Chapter 36
AUGUST
Wind knifed along the Landau roof, but inside the compartment, something sharper cut through the air. Garrick sat opposite me, boots braced, offering his handkerchief with that infuriating smirk. “Shall I hold it for you too, like a nursemaid? Dab your poor nose while you sulk?”
I swatted his hand away. Most of the bleeding had stopped, but my eyes hadn't left Lily since we'd climbed into the carriage. Every time the lantern swung, I caught her profile—jaw tight, hands clenched in her lap, that storm behind her eyes.
What did you do to the light, Lily?
I'd seen the panic flash across her face when the candles died. Seen her hands trembling before Garrick caught her arm.
The lie I'd spun for my father hung between us now, louder than wheel-iron on cobble
At my home, the hired carriage left us on the steps with nothing but the blue-black hush before sunrise. Frost glittered on the gravel; our breath plumed like ghosts.
No Marigold. No Adeline.
Garrick patted Lily on the back. “Relax, Red. Addie's faster than any patrol. She's halfway through the forest by now.”
“Straight to the Weavers,” I confirmed. “I told her to keep the child hidden until we send word.”
Lily's shoulders dropped slightly—relief warring with terror of what came next.
I led them both to the back of the house, toward the kitchen. Inside, warm lamplight pooled around the scarred worktable. Garrick fetched hot water, amusement still dancing across his features despite all that had happened.
“Tea for the time-traveler,” he said, setting a chipped mug in front of me, “and whisky for the idiot who thinks a broken nose is a strategy.”
“That was your sister’s strategy,” I muttered, lifting the glass. “Which has me wondering. . .” I leaned back against the edge of the table, fixing my eyes on Garrick. “You knew. Didn’t you?”
Garrick blinked. The grin faltered, just enough to make the kitchen hold its breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Adeline. The girl. Being a sympathizer.” My tone stayed even, but steel crept into it. “You’ve known for a while.”
Garrick shrugged one shoulder, too casual. “I know a lot of things. Comes with being clever.”
“Don’t.” I stepped forward, and the space between us thickened. “Are you with her, Garrick? With them?”
The silence stretched. I watched Garrick's face cycle through emotions—surprise, calculation, something that might have been relief. His jaw worked like he was chewing over words he'd never planned to say.
“I’m with you,” he said. “I’ve always been with you. You are as much family to me as my sister is. I would never do something to get either of you killed. Even when you were too blind to see the war you were helping start. “
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
“How long?” The question scraped out of me. “How long have you been watching me and thinking I was the enemy?”
Garrick flinched. “You're not the enemy. You're my friend. That's why it's been hell.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Since this began,” Garrick said quietly. “Since the first Weaver was unraveled and you came home proud of your father’s work.”
I stared at him like I didn't recognize the man standing in front of me. My best friend. The one person I'd trusted without question.
“So that’s it? All these years at my side and you were what—feeding intel to your sister behind my back?”
“Trying to save lives,” Garrick shot back. “While you helped end them.”
“I was loyal,” I snapped. “To my family. To our name.”
“To his name,” Garrick shot back. “Not your mother’s. Not yours. Elowen Hawthorne would’ve never stood by and watched this happen.”
My shoulders tensed, hands curling at my sides. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“Why not?” Garrick stepped closer, his anger finally breaking free. “She died trying to protect what you’ve spent your whole life helping destroy. You think that pendant in your hand means nothing? She gave her life to stop this, and you’ve been his blade.”
The air turned brittle, like even a whisper could snap it.
“If you believed in her so much,” I said, each word a precise cut, “why didn’t you stop him?”
“I did,” Garrick said quietly. “Just not loudly enough.”
He looked at his hands like they'd failed him. “I thought if I stayed close, if I kept you from becoming him completely, perhaps I could turn you around. I could save you both.”
I looked away first. My jaw twitched, and I drew a sharp breath—
“Stop.”
We both turned to her.
“You're tearing each other apart over things that are already done,” she said, standing. “Garrick, you're angry at August for choices he made when he didn't know better. August, you're angry at Garrick for not stopping you from making them. But neither of you can change what's already happened.”
She moved between us, and the weight of her stare settled on me.
“The question isn't who's been loyal to whom. It's whether you're going to keep being loyal to the same things that put you on opposite sides.”
The truth in her words burned through the rot between us, exposing something raw and real.
Garrick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, the anger had drained from his words.
“I've been trying to save you both for years,” he said. “You and Adeline. From him. From what he was turning you into.”
My throat tightened. “You should have told me.”
“When?” His laugh was bitter. “When you came home proud of your first execution? When you defended the unravelings to my face? When you called the resistance traitors?”
“I was sixteen—”
“Look, August.” He stepped closer, stripped of his usual smirk. “You're my best friend. You have been since we were boys, sneaking into the stables and blaming each other for whatever trouble we caused. Do you think it was easy watching you become someone I didn't recognize?”
I couldn't answer. Couldn't look at him.
“I wanted to tell you,” Garrick's words came out unsteady, catching on something sharp. “God, August, I wanted to tell you so many times. But every time I started, your father's words would come out of your mouth. His certainty would shine in your eyes. And I'd lose my nerve.”
I stared at the table, jaw working.
“I thought if I could just. . .” He stopped, throat working as he swallowed hard. “Keep you from becoming him completely.”
“I'm not him,” I said quietly.
“No,” Garrick agreed. “But you were becoming him. And I was watching it happen.”
The pendant pulsed faintly against my chest, a reminder of what I'd been, what I'd almost become.
“Even when I didn't agree. Even when your father's orders made me sick. But if you're standing here, in this kitchen, protecting her—” He nodded toward Lily. “Then you're just as much a sympathizer as I am.”
I met his eyes.
“That's not a threat,” he added quickly. “It's the truth. You've already crossed the line, Hawthorne. The only question left is whether you'll keep pretending you haven't.”
For a moment, the only sound was the frost settling against the windows. Then my shoulders dropped, like I'd been holding my breath for years.
“I'm not pretending anymore.”
Garrick set down his mug and clapped me on the back—firm, final. “Good,” he said. “I'll post myself by the drive. In case your father's hounds come sniffing.”
His tone was lighter again, but his eyes lingered a second too long on my face—as if marking the moment, the shift, the choice.