Page 28 of The Black Table
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kingston asks, sharp and direct yet somehow annoyingly cool.
“I dunno,” I say, doing my best to match him in kind—cool, calm, and collected. “I’m just saying…” I hold my palms in the air innocently. “Maybe if you kept your eyes on your own piste,bro,you wouldn’t lose to Moroslav.”
His parry is quick. “This has nothing to do with that,” he all but snaps.
Touched a nerve, I mentally singsong. “Oh, doesn’t it?” I say. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re punishing me foryourfailure. And that doesn’t strike me as especially leaderly behavior,captain.”
He works his jaw. “Discipline isn’t punishment. It’s a precondition for success.”
“Save it, Foucault.” I shrug my jacket up my arms. “I’m leaving, and you can deal. Why don’t you go nod off on your magic beans or whatever your witchy step-slut packed up for you and leave the rest of us to actually live our lives?”
That’s it.
Wire tripped.
Kingston lunges for me.
I duck, but he doesn’t even move to strike. Just gets his perfect face right up in mine.
“Speak like that again,” he grits out between locked teeth, “and Father will hear about it.”
Oh, fuck you.
I haul back and ram my fist into his eye socket.
The blow knocks him backwards, stumbling and clutching at his face. But other than that, nothing. Barely even a grunt on impact.
I shake out my knuckles, grinning and breathing hard, the rush of lashing out mingling with the pain of the hit like a drug in my veins.
“Don’t worry,” I pant. “I’ll do my hail Marys. It’s a venal sin, right? Curable.”
Kingston just stares. Stares with a bruise blooming under his cheekbone and a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his perfect little mouth. Refuses,refusesto give me the satisfaction.
“Put ice on that.” He nods at me. “That’s your sword hand.”
Oh,fuckyou.
I lunge for him again.
“Fuck y?—”
But this time, someone grabs me—Callahan, giant bastard, throwing an arm around my neck.
“You think you’ve convinced me? Now I’mdefinitelygoing,” I yell. “I want to be as far away from you and your miserable, pathetic,chickenshitidea of what we’re actually doing hereas possible.”
Kingston glowers. Touches two fingertips to his eye socket. And disappears back upstairs.
I rip myself away from Callahan and follow suit.
Outside, it’s chilly. Good; I need the fresh air. I’m a few solid strides away from Camlann House when footsteps catch up to me.
Lanz and Callahan, nipping at my heels like little fucking puppies.
“Relax,” I say, without looking at either of them. “Mommy and Daddy fight sometimes.”
“Not like this, though.” Lanz. I whirl on him.
“You wanna throw down, too? I’ll snap you in half, pencil dick.”
