Page 69 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Garrett turns to me, and his eyes in the torchlight are empty. “Why?”

“This isn’t…” I struggle for words. “I thought you were better than this.”

“Better?” He laughs, broken and bitter.

“Your parents,” I say, desperate to understand. Desperate to find something that makes sense in this nightmare. “They love you. You have everything. Why—”

He rounds on me and for a moment I see something raw in his expression. Something hurt and angry and lost. “My parents love the son they see at dinner. The Council respects the Commander who wins wars. The people adore the knight who fixes their problems and remembers their names. But none of them know what I really am.”

“Which is?”

He doesn’t answer and turns back to Marcian. “Someone has to balance the scales and make the guilty pay when the system protects them.”

Marcian spits blood at him. “Fuck you.”

“You were the one who barred the doors, weren’t you? Made sure no one could escape when the fire started. You made sure those children burned.” The crack of breaking bone. Marcian’s scream echoes through the chamber.

“Stop,” I say again, stronger this time.

“Why should I?” He doesn’t look at me, his eyes focus entirely on Marcian. Would you stop if these were the men who killed your family? Wouldn’t you want justice?”

“What you’re doing isn’t justice. This is fucking revenge.” The distinction matters even if Garrett can’t see it.

He finally looks at me, and there’s something almost like amusement in his empty eyes. “Call it whatever you want. They’re still guilty. Does it matter which word we use?”

“Yes.” I step closer. “Justice is measured. This—” I gesture at the torture chamber around us, at the broken knights in chains, “—this is madness.”

“They burned children alive for the Aeonian elders,” Garrett says flatly. “If that doesn’t deserve punishment, what does?”

“You need proof before you destroy someone’s life.” My voice hardens with each word. “You’re a commander, not an executioner.”

“I have proof,” Garrett interrupts coldly.

“What proof?”

“Records hidden in the old palace archives where no one would think to look.” His jaw clenches. “Detailed reports from years ago. The massacre at Feywildra village. Seventy-three people burned alive when Valorians locked them inside the village hall and set it aflame. The reports list every soldier present.”

His knuckles go white around the knife handle.

“Twelve names. Twelve Valorians I’ve been leading, trusting, fighting beside for years. Twelve monsters wearing my colors.”

The conviction in his voice is absolute. It’s the truth and Garrett is certain of it.

“Every single one of these men participated. They’re guilty, Wolf.” A flicker of sadness flashes in his eyes before the emptiness returns. “Whatever you think of my methods, they are absolutely, unquestionably guilty.”

I believe him.

“And you decided to kill them all,” I say quietly.

He meets my eyes without flinching.

“I decided to make them answer for their crimes,” Garrett mutters. “The Aeonians won’t touch them. They gave the orders. Those council members still sit in their gilded seats, passing judgment on thieves and petty criminals while their own hands drip with children’s blood.”

“Perhaps you should report this to your queen,” I try.

“The crown won’t act either,” he scoffs, bitterness coating every word. “It happened years ago. The witnesses are dead or scattered. And who cares about peasant children anyway? No one.”

He turns back to Marcian, who’s stopped screaming and now just hangs there, barely conscious.