Page 67 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

I approach silently, every sense on high alert. My hand finds the knife at my belt.

Through the gap in the door, I see a room lit by several torches mounted on the walls. Iron rings set into the floor and ceiling. An elf hangs from chains attached to the ceiling in the center of the room. His arms are stretched above his head and his toes barely touch the ground. He’s stripped to the waist. Blood runs down his skin in dark rivulets, pooling on the stone beneath him. His head hangs forward, and he’s making low, broken sounds of pain.

I recognize the Valorian insignia tattooed on his shoulder. This is one of the missing guards.

I’m about to push through the door to free him and stop whoever’s doing this. Then I see who’s standing in front of the prisoner.

Garrett.

For a moment, my mind refuses to process what I’m seeing. It refuses to connect the dots between the person I know and the figure standing calmly in front of a tortured prisoner.

“I asked you a question, Marcian.” Garrett’s voice is perfectly calm. “How many were there? How many children in the village you burned?”

“I... I don’t...” Marcian’s voice is hoarse, broken. “Please, Commander, I don’t understand—“

Garrett’s fist slams into his ribs. The crack of impact echoes off the stone walls. Marcian screams.

“Don’t lie to me.” Garrett speaks with deadly quiet. “You were there. You participated. The only question is how many children.”

This can’t be real. There’s no way this is Garrett, the golden, kind, compassionate Garrett who comforts widows and plays with kids.

But it is.

“The village of Feywildra,” Garrett continues, circling the hanging man slowly. “You were part of the Valorian unit sent to deal with suspected rebels. You and eleven others. How many children died in that fire, Marcian?”

“It was orders!” Marcian sobs, blood and tears running down his face. “The Aeonians ordered it! We were just following—”

Another punch and another scream.

“How many?” Garrett asks again, his voice still eerily calm.

“Eighteen! There were eighteen children! But the Aeonians were the ones who directed us to do it.”

“Eighteen children burned alive because the Aeonians suspected the village of harboring rebels.” Garrett walks to a small table against the wall. I see it’s covered with tools. Knives of various sizes and pliers. A brand heating in a small brazier, its tip glowing red.

Oh gods.

“The Aeonians gave the order, yes,” Garrett continues, selecting a knife and testing its edge against his thumb. “But you carried it out. You and the other Valorians.”

“Please!” Marcian is sobbing openly now, his body shaking in the chains. “Please, Commander, the Aeonians told us that they were traitors and animals. I was young and I didn’t understand—”

“You understood perfectly.” Garrett turns back to face him, knife in hand. “You just didn’t care. Eighteen children screaming while you stood outside and made sure they couldn’t escape. You set the fires and barred the doors.”

“We thought they were enemies.”

“They were children.” The knife trembles in Garrett’s hand. “Tell me, did you listen to them scream? Did you enjoy it?”

“I did not!” Days without food should have weakened him into unconsciousness. But Marcian is still aware and screaming. We rode to the village, searched the forest, comforted his pregnant wife. All while Garrett had him chained in the palace dungeons. The whole fucking trip was a lie.

Behind Marcian, through the open door of another cell, I can see more prisoners. More Valorians in various states of torment. All the missing knights are here.

This isn’t a recent development. It has been going on for days. Maybe longer.

I can see Garrett’s expression as he approaches Marcian with the knife. There’s no rage there. No hatred or even satisfaction. His eyes are empty. It’s like looking into a void.

“Please...” Marcian whispers.

“Please?” Garrett tilts his head, almost curious. “Like the children pleaded when they were burning?”