Page 73 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“I have their names. Their assignments. Where they’re stationed.” He looks at me. I force myself to meet his eyes even though my heart is somersaulting in my chest. “My initial plan was to be careful and strategic. I can’t just make them all disappear at once or it’ll raise questions.”

“One at a time, then.” I stand, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness. “We space them out and make it look natural.”

“They were stationed at different outposts across the northern territories,” he briefs quickly. “Border patrols, mostly. But something happened. They all went dark approximately two weeks ago and stopped reporting in.”

I frown. That’s not a coincidence. Right around the time Garrett started picking them off.

Garrett stands, gathering the papers into a neat stack with careful hands. “Their commanders assumed they’d deserted or been killed by raiders. But I think they know. I think they realized someone was hunting them and they ran.”

He crosses to a map pinned on the wall, points to a region in the far south with one precise finger. “Their last known positions form a rough circle around this area. The Frostspine Mountains. Remote, difficult terrain, easy to hide in.”

I join him at the map, keeping a careful distance between us. The small ink dots scatter across parchment. I study the marked locations from far enough that our shoulders won’t touch. They all cluster around the northern mountain range.

“You think they’re together?” he asks.

“If I were them, scared and being hunted, I’d want numbers,” I answer truthfully. There is safety in numbers. I learned that young, running in the streets of Tiamat. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Garrett traces a line on the map with one finger, his nail catching slightly on the parchment’s texture. “The question is where exactly they’d hide. The Frostspine range is massive. Hundreds of caves and abandoned villages. It could take weeks to search properly.”

“Unless you have a tracker.” I keep my voice even.

He looks at me, expectant. “Can you track them?”

“Yes,” I say simply. My wolf heritage gives me advantages no ordinary tracker would have. I possess enhanced senses and sharp instincts that go beyond mere training.

He studies my face for a long moment, searching for hesitation and doubt. My expression stays neutral, controlled.

“We’ll need to move fast,” he says finally. “If they’ve gone to ground in the Frostspines, the longer we wait, the harder it will be to dig them out.”

I want this over with. “When do we leave?”

“Now. I’ve already made arrangements.” He moves to his wardrobe and pulls out travel clothes. “I informed the council and my family I’m investigating the border situation and tracking down our missing knights.”

I watch him dress, stripping out of his formal clothes into leather armor and sturdy boots. My eyes trace the defined muscle of his chest and stomach before I can stop myself. After everything, I’m still attracted to him. It makes me angry.

“Wolf,” he says, and I realize he’s been talking. Asking me something about supplies, maybe, or travel rations. I wasn’t listening.

“What?”

“I was just saying we should—” He pauses, studies my face. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” I turn away as I say it. “I need to pack my things. I’ll be there shortly.”

I hear him draw breath like he’s about to speak, then exhale without words. Then he just says, “Meet me at the north stables. We’re taking Noctrals.”

I pause halfway to the door, hand on the frame. “Noctrals?”

Those are expensive and rare.

“I can requisition whatever we need,” he says with a slight shrug. “And we need speed.”

Resources flow endlessly to him like water downhill. He could use those privileges for anything. Instead he’s funding his own personal vendetta.

My mind churns, angry and confused. Why did I agree to this? Why am I helping him hunt down these knights when I should be focusing on my own survival?

But I know why. I saw him break last night. Something in me recognized it. I know what it’s like to carry blood that won’t wash off. Part of me understands his need for vengeance.

That doesn’t make me less angry about it.