The Q

by Beth Brower

Besides, where I may not raise a hand for myself, it would be a cold afternoon in hell before I wouldn’t do it for you.”

sporting bruises and a cane because your son sent four street toughs after him: the small man’s way of making change, in my opinion.”

“I do feel I bring out the unorthodox among the nobility of Rhysdon,” she said to Arch later. “It never quite goes as I’d expect it to.”

Arch glanced up as Quincy entered, and, without even consulting the expression on her face, he began to laugh.

Things were spinning far beyond what a usually controlled Quincy St. Claire found acceptable. The situation was apocalyptic. In the last twelve hours, she had insulted the king, confided her emotions to Priest, woken to the heartbeat of Arch’s body, and was now wearing a corset and a dress.

Quincy’s face testified there would be no next time, but she pocketed the folded blade as if it was her most prized possession.

Refreshing to read about a different reaction from a woman given a “makeover.”

“And he’s in a place in society where he wouldn’t make his feelings public if he weren’t intent on giving his life to you.”

What a beautiful way to put it. 🥰

Looking down at her, with an expression of camaraderie, of affection, he said, “Be brave, Quincy St. Claire.”

😭

What caught Quincy by surprise, as she decided to take Crow’s counsel to be brave, was that she found her sense of The Q felt stronger, more secure, as if being brave with people gave something to everything else you loved.

The reality was that all of her energy was going towards the survival of this meeting—and then the survival of the rest of her life.

Relatable

Quincy had been beaten, starved, pummeled, and bludgeoned. She had been cold, exhausted, and nearly defeated. But she had never been knifed in the back before.

Every time she left a meeting, Quincy knew she had lost. It was self-immolation of the cruelest sort, this fact that she kept trying.

So she began in stilted sentences, each one tearing her heart a bit more.

It came out like infection from a wound.

She did her work, watched each day disappear, and then locked the door, saying good-bye to another moment of still knowing who she was. A daily disappearing act—that was all the process was.

😭

My children will be out until four o’clock, and so the coast is clear of enemy bombardment.

😁

That’s all Quincy wanted, to be sad and be told it was just fine. And be told that she would be just fine.

But he had felt bound by law in his ability to speak, and had he broken, given in—whether for pity, which Quincy didn’t want, or loyalty, for which Quincy yearned—he would have ceased to be James Arch.

Don’t know that I agree. He could have done SOMETHING without compromising his integrity. At the very least not turning cold and cowardly for the day before. 😑 what a way to make her feel alone and back stabbed.

“Fools and their windows. They while their lives away, when they should step out. Then the adventure begins.”

Arch turned away and moved a hand across his face, a motion that confirmed he was deeply tired. It made Quincy want to be someone else, someone who felt less anger, someone willing to tell him he was going to get through the week. But Quincy didn’t know if she would survive the week herself, let alone the years following. Why should she give him any of her lean reserves?

“Let us walk through then, all of us. No, not you.” She pointed sternly at Arch when he shifted. “You will stay here and clear up this mess. Godson indeed. There’s your spiritual direction.”

Why should she rip herself up to set him aright ?

because when someone means something to you, you need to see them aright. Even if you are angry. Even if you feel abandoned. Even if it is only to set them on a path that will lead away from you.

She would set this right and then leave it behind.

“I’m so angry with you! Just let me say it. I’m so angry at what happened, for your part in it and for my own blindness. So you weren’t going to tell me. Fine. All you had to do was be there.” Quincy spat out the words, stepping backward. “All you had to do was look at me. Sit beside me. I don’t know, Arch, hold me together? Would I have listened? I don’t know. Would I have felt you were on my side? I can’t say. But you could have done something so that, when it all came falling down, I would know—”

Amen. 💯

I was merely a means for keeping The Q,

… she didn’t say that. That’s a leap.

“You don’t want to keep me in your life, Arch. I’ll never come through for you. Not really.”

What an odd, entirely out of place comment.

“Besides,” Quincy continued, set on winning him over to her way of thinking,

Wtf mate. Inconsistencies to draw out the fight. Uggghhh. Dont fall apart at the end. This book has been soooo good. 😩

“I want you to tell me that, somehow, something can be unbroken.”

“What’s happened between us that can’t be fixed?” he asked, lifting his other hand to her face, turning it towards his own. “If you care for us, for me, as much as you care for any one of your presses, we will be fine. You will doggedly keep us working.”

🥰🥰🥰🥹

She was so overwhelmed by the evening, so off balance. Or rather, centered in a different way.

It was a wonder to Quincy, how one could feel so utterly heart-broken and bound up simultaneously. She opened her eyes to the window and thought of the stained-glass Lazarus. She wondered if it had been more difficult than he had let on, to be called back from the dead.

Watching him play the instrument caused such a feeling of desire in Quincy that she had to lean forward, her fingers wrapped around the balcony, wondering what she could now do with her own life that would rival the beauty of this man’s work. She ached for excellence, craved it. She ached for the excellence she was leaving behind to lesser hands with lesser ambitions.

She was surrounded by conversation and noise and laughter and everybody asking her what she was planning for next. Did she know? What had her brilliant mind decided to set out on? “I’m not quite ready to say,” she found herself repeating time and time again. And Quincy, who had been only focused on The Q, began to look through her mind to see what thoughts were to be found there.