Page 45 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Being on alert all the time is not living.”

“I’ve survived this long.”

He stands, brushing crumbs off his trousers. “The guild trained you well. Too well, maybe.”

I’ve been running or fighting or watching my back since I was a child. Since before the guild, when I was on the streets stealing to survive. My clan was slaughtered and I learned that safety is an illusion.

But I don’t say any of that because Garrett is looking at me with something like pity. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to know how broken I am, how the guild took whatever small pieces of peace I might have had and ground them to dust.

“We should keep moving,” I say instead. “The day’s half gone.”

He studies me for another moment and I can see him weighing whether to push. Then he nods. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

We mount up again and the horses seem refreshed from the rest, eager to move.

The landscape changes as we ride and gentle farmland gives way to wilder terrain. The trees grow closer to the road, their branches creating dappled shadows.

I keep my hand near my sword, ready.

We reach the town by late afternoon. Calling it a town is generous. Dúnbhrae is really just a village. There are maybe thirty buildings clustered around a central square with a well at its heart.

A mill sits at the eastern edge, its wheel turning slowly in the stream that feeds through the village. The rhythmic creaking is the loudest sound besides the wind in the wheat fields surrounding us.

There’s a blacksmith’s shop with a forge, a general store with faded paint, and what looks like a combination inn and tavern. The buildings are simple and practical rather than beautiful. They are constructed from wood and stone. I look at the thatched roofs and small windows. This is the kind of place where people work hard and don’t have money for luxuries.

Children play in the dusty street, their laughter carrying on the warm air. They’re kicking a leather ball between makeshift goals, shouting and running.

The kids freeze when they see us riding in. Their eyes go wide at Garrett’s fine clothes and our horses. These are animals worth more than most of these families make in a year.

The children cluster together, suddenly shy or afraid. All except one.

“Commander Clayborne!” A little girl with dark braids and a gap-toothed smile breaks from the group. She drops the ball and runs forward.

“I can read a whole chapter now without help!” The pride in her voice is unmistakable.

Garrett dismounts smoothly and his entire demeanor shifts.

“That’s wonderful, Màiri. Your mother must be so proud.” He crouches down to the girl’s level, smiling in a way that reaches his eyes.

“She is! She says I might be able to go to the academy in Aelfheim when I’m older.” Màiri bounces on her toes, practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you here to see Aunt Eithne? She’s been so sad since Uncle Marcian didn’t come home...”

Garrett’s smile doesn’t waver, but I see his eyes tighten at the corners. “I’m here to help your Aunt Eithne. To find out what happened to your Uncle Marcian.”

“Will you bring him home?”

The question is innocent and hopeful. A child who doesn’t understand death yet. She thinks every problem can be solved if the right person tries hard enough.

“I’m going to try.”

The girl seems satisfied with the answer. She beams at Garrett, then notices me for the first time. Her smile falters and the light in her eyes dims.

I know what she sees. A big man with scars and cold eyes, dressed in black. My weapons visible even to a child’s eyes.

I look like exactly what I am.

Danger.

“This is Wolf,” Garrett says, standing. “He’s helping me with the investigation.”