Page 121 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Or tonight,” Garrett agrees mildly. I watch him sort through correspondence. He picks up a requisition form and frowns at it. “But Merafall is still Merafall. The people deserve their celebration.”

How is he this calm?

Frustration cracks through Lord Clayborne’s composure. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I’m taking it perfectly seriously.” Garrett picks up a quill and starts making notes in a ledger. “The wine merchants need payment, the musicians are asking about the playlist, and someone needs to approve the fire-dancer permits.”

“Garrett—”

“What would you have me do, Father?” He looks up and for a moment I see exhaustion beneath his calm. “Sharpen my sword? Practice forms? I’ve been doing both for sixty-nine years in Kvatosh temple. One more day won’t make a difference.”

“You could strategize—”

“For what?” Garrett sets down his quill. “If she chooses Damnation, we die fighting. If she chooses Duel, I fight whoever she names tomorrow. Simple.”

“I did not raise you to give up!” Lord Clayborne slams his hand on the desk hard enough to make the inkwell jump. “I’ve hired seven more Grimsbane. Wolf will coordinate them—”

“No.” Garrett’s voice cuts through his father’s. “Wolf stays with me. The others can patrol but I don’t want strangers close.”

“They’re protection—”

“They’re unknown variables.” He returns to his ledger as if the matter is settled. “Wolf is sufficient.”

Lord Clayborne looks at me, as if I might talk sense into his son.

I shrug.

I’m not about to argue against having Garrett to myself versus sharing duty with seven others. One of them I trust, Kitty. But the other masks? I don’t know them.

“You’re impossible,” the older Clayborne mutters, defeated. He moves toward the door, then pauses. “Your mother wants to see you.”

“After I finish this.”

“Garrett—”

“After, Father.” There’s steel in it now, quiet but unmistakable. “The festival matters. The people need to see that we’re not afraid.”

The steel in Garrett’s voice stops his father cold. For a moment they just look at each other. Two pairs of green eyes locked in a battle of wills. Lord Clayborne breaks first. He shakes his head and leaves. The door closes sharply and the sound echoes in the sudden silence.

When we’re alone, the room seems to exhale. Garrett sets down his pen and leans back in his chair. I stand there watching him.

“Seven more grimsbane,” he mutters, something like dark amusement in his voice. “He must have emptied the treasury.”

“He’s scared.” I say quietly.

“He should be. If Rhianelle Wiolant chooses Damnation...” He trails off, staring at nothing. “There are forty-three children in our household. Cousins, nieces, nephews. The youngest is barely two.”

“The Queen won’t choose that.” Even as I say it, doubt coils in my gut.

“You’ve met her?” He looks at me sharply.

Shade mentioned her in passing. “No, but I’ve heard things. She doesn’t seem the type to order the murder of children and the innocents.”

“No one seems the type until they do it.” He stands, moves to the window. “Her house was nearly destroyed the same way, years ago.”

I move closer, staying just out of arm’s reach. “Then we fight.”

“We die,” he says it simply, without fear. “The Wiolants have too much support and loyalty across the kingdom. If it comes to house warfare, we last maybe an hour before we’re overwhelmed.”