Page 145 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

He shifts beside me and I feel rather than see him pull the blanket higher over my shoulders. His hand lingers for a moment, fingers brushing the nape of my neck gently. Then he settles back down, his breathing evening out again into the rhythm of sleep.

But he’s not sleeping. I can feel the tension in his body despite the drug haze. He’s waiting for something.

Time moves strangely as it passes. When I surface there’s a sound that doesn’t belong.

Heavens above… someone is here.

There is an intruder in Garrett’s chambers. A shape moves near the window. Terror floods my system as the assassin paces through the darkness while we lie helpless in bed.

I manage to crack my eyes open wider. The assassin pauses by Garrett’s desk, examining something I can’t see. Then he moves again, pacing the room with nervous energy.

The assassin is hesitating and struggling with something. He stops near the glass cabinet where Garrett keeps his collection of carved animals. The bed shifts and my heart lurches.

Garrett is moving, sitting up slowly. He’s not afraid and doesn’t bother reaching for a weapon or crying out for guards. “I knew you’d come for me tonight.”

The intruder freezes.

Garrett holds a finger to his lips, a request for silence. He glances down at my supposedly sleeping form, and something warm crosses his face. Regret and apology mixed together.

Then he’s looking back at the assassin and his expression smooths into careful neutrality.

“My father struck a deal with the Guild of Assassins in Tiamat for his service.” He gestures at me, at my scarred back exposed by the fallen blanket. “This guy is my personal guard until the Archon is complete.”

“Not much of a guard if he’s out cold.” The assassin’s voice is young and familiar. “The Aeonians said the Grimsbane are cursed with a face so hideous that people die from a single glimpse.”

Garrett’s expression softens as he looks at me again. “Those old farts are filthy, fucking liars. He is beautiful.”

He reaches down and pulls the blanket back over me.

“I’m guessing you evaded the other one?” Garrett asks softly. “It took almost all the coins in my father’s coffers to bring the two of them. A century’s worth of harvest.”

“Rainer hired twenty-seven of them,” the assassin tells him.

Shade has told me this.

“Pick up your sword,” the assassin says. “I’ll honor you with the duel you want.”

I try to focus and to make sense of the conversation. But my mind keeps slipping.

All I know is Garrett leaves the safety of his room for the exposed balcony where anything could happen. They’re talking again and I catch fragments.

He’s going outside.

More conversation ensues. I can’t hear the words but the realization settles over me. This is why he said goodbye and held me like he’d never let go.

Garrett knew. He’s always known how this would end.

The assassin is small and delicate. Garrett picks up his sword and offers it hilt-first. His hands guide the blade, positioning it against his own throat.

No.

The scream builds in my chest but my throat is locked tight. Nothing comes out but the barest whisper lost in the night wind. I pour everything into moving. Every scrap of will.

Move. Get up. Stop this. Save him.

My hand lifts from the bed by half an inch before falling back, strength spent. Not enough. I’m not enough. I’ve never been enough.

Dark rivulets run down Garrett’s throat. I’m screaming inside. Tearing myself apart with the effort of trying to move. But my body won’t listen and do the one thing I need it to do.