough to hurt Razia intentionally, but there was no denying her responsibility here.

Demetrius was gone because of her. Because of him, too. Quentin had demanded that he and Jonas look out for the place if he was going to be gone for the night. Demetrius may have been a crotchety old bastard, but he was an honorable man who kept his promises. In the fifteen years Quentin spent at the Colosseum, it was Demetrius who had been there for him the entire time, treating him the same way he would any other overly proud brawler who wanted to prove himself. He’d been as close a thing as Quentin had to a father in years.

Maybe that was why his footsteps led him east, towards the more packed, far side of town. It wasn’t a slummy area, but it was crowded and the homes were piled on top of each other, each a garish color clashing with the others. This neighborhood straddled the line between low and middle class, where craftsmen and skilled laborers and stall vendors could afford to live with their families. Years had passed since Quentin last set foot here, but the only difference was some of the neighbors were older. It took them a few seconds to recognize him, but most of them knew him when they saw him.

Quentin passed by a middle aged woman and her now teenage daughter, hanging their laundry in a nook between two houses. Mrs…Digo, was it? Her daughter waved at him with an uneasy smile and Quentin returned it, moving on to the house just past there. He faced the door, raised his hand to knock, and hesitated. He never thought he’d come back here at all, let alone for advice or sympathy. Without Demetrius, who else did he really have? Sighing, Quentin banged on the door.

Nearly half a minute later the door swung open, revealing a hawkish, frowning face very familiar to Quentin. He saw the same face whenever he looked into a mirror, sans color. Seeing him, the man stiffened, his scowl deepening. Quentin’s heart raced, but he ignored it and sighed. “Hi dad.”

Quirrinel Quintius stared at him silently, long enough for it to go past awkward and right into uncomfortable. Long enough for the man to build up a head of steam and unleash it on Quentin, ready to tear into him for a lifetime of mistakes and disappointments. Long enough for Quentin to think that maybe this was a bad idea after all, and maybe he should just apologize and walk away. Quirrinel opened the door and motioned with his head for Quentin to enter.

The only change in his father’s home was how much messier it was without Quentin. The majority of the open room was a workshop, with a big barrel of water in the corner, plenty of mud and clay in big pots around it, a kiln off in the opposite corner, and a study stone table set against the wall where his father worked and ate his meals. On another smaller table were chisels and hammers and rags. Quirrinel stepped into the middle of it and tried to smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re still alive. I feared the worst when I heard about the new executioner. I expected somebody to come speak with me, but they never did.”

Quentin bit back a sharp retort. It was his father’s decision to cut him out, not his. Instead he just shook his head and sighed. “No, they just retired me. More or less.”

“Thank the gods,” said Quirrinel. “I can’t believe you lasted as long as you did without some degenerate getting lucky. Do you have any idea what it’s like, having to constantly worry that one day some men will come and inform you that your child is dead and that his killer gets freedom? I worried about you every night.”

“Yeah,” said Quentin, giving in to the white flash of anger. “You were so worried about losing me you said fuck it, and decided you never wanted to see me again. Don’t have to lose your son if you get rid of him first. Great logic.”

Quirrinel’s lips drew back in the same silent snarl Quentin’s did when he was angry. “I didn’t get rid of you, I gave you a decision to make. It was your choice to stay at the Colosseum. It was your choice to make a living killing people. You chose all of that over family. Every night I not only waited to see if you were coming home, but how bad a shape you were in. I couldn’t live like that, watching you destroy yourself.”

“What other choice did I have, dad?” Quentin demanded. “How else was I going to make a living? Do you know what it’s like, looking the way I do? Having people fear me and be disgusted by my very existence? Who the fuck would’ve hired someone who can’t be outside during the day and can’t see very well? I was good at this.”

Qurrinel took a deep breath, and Quentin did the same. The two eyed each other with nearly identical baleful glares before Quirrinel broke and looked away. “I’m genuinely happy to see you, son,” he said in a voice laced with restraint. “I’m even more glad that you’re retired. What brings you here today?”

There was no use rehashing the same old arguments that led to the same fights over and over again. Going around in circles was exhausting and wouldn’t get them anywhere. Quentin swallowed his anger and years of resentment and moved on. “You remember Demetrius at the Colosseum?” His father nodded. Quentin’s eyes dropped. “He was killed last night. Because of me.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry Quentin,” he said, reaching out and falling short of Quentin’s shoulder as he thought better of it. “I remember when you started working in the practice yard, and you brought him home for dinner. He’s the only one I could remember treating you like a real person. He spent the whole night teasing you and talking about how sloppy you were and it was the first time I saw you not get angry at being criticized so much. What happened?”

Quentin ran a hand through his hair. Where did he even begin? Moving past his father he grabbed one of the two stools and sat himself down, slumping over. “I’m mostly retired, but they wanted me for one last job. You don’t want to know the details,” he quickly added, heading off any questions before his father could even think of them. Quirrinel nodded in gratitude and took the other stool. “Demetrius did me a favor and decided to work security for my new business.”

“Your new business?”

Gods, how did he explain this? “Yeah…so. A few weeks before I retired, I met a prostitute on the way home. We got to talking, went out drinking together, and before she left she told me she knew who I was. We ended up becoming friends after she blackmailed me to let her stay in my house. Within a week she introduced me to her friends, we all hit it off, and now I kind of sort of own a whorehouse.”

Quirrinel blinked. He worked his mouth open and shut but no sound came out. He stood up abruptly and went into the kitchen nook. He came back with a bottle of cheap liquor and set it down on the work table near them. “Alright. You’re going to start from the beginning, and tell me everything.” He pushed the bottle over to Quentin.

Taking the bottle with a smile, Quentin said, “It’s a bit of a long story. But that night, I got injured during a fight, and had to walk home instead of taking the beetles. That’s when I met Razia…”

It was oddly freeing, to be able to talk about all of it with a person who hadn’t been in his life at all for the better part of a decade. Quirrinel knew Quentin’s life up to him getting his villa, but everything after that was just what he overheard about the executions from friends and neighbors who went. He told his father all about meeting Razia, and how playful and fun she was. About her bad past, the way it kept coming back to bite her, only to miss and sink its fangs into someone else instead.

He told Quirrinel about Samantha and the Silk Lounge, the three gangsters who tried to hunt Razia down, meeting the other girls. He told him about Maria and Lucy and Isa, and how he’d fought for them and protected them against a harsh and uncaring nightlife. The way he’d found people who didn’t know what he did other than the fact that he was on their side, and how they welcomed him and became his friends. And then the fight that ended in death and Quentin’s arrest, and the revelation that he was working as a pimp without knowing it.

That made Quirrinel laugh so hard Quentin half expected the neighbors to come in and check on them. He had to wipe tears out of his eyes before motioning for Quentin to continue the story, never interrupting him save to ask for clarification here and there. That led to finding Maria behind bars, trying to save her and failing, and Quentin’s failures in protecting the girls. All the way up to buying a place and spending the last month and a half having the time of his life.

He spared no detail about any of the girls or how he felt about them. Lucy was cute and he had to protect her, Jenna was chatty and not much phased her, Lynne was a bit snooty but Samantha was the friendliest woman in the world. He had no clue what went on in Isa’s head but oh how he respected how genuine and honest she was. And about Razia…Quentin talked about her the most.

“So I woke up with her curled up against me,” said Quentin, finishing off the liquor. It made an already warm day sweltering, but he couldn’t deny how much he needed to loosen up. It did wonders for his father as well, and Quirrinel was as animated and pleased as Quentin could ever remember seeing him. “I confronted her about all of this, and she told me more. What I think is everything. I don’t know if I can ever trust her again.”

Quirrinel took a deep breath, blinking as he thought about it. His tolerance was lower than Quentin’s, and he was comfortably drunk. “Well,” he started. “I don’t know. But you know what I do know? I’m glad you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Quentin’s face heated up even more. “I…I don’t know what we are,” he said.

“Pfft. C’mon now,” Quirrinel prodded. “Sounds like you’ve been together since just after she moved in.”

“But we haven’t done anything,” Quentin said. It felt like every time he told that to someone, it sounded weaker and weaker to his ears. “Razia would’ve, but I’ve had issues since…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence, and drunk as he was, Quirrinel knew better than to bring it up.

“And?” Quirrinel scoffed. “Over the last hour, you’ve spent half of it talking about her. How you’ve done basically everything you have because of her. You kept getting this look in your face every time you talked about times when you two got close.” He screwed up his face and took on a wistful, faraway look and sighed dramatically.

“Shut up, I do not,” Quentin grumbled, looking away. “How can I trust her? She’s never told me everything, and --”

“Did you ask?”

Quentin froze. “What?”

“I said, did you ask her?” Quirrinel sat up straight. When Quentin didn’t answer, his sloppy smile turned smug. “You know, about all the things you say she was keeping from you. Did you ever ask about it, or did you just leave it in the past and ignore it?”

Suddenly, Quentin was brought back to being a small child, caught doing something wrong that in hindsight had been very stupid. “No,” he said, groaning. “Yes. She told me the basics but I never pushed for more. Whenever it comes up she says something to shrug it off and I never pry. Especially about her clients.”

“Ahh, yeah,” Quirrinel nodded. “About that. What are your thoughts on her seeing as many people as she does? Is that what’s kept you from going for it? I’ve known plenty of men who would happily enjoy being with a whore, but would never marry one.”

“I don’t give a damn about that,” said Quentin. “Mostly. I don’t judge her for what she does, just like she didn’t judge me. But I…I don’t want to be another guy. One of many. I want it to matter. I want to matter.”

Quirrinel nodded in understanding. “Who says it wouldn’t? I loved your mother more than anything in the world. But when she got sick, she encouraged me to see others. Especially when she knew she wasn’t getting better. When I did, it was nice, but it was different. It’s not the same as when you love someone.”

Quentin didn’t know how to process that. Part of him wanted to immediately take a swing at his father for cheating on his mother, but…If she was okay with it, why shouldn’t he be? It hurt, but it wasn’t his business. That wasn’t even what stopped him in his tracks. It was that word. “I’m not exactly sure we love each other,” he said. “How the fuck would I even know what love is like? Not like I’ve had much of it.”

That smug, knowing smile came back. “Sure. But I imagine she has. Have you asked her?”

Maybe this was the real reason Quentin hadn’t come back in years. There was no one in the world who could make him feel stupid quite so easily as his father. “Look, this isn’t even the main problem. Whatever we are, she’s the reason Demetrius is dead, and so am I. If it wasn’t for her pissing off her dangerous shaper ex-boyfriend, we wouldn’t have been attacked and Demetrius wouldn’t have been hurt trying to save her.”

“And why do you think he tried to save her?” Quirrinel scoffed. “She matters to you, and you mattered to him. He was a grown-ass man and he made a decision, because he wanted you to be happy. Should you be pissed off and hurting? Absolutely. That doesn’t mean he didn’t make a choice. That also doesn’t mean you and your girl shouldn’t own up to your end of it, but you didn’t make him do anything.”

How did one explain what it was like to lose your oldest friend? Quentin’s life had been filled with violent death, but this was different. This wasn’t him sending a condemned soul on their way or losing his mother to sickness. This was Demetrius, the turtle, the immovable object. The man who could outlast any of them and had one of the longest and most successful careers in the Colosseum’s history. And just like that, he was gone.

“It hurts,” Quentin said. “I’m not used to losing people. I’ve never had anyone to lose. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not for me.” He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes to keep them dry. “He thought the same that you did. That I should’ve quit years ago and done something else. And he was happy that I was finally out. But he didn’t trust Razia and told me I was making a bad decision.

“But,” he said before Quirrinel could interject with something truthful that would make him feel stupid, “he didn’t try to stop me. He told me how he felt about her but didn’t try to tell me to stop or leave her. But how can I stay with her after this?”

Quirrinel sat up straight. “You’re right,” he said.

Quentin tilted his head to the side. “I am?”

His father nodded enthusiastically. “You are! How could you stay with her after this? You should leave her. Tell her to get the fuck out of your house, out of your life, and to take her problems with her. You don’t need to deal with that shit. Let her deal with assassins. When she dies, it won’t be your problem.”

“Are you crazy?” Quentin said. “I don’t want Razia to die! I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. It wouldn’t bring Demetrius back.”

“No, but what do you think happens if you decide that you two are through? She’ll still be in danger. And you’ll either let her die because it’s not your problem, or you’ll make it your problem and keep her close. There’s really only two options here, Quentin.”

All Quentin could do was sigh. His father was right. Maybe he’d been right all along. “Why are you so intent on me forgiving Razia? After everything I’ve said?”

Quirrinel stood up and gathered their cups and the bottle before going back to the kitchen nook. He brought them both back some water, which Quentin happily accepted after the long talk. “Because every parent wants to see their child happy, and you wouldn’t be this miserable about it all if she didn’t make you happy. We all want to see our children find someone.”

It came back to happiness, but at what point in his life had his happiness ever been a choice he could make without having to pay dearly for it? He chuckled ruefully. “The only things that make me happy are things that are bad for me. Destructive, even.”

That made his father smile and shake his head. “In the end, life is going to kill us. So long as you’re not hurting someone else, why not live doing the things you love? I’d rather let something I love kill me than to go through life without.”

It gave Quentin something to think about, even as he already knew what decision he had already made. “Things have to change,” he said. “I can’t let something like this happen again. And I need to tell her that. Thank you, dad.” He surprised his father by hugging him. His father hugged him back tighter and they stayed there until Quirrinel pulled away, slapping Quentin on the back a couple of times.

“Don’t be a stranger, Quentin. I’d love to meet her sometime.”

Quentin smiled. “You should come over sometime. We’ll get some spicy noodles and you can meet the girls.”

Quirrinel looked hopeful. “Does family --”

“Yes, family gets a discount.” He shook his head, smiling.

All that remained was to go back and set down some terms. Losing Demetrius still hurt, and Quentin knew it would hurt for a long time. There was no escaping it, no hiding in a bottle again. He couldn’t afford to do that, and in spite of everything that happened, he realized he did want his life. Every part of his life. And he’d do whatever he had to to keep it safe.