Everything hurt, but it beat being dead. Quentin didn’t know exactly how long he’d been asleep, just that it was for a while. When he woke up, it was with a stretch that was as satisfying as it was agonizing. Surprisingly, he was alone. After the ritual sped up his return, Razia had been by his side up until he needed to pass out for the night, battered but alive. Quentin found he didn’t mind. It gave him time to think.

The biggest thing of all was how much he revealed to the Garden the night before. Not all of it was intentional, the grogginess making him overshare. But there were still a few moments that were calculated, and those were what he focused on. Like usual, it boiled down to reputation. More and more he understood just how important it was, and what a tool it could be. Most of the shit people believed about him wasn’t true, so why not play with it?

Let them believe he was immortal instead of just really hardy. They’d whisper it to each other and the clients and soon it would be among Cicero’s men and even the Warlords. Maybe it would even buy him some time while he thought about how he was going to handle that. It was funny, there he was laying in bed and exhausted, but his mind was on fire and had been ever since his chat with death herself. He escaped from death this time, but the experience made him think about what he really wanted and needed.

Not for the first time, Quentin thought about how this all started, and the transformation he’d undergone. Rather than losing who he was as his life was turned upside down, he found he was discovering more and more of himself that even he didn’t know. He had friends, he had a community, and now even more people were looking to him to lead. It wasn’t scary anymore. It was a heavy responsibility, but it was a challenge to rise up to and embrace.

Razia slipped into the room with a platter full of fruits, bread, and a meaty smelling stew. “Hey, you’re awake,” she said, smiling. Quentin sat up as she came in and set the tray down in his lap. “I thought you might be hungry. And if you weren’t, you will be when you heal up.”

Quentin smiled. “You’re the best.” He dug into his food, suddenly ravenous. And for the few minutes it took for him to clear the platter, there was silence. Razia watched him and he waited patiently for her to crack.

“How are you feeling?” she asked hesitantly, as if she expected him to drop dead again.

“Fantastic,” said Quentin. He pushed the tray away and slumped against his headboard. “Tired, in pain, but invigorated. I need to be honest with you though. I was only half telling the truth last night. I’m not immortal. Not really. I can heal from just about anything, but…”

He went over his conversation with the Darkstar. From the trade his mother made to his healing burning away what remained of his life, and finally to the offer made to give him power. Razia listened, eyes wide at every new piece of information. When all was said and done Razia climbed in bed with him and sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“It’s funny,” she said. “When you died but your heart was still going, that’s almost exactly what I told everyone. That you were god touched and can’t die. And then you come back and I was accidentally sort of right. We couldn’t have planned that better if we tried.” Then her tone turned serious. “I’m sorry it was all true about you. I know how much that must sting.”

Quentin shrugged, resting his head on hers. “Honestly, I’m mostly just relieved I didn’t become a shade. After everything I’ve gone through, what a waste that would be. But it did make me think about a lot of things. Surprisingly, I spent a lot of time thinking about power.”

“Power? You?”

He chuckled. “Right? I’ve never been one to seek it out but…I think I want it. Not for its own sake, but to see what I could do. I want the power to protect the Garden and you. I want power to get revenge for Demetrius and to make sure they can’t hurt any of us ever again. I want the power to change things, and make them better for others. I want just enough power to make it clear that you do not fuck with anything that’s mine.”

Razia turned to look at him, surprised. “Yours, huh? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Quentin smiled, strangely at peace. “Yes, mine. Some of it I chose, some chose me, but in the end it’s my little kingdom. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and I’m tired of waiting for the problem to come to us. I’m going to need your help.”

“Anything you need, obviously, is yours,” she said. “I’m just happy to have you back. I…I didn’t react well, when we thought you were dead.” She hugged her chest, making herself small. “They thought I cracked, and so did I.”

“Apparently not,” Quentin said chuckling. “I’m tired of reacting. I want to strike first. I need you to get one of the girls to do some running for me. I need to talk to Jonas and see how things stand with the other guys. And I need a meeting with Mr. Cicero as soon as possible.”

“You got it,” said Razia. “Anything else?”

Quentin thought about it for a second. “Keep the food coming. I think I’m going to need it.”

He waited until she was gone to try healing again. It wasn’t difficult to picture all of the various aches, pains, and hurts all over his body, but when he did they all throbbed and pulsed. When he tried to focus on healing, all of the pain intensified until the world went white and Quentin fell to the bed, gasping for breath. Nothing felt better. There was just too much wrong to heal it all.

So Quentin tried something different. He focused on the pain in his stomach and ribs exclusively. The place where Christophe had impaled him with his own sword, burying it deep into his guts. Instinctively he knew that the worst of that damage was already healed, probably when he’d been dead. Ignoring everything else, he focused and felt the now familiar almost muscle memory of actively regenerating damage.

It hurt, like his stomach was still filled with a blade though the flesh was still mostly knitted together. The seconds stretched on as the pain rose to a fever pitch and all of a sudden was gone, leaving Quentin panting. And then just like that, his sense of being a little too full of breakfast dimmed. He wasn’t hungry yet, but it felt like a part of him emptied, or burned up. No wonder it ate up a little more of his life each time he healed, if it forced the healing and then sped things up.

Exhaustion hit him like a hammer over the head. Quentin let himself slide back down into bed and closed his eyes. A second later he was asleep. It was the kind of deep sleep where nothing, not even dreams could penetrate and lasted forever until he woke. Then it was like mere minutes had passed, but a look at the light pouring in from the window told him hours went by. His stomach growled. He got up, got dressed, and then headed for the kitchen.

Jonas was waiting for him in the atrium. Upon seeing Quentin he stood up and came close to him, an unusual look on his face. He looked Quentin up and down. “How’re you feeling Quintius?”

“Alive. Hungry. Give me just one second, yeah?” Quentin walked past him, taking a moment to pat his shoulder once before he went to the kitchen. Razia must’ve done as he asked because there was already food waiting for him. He went straight for the wine, taking a long drink from the bottle. Next came a plate filled with tender, shredded meats and more bread and some grapes. He came back out and sat down, digging into it.

Jonas waited a moment before sitting down next to him. They sat in silence as Quentin devoured his plate. By the end it was too much and he felt bloated. That wouldn’t last too long. He tried something different then, feeling out his aches and pains and then pressing on it more gently. The aches intensified, but nowhere near the blinding, blistering pain from before. To his satisfaction, his healing wasn’t all or nothing. A slower heal could drain over time.

“So, what was being dead like?” Jonas asked brightly.

Quentin thought about it. Some of it felt like a dream, half remembered. There was his mother, and his talk with the Darkstar, but even those were starting to fade now. His resolve and renewed vigor, on the other hand, only grew. “I was in Orchrisus, but not our Orchrisus. It was always night time and the moon was huge, and things were only real sometimes.” Saying it out loud, it sounded stupid.

“Huh. That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jonas said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t go through atonement, so who knows how rough it really is.” Quentin shook his head. “How are the others handling this? How are you handling it?”

The teenager took a long, deep breath. “Some of us are kinda freaked out. Not scared,” he added hastily, “just unnerved. We saw you die. We saw a statue move. And now you’re back and apparently immortal? Some of them don’t believe you.”

“What do you believe?” Quentin took a long drink.

Jonas shook his head. “I’m not sure. You’re obviously not dead, and I don’t think you’d lie to us. So is that the truth? That you’re touched by the gods and can’t die?”

Guilt gripped Quentin, but he nodded. “I won’t live forever, but I can’t die. Now that I think about it, makes all my worrying during my years as the Butcher pointless. I’d say I wish I had known sooner, but I don’t think I was in a good enough place to accept it until recently. I’ve been chosen by the goddess of death, and by the Pierced Heart.”

Here is where it started. A little half-lie to help build his reputation. Jonas was a good kid, but he was entirely guileless and straight forward. If there was ever a time to beat his chest and scream out his name and make a statement, it was now. “How do you think the boys would feel about an excursion down south to fuck up some Warlords?”

After he got over his surprise, Jonas bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “We’ve already been talking about doing it without you, so if you’ve got a plan, even better. What do you need?”

Quentin put the drink down. He wasn’t a strategist. That had never been his strength, and it wasn’t now. But he knew how to fight, and he knew how to intimidate. “A bunch of pissed off gladiators who don’t mind killing and aren’t afraid of dying. Weapons and armor to outfit them for a good fight, and masks to hide our identities. Razia knows their operation well. We’re going to go for a walk and bloody Christophe’s nose. Let him know he may have killed me but he sure as hell didn’t finish the job.”

Jonas stood straight up. “You’ll have it. Leave it to me, I’ll put together a team. How many do you need?”

He thought about it. “Twenty ought to do it. We’re going to hit some of their bases and we’re going to need the manpower to attack and control the area, but still be able to move around quickly.”

“Just one problem,” Jonas said, wincing. “Amicus has been breathing down our necks about working at the Garden. If we’re going to go for a full on assault, he might put his foot down and make us choose. I know some might stick with you, but you WILL lose a lot of potential fighters.”

“Leave that to me,” said Quentin, already thinking of solutions. “Request however many shards you need from Razia to cover arming everyone, but we need to be ready as fast as possible. I’m thinking next few days soon.”

“No problem,” said Jonas. He extended his hand and Quentin stood, taking it and the two grinned at each other. Things were different now, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Piro and Christophe had a gang, but so did Quentin.

After Jonas left, Quentin ran himself a hot bath and let his recovering body soak in the healing waters. It was there that Razia found him leaning back with his eyes closed. She kicked off her sandals and sat next to him, slipping her feet in the pool. Without opening his eyes Quentin wrapped an arm around her legs and hugged her playfully.

“Meeting with Mr. Cicero tomorrow at noon,” she said, running a hand through his hair. “You going to be okay enough to walk around by then?”

“I think so,” said Quentin. “I’ve never healed this much in one day. It’s exhausting but working. By tomorrow I should at least be good enough to move around, if not fight. Give me two, three days and I’ll be fine. Going to need to be, when we attack. What kinds of places do Piro and Christophe have near the bridge?”

Razia continued to play with his hair. He smiled, leaning into it. “Not many. They’re mostly deeper south, but I can think of a handful of buildings owned by them near the bridge, including a Warlord flophouse where a bunch of their men stay. That might be a place to hit if you want to take a few men out, and maybe steal some shards.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Stealing some shards? That’s…” Oh, things were just clicking into place now. “That’s perfect. How?”

“Well, I don’t think they changed much of how they operate just because of me,” she said, “so chances are they still get paid on the same day. We hit them then and we can kill them and take everything they have. And then you give that pay to the boys?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” said Quentin. “They want revenge, but getting to loot our enemies afterward? Unless we get slaughtered, that’ll keep them coming back.”

Razia kicked her legs, pulling away from Quentin a little. The water splashed, sending ripples throughout the bath. “I’m honestly a bit surprised at you,” she said. “You’re really serious about all of this now, aren’t you? You’re committing to this. Are you sure it’s really you that came back?” She laughed, but he knew she was only half joking.

“If I had my choice,” said Quentin, “I’d spend my nights drinking and playing cards with the girls and maybe us going out for a night on the town once in a while. I don’t want a fight. But fighting is inevitable. It’s become clear to me that that’s what my life has always been and will always be.” His thoughts drifted to the Darkstar’s offer. He said no, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been tempted.

“The way I see it, if everyone is so desperate to pick a fight with me, I might as well oblige. Sooner or later people will realize it’s a bad idea and we can go back to getting drunk and listen to merchants gossiping and making the same dumb lewd jokes we’ve heard a thousand times. The sooner we finish this the sooner we can focus on just running the Garden and having fun. I’m done hiding in the shadows.”

“I’m…I don’t know if proud is the right word for it, but you’ve got me excited,” said Razia. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll follow your lead. I trust you.”

The next day, Razia brought him to Cicero’s main gambling house, the one they’d first been brought to months ago. When Quentin walked into his office, Mr. Cicero stared at him with undisguised wonder and even a little fear.

“Gods above,” said Cicero, “you were right, Ms. Rashid. Welcome back, Mr. Q. I must say, very few people manage to surprise me as often as you. It’s annoying.”

Quentin just shrugged and smiled, pulling Razia’s chair out for her. He remained standing. Almost all of his aches and pains were gone by now, all for the low low cost of a year off his life. “I’ll take that as a compliment. So, we’re now at war. Unless you intend on trying to hand Razia over.”

Mr Cicero shook his head. Stroking his silver beard he said, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. After crashing my party, appeasing him with Razia’s lovely head would only make me look weak. Hell, letting them walk away already made me look weak. I’ve spent the last week putting out fires and keeping control, but something has to change. Handing her over would also likely piss you off, and I’m not sure I’m willing to risk that until I have a better understanding of what I’m dealing with. Congrats, Mr. Q. You’re officially a threat.”

“I’m not,” said Quentin, shaking his head. “I might be dangerous, but I have no ambitions outside my business. As far as I know, we don’t have any problems, do we Mr. Cicero?” Mr. Cicero shook his head. “I’m a loyal subject. The more powerful I am, the more powerful you are, right? You get a cut of everything we do and in return we’re connected and have access to your resources. And I’m going to need them to get back at Piro.”

“Oh?” Mr. Cicero raised an eyebrow. “Back from the dead and already ready to go? I think you’re right, Mr. Q. This is more likely to benefit me in the long term. What is it you need?”

He and Razia shared a look. For once in their relationship, he had an idea and she made it happen. Together they planned it all out and everything was falling into place. “Transportation and a way for the local Watch to either be elsewhere or look the other way,” she said. “Is that doable on the south side?”

Mr. Cicero chuckled. “That shouldn’t be too difficult. I think a distraction is in order to really split the attention of the Watch. Your best bet would be a two pronged attack, with my men striking first to draw attention their way and allow you to strike. Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Quentin. He reached over Mr. Cicero’s desk and grabbed a cigar. Amused, Mr. Cicero lit it for him. He took a couple puffs and even managed not to choke this time. “I’m going to need you to lean on the owner of the Colosseum. He’s a bastard who might try and take my men out from under me. He could use a little humbling.” The last part wasn’t strictly necessary, but after eight years of dealing with his shit, Quentin couldn’t help but take a little personal satisfaction.

“Not a problem,” said Cicero. “Just give me the details and I’ll take care of the rest. Together, I think we can make things too costly for Piro to keep up the fight. With your attack and plans of my own, we can send a message to the entire city.”

Quentin puffed on the cigar, enjoying the flavor. “Together we can put him in the ground and make sure he’ll never bother us again.” He put his hand on Razia’s shoulder. No longer did Quentin want to just survive, or for his people to thrive. Now, he wanted it all.

All throughout the back of his mind, a little voice whispered to him. Twenty years gone. Before he was through, that number was sure to go up and he’d lose more and more time. Who knew how long he had left? It didn’t matter. Now that Quentin knew he was dying, it wasn’t just time to live. It was time to be larger than life.