Page 19 of The Black Table
“Andto see Morgan.”
Oh. I draw in a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm my electric nerves. “What’d she give him?”
Cal shakes his head.No idea.
Fuck.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say, after a moment. “Or, no. It does.” I snap my fingers. “The scrimmage. Moroslav’s in his head. That’s probably it. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Cal repeats, incredulous. And I know what he means.
Caliburn is undefeated so far this year.
So is St. Ignaty’s.
But Caliburn always wins. Always.
“King’ll get back on track,” I say, and hope I’m telling the truth. “He always does.”
“Mm.” Cal considers. Rubs his chin. His warm eyes find mine and the concern in them, the angst, leaves me feeling ready to either melt or burn up in shame.
What are wedoing,I think, not for the first time.
This whole thing started as a…loophole. A technicality of hermeneutics, a selective but valid interpretation of the vows.
No blade drawn in anger,
no blood spilled in vain.
No knight lost to passion,
no honor profaned.
The traditional read is a vow of celibacy, obviously. No women, period. Keep your focus. Retain your energy. Don’t get lost to passion. For me, and my stupid family curse? Win-win. I couldn’t be tangled up with women. Couldn’t risk it.
But that’s the problem with an oath written centuries ago. Back when women were the onlyspeakableoption.
It leaves a hell of a loophole.
You can’t be lost to passion if your passion’s right therewithyou, right? That doesn’t count. Not if it’s another one of us. Not if it’s another knight.
I didn’t think so, anyway.
Neither did Callahan.
Callahan, the only one of us to take the vows as an actual virgin, the quiet, hulking giant, the one with lips that taste like blackberries and salt and whose fingers can do things to make your head spin.
The first time was an accident, unpremeditated, a late night and a dip into the wine cellar that led to a brush of fingers and ended with a bite mark on my neck placed just where my lamé collar would cover it.
After that, it became a habit. A secret, but not one either of us could give up.
Assuming, of course, we don’t get caught.
“Well, if you’re sure…” Cal takes a step back towards me, grips the frame of the door with one hand so I’m half-pinned under him. His eyes lock on mine, golden and pure, searching.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I say.
