She wasn’t sure if that was true, but Quentin was a luxiat, and sometimes he went full-on luxiat on her. It was all right. She was glad he had something that worked for him, and he wasn’t obnoxious about it.
He didn’t say anything else. He was getting good at waiting silently. He’d joked once that the wisest luxiat is a silent luxiat. Finally, he said, “No one touches you, do they?”
It was heading toward night, and the sunset through the windows gave the wood in this chamber a ruddy glow. She’d always liked the light in Quentin’s room. In this orangey, warm chamber, with his many books and the simple, well-burnished beauty of his hardwood shelves (and, perhaps, Quentin’s company), there was no loneliness, only solitude.
“Hadn’t thought about it,” she said.
“I avoided touch for the longest time,” he said. “I told myself I was just that way. Naturally averse to touch. It wasn’t that. It was shame. It was worse after I murdered Lucia, of course, but I’d had it even before then. I’m trying to unlearn some things, Adrasteia, things that stand in the way of my mission. No one touches the destitute, the broken poor. It’s been part of my work now to give them that connection, as valuable as the food and clothes I give them, I think. Of course, you minister to the body first, then the heart, and last, if you can, the soul. I think in this I’ve served you very poorly. Because you have enough to eat and are dressed well, and because you ask me smart questions, I’ve somehow missed your poverty.”
“ ‘Poverty’? Ha. I’ve seen poverty. This ain’t that.” She motioned around herself vaguely: as if to say, ‘Look at this room, these good clothes, all the privileges of my new station, the very nice meal a slave brought to Quentin’s chamber only minutes ago.’
“You’re a soldier with no brothers in arms, and you do heartbreaking work that no one can understand—not even those few you can tell about it. I don’t understand; not even Karris can. You endure a poverty of heart. But poverty’s lie to you is the same. Poverty tells you that you don’t matter.”
Teia felt suddenly naked. “Well, shit, Quentin.”
“It wasn’t a condemnation of you. The opposite, in fact.”
“I do so think I matter,” she said, but even she could hear the defensiveness in her voice. She wouldn’t sound defensive if he were simply mistaken, would she?
“Adrasteia, you think that what you do matters. The mission matters. But outside of your mission, you believe you have no importance. That’s a lie. A lie that’s made you very good, very focused. Now the thing that you believed gave you your only significance is drawing to a close, so you’re terrified. Of course you are. It’s understandable, but it’s not a premonition of death.”
“I could die at any moment,” she said. Sharp was hunting her, even now.
“That’s true, but it’s true of us all,” he said.
“A little more true for me,” she said.
“A point I’ll concede,” he said. “Though if Sharp catches you, they’ll kill me, too.”
“They what?” She’d never even thought of it.
“They’ll kill anyone you spent much time with, trying to find your handler.”
“How did I not think of that?” She felt a sudden nausea, but it was too late now. Even if she cut off all contact with Quentin today, they’d kill him regardless. She’d been seen with him and the Mighty before. It was how the Order worked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I swear I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”
“You’d do your best regardless, and I’ll die when Orholam allows it, and no sooner. I’m glad to aid you, and honored to call you friend.”
“Friend?” she asked.
“Is it such a high bar to clear?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that. I suppose . . . I mean, you have been a friend to me, far better than I deserve.”
“Oh, I disagree,” he said.
“And I’ve been no friend to you,” Teia said. “Our entire relationship is based on me taking.”
He shrugged. “I don’t see it that way.”
“I didn’t tell you what happened,” she said. “With Aglaia.”
Ah. Maybe she did have unfinished business.
“I took the lack of an answer as an answer.”
So he thought she’d succumbed, that she’d tortured that evil bitch. “I didn’t torture her. I didn’t even speak to her.”
“Did you kill her hard or easy?”
“Quick. I’m not sure there is easy. But it was instant. It was your words that inspired me, if you must know. Sort of.”
Quentin took in a big breath. His eyes softened. “Well, then! I’m so proud of you, Adrasteia. Doing the right—”
“Don’t be,” she interrupted. “I didn’t do the right thing. It was what you said about repentance. Or, actually, damnation.”
“Hmm?”
“I was afraid if I tortured her, she might repent. Orholam is merciful, and I wanted to be sure I sent her straight to hell. I wanted her to suffer, but I could only spare a few minutes in that room, nervous of being interrupted. I wanted her to suffer forever, burn forever in whatever hell there is for her kind. I killed her fast so she wouldn’t have any second chance to avoid that hell, if hell there is. So tell me, Quentin, tell me that I’m kind and good. Tell me that I deserve a friend.”
A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard on it.
The compassion in his eyes didn’t even waver. He shook his head. “I’m a murderer, Adrasteia. I killed an innocent! You expect me to reject you because you killed a bad woman too eagerly?”
Teia furrowed her brow. “Hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
“Even my hypocrisy knows some bounds,” he said with a grin. “Besides,” he said, “it doesn’t work. Some people think they can force Orholam’s hand. You know, like they can enjoy their sins for their whole life, then make a deathbed confession. That kind of thing. As if the Giver of Justice, the creator of the very concept, could be so easily fooled or manipulated. Do you think that you could, by plucking Aglaia out of time at this moment or that, really change her soul’s destination? Do you think you’re so powerful? Really? That matter is between her and Orholam. You have many powers, but that’s not one of them! Granted, trying to send someone to hell is a serious matter. But you’re not her judge. Being her executioner is quite enough weight for you to bear.”
“You make it sound as if it all makes sense,” Teia said. “As if it all works out.”
“It does.”
“All evidence to the contrary?”
“I never said we get to see it all work out.”
“Then maybe it’s time for us to finish that other discussion,” Teia said. “Because I think I have an answer,” Teia said. “You said when we approach the big questions, we need to know if we’re approaching them rationally or emotionally. But the truth is we always approach them emotionally. There’s always one answer we want. Though which answer that is varies from person to person.”