Page 61 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

When we finally stand to leave, Eithne grabs Garrett’s hand again. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For coming. For caring. Some of the nobles... they wouldn’t bother. Not for a common guard.”

“Marcian isn’t common,” Garrett says firmly. “He’s a Valorian and he’s one of mine. That makes him family.”

She smiles through her tears and for a moment she looks less broken. Garrett has that effect on people. He makes them feel valued in a world that usually tells them they don’t.

The door closes softly behind us. Outside, the morning has fully arrived. The village square is busy now and several people are staring at the cottage and at us. Garrett’s face is grim, all traces of warmth gone. He’s looking past me, toward the well. I follow his gaze and see what caught his attention.

A group of children has gathered near the well, watching us with wide eyes. Màiri is among them, still clutching her wooden sword. The other children cluster around her, some I recognize from before, others new to me. They seem uncertain, sensing the adult seriousness of what’s happening the way children always do.

“Good morning,” Garrett says. His voice is lighter now, shedding the weight it carried in Eithne’s cottage. “I see you’re all armed and ready for battle.”

Màiri holds up a wooden sword that’s nearly as tall as she is. “Uncle Marcian made it for me!”

“And a fine weapon it is,” Garrett says, dropping to one knee to bring himself to her level. His fine red cloak pools in the dust but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Are you the village guard then? Protecting everyone while I investigate?”

The girl nods solemnly.

“Good. That’s very important work.” He looks at each child in turn, making eye contact, giving them his full attention. I can see them straighten under his gaze, shoulders going back and chins lifting. “I need brave warriors like you to keep everyone safe. Can you do that?”

They nod enthusiastically, wooden swords and sticks rising in salute.

“Yes, sir!” several children chorus along, standing straighter.

Garrett examines their stance with the seriousness of a swordmaster evaluating a promising recruit. He draws his own sword slowly, so as not to frighten them. “Make sure your sword is up but not so high it throws off your balance.”

The children immediately try to copy him, their small faces screwed up in concentration. Some of them get it wrong with their feet too close together and their wooden weapons held at awkward angles. But Garrett moves through the group patiently, adjusting and repositioning their practice swords. “There you go, that’s much better. Good, keep that elbow in. Excellent form, well done!”

He keeps them engaged and occupied, pulling their minds away from dwelling on the tragedy that’s unfolding.

“You’re good at this,” I say when the children finally run off to practice their stances on each other, wooden swords clacking in mock combat.

Garrett glances at me, surprised. “At what?”

“This.” I gesture vaguely at the village and its people. “Caring.”

He stands, brushing dust from his cloak and his expression darkens slightly. “These people trust me with their lives. The least I can do is care when those lives go missing.”

There’s something in his voice. An edge I haven’t heard before.

We walk back to the inn in silence. The afternoon sun is warm but Garrett seems cold somehow, distant. He hasn’t looked at me since we left Eithne’s cottage.

Something changed back there. I felt a shift in Garrett's demeanor. It's subtle but there. His shoulders were tense and his jaw tight. And now he won't meet my eyes.

I want to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t know how. We’re not... I don’t have the right to pry into whatever’s bothering him.

Back at the inn, Muireann has dinner waiting. We eat in our room, but Garrett barely touches his food. He stares at his plate, pushing meat around with his fork.

“You should eat,” I say.

“I’m not hungry.”

I finish my meal in silence while he continues pretending to eat. Eventually, he pushes the plate away and moves to the bed without a word.

Night falls and I settle into the chair watching the village. Behind me, I hear Garrett shifting, the bed creaking. He’s already under the blanket, but he’s facing the wall with his back to me.

“You should sleep, Wolf,” he says to the wall. “We have a long ride tomorrow.”

Something is definitely wrong. Last night he asked me to hold him. Tonight he won’t even meet my eyes.