Page 123 of The Black Table
I’m proud of both of them. All of them.
I…like them.
All of them.
Not all in the same way—God, not even close—but it’s there. Something. Affection, attraction, in different ways for the differentmen—pulling at me or cracking me open, lighting me up or calming me down.
And I don’t know what to make of it.
Don’t know if I should make anything of it.
But it’s undeniable, at least on the inside. Sharp Kai, tender Lanz, stalwart Callahan, and…
In front of us, Kingston takes the piste.
He doesn’t loom over his opponent like Callahan did, or size him up as a psych-out like Kai. He simply stands at attention, eerily still, and precise, and that in itself is a kind of mind game.
“Third bout,” calls the official, “foil. Fencing for Caliburn, Pendragon. Fencing for St. Ignaty, Moroslav.”
The opposing fencer walks out in his gray and gold lamé, and in the half second before he pulls his mask down, I catch a glimpse of his face.
“Him,” I whisper.
“What?” Lanz, who’s closest to my side, whispers back without taking his eyes off the piste.
“I know him,” I say. “The guy Kingston’s fencing. He bought me a cup of coffee in town the other day.” It sounds so weird and improbable that I almost doubt myself as I say the words, but there’s no mistaking him. “Alexei.”
Now Lanz looks at me, his blue eyes round with surprise.
“Alexei Moroslav bought you a coffee?” He sucks in a breath. “I hope you didn’t drink it.”
“Actually, I didn’t.” I think back to Morgan’s warning. Good advice in general, not to take beverages from strange men. But…“Who is this guy?”
“He’s…” Lanz considers. “I don’t know. The second best fencer in our league? After Kingston?”
“The Lex Luthor to his Superman,” Kai mutters from Lanz’s other side, cracking a piece of gum between his teeth. “Or the Kryptonite.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I look back on the piste as Kingston and Moroslav take their places. “Has he ever beaten Kingston?”
“In an official match?” Lanz asks and shakes his head no. “But in exhibition?—”
“Showtime,” Kai interrupts, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees just as the official calls for them to take their places.
Then Kingston moves. He looks at us at the bench and, for a moment, I wonder if I was talking too loud, if I was distracting him from the piste, if I blew it and totally fucked up his focus.
But I didn’t. At least it seems I didn’t.
Because his eyes settle on me, that golden, unwavering gaze, and something absolutely shocking happens.
Kingston Pendragon smiles at me.
Suddenly, I don’t care if anyone else can see me, can perceive my presence or even is flat-out staring at me.
All I know is that looking at me makes Kingston Pendragon happy, and that is a kind of lightness I never could have imagined.
He slips on his mask, and?—
“Allez!”
