Page 39 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Is today a bad day?”

“Today’s particularly shit, yes.” But he smiles as he says it. “Tell me about Tiamat’s taverns.”

“Think of the worst place you can imagine, then make it worse. That’s a Tiamat tavern.” I take a drink. “It’s the kind of place where you keep your back to the wall and your hand on your knife. Someone dies in one every night.”

“Really?” Garrett laughs at that, the sound of it makes heads turn. “That’s horrifying.”

“That’s Tiamat.”

He takes another drink, his eyes distant. “Did you go to them? The taverns?”

“Sometimes. When I needed information or when Kitty wanted to celebrate a successful contract.” I remember those nights. Rare moments of something almost like happiness. “We’d drink cheap ale and pretend we were normal people for a few hours.”

His smile vanishes. The warmth in his eyes turns to ice. “Who the fuck is Kitty?”

“My friend,” I clarify quickly.

Garrett studies me over the rim of his mug. “Do you miss it? Tiamat?”

“No.” The answer comes quickly, honestly. “There’s nothing there worth missing. Except for my friends.”

“You worry about them.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Always.”

Shade especially. His contract is complicated.

Garrett doesn’t push for more information. He just nods and takes another drink.

“I was supposed to be protecting them,” he mutters after his third ale. His voice is starting to slur slightly at the edges. “The missing knights.”

I wait. I’ve learned that sometimes Garrett just needs to talk and someone to listen without judging.

“I’m their commander.” He sets the mug down and his ale sloshes over the rim. A few patrons glance our way then go back to their business. “They trust me to keep them safe. To make the right calls.”

His hands are shaking again. Not much, but enough that I notice.

“You can’t protect everyone,” I offer.

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “My father says leadership is about making hard choices. My brother used to say it was about inspiring people. But what good is any of that if I can’t even keep my own knights safe?”

The mention of his brother makes him reach for his ale again. He drinks deeply, like he’s trying to drown something.

“Tell me something, Wolf,” he says instead, leaning forward. His knee brushes mine under the table. “What’s the worst job you ever took?”

I shouldn’t answer and let him in. The space between a guardian and his charge should remain clear. But the ale is warm in my belly, and Garrett is looking at me with those too-green eyes, and I find myself answering anyway.

“Merchant’s son,” I say finally, surprised by my own voice. “Nineteen years old. His father owed money to the wrong people. They wanted it paid in blood.

The emerald hue in Garrett’s pupils is almost luminous in the lamplight. “Did you complete your mission?”

“No.” I take a long drink, remembering the boy’s face. “But my partner did.”

The memory is sharp even years later. I remember the sound he made as Carver’s steel went through him. Pain flares in my bad knee, the joint the guild had shattered for my disobedience. The punishment for refusing to kill. They’d broken it in three places, made me watch while they did it. Then they’d healed it just enough that I could walk, but not enough that it would ever be right again.

Garrett leans even closer and his leg presses more firmly against mine under the table. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

Everyone in the guild had thought I was stupid. Even I had wondered some nights if they were right. But here’s Garrett, saying he’s glad I didn’t kill the kid.