Page 47 of The Black Table
“We have a mission,” he goes on. “We have a charge. Acommitment to excellence in the pursuit of the greater good.” His stare pins Cal in place. “I understand you’re the newest, Callahan, but getting involved in this kind of?—”
“No,” Cal chokes. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, Kingston.”
He drops into the seat next to me, face pale, knuckles white. On his other side, Lanz, too, looks worried. Way more worried than anyone should be. And Cal glances his way, just once, quick and desperate, like he needs reassurance only Lanz can give.
Well, fair enough. Because he sure as hell isn’t getting it from me.
“Yes,” I mutter, flipping open my pocket knife to clean under my nails. “Heaven forbid we perform under pressure. Let’s all build ourselves a little hermetic tube so we never make contact with the outside world. Just study hard, play with our swords, and figure out where X marks the spot so we can find?—”
Kingston narrows his eyes at me.
“Quiet,” he barks.
To my surprise, I shut up.
It sounds ridiculous when I put it that way, I know. But to be fair, it sounds ridiculous even when Idon’tput it that way. It sure as hell did to me, anyway:seek the Holy Grail?
Fuckingexcuse me?
But damned if I haven’t seen shit since then that’s convinced me. Convinced me enough to sign on, body, mind, and soul.
A loyal knight. Just like all of us.
Kingston starts droning strategy again, voice flat, eyes sharp. Cal stares straight ahead. Lanz fidgets like he always does: 10% man, 90% nervous energy.
That’s the real problem with this table. It’s supposed to be this sacred thing that brings us all together, unites us in brotherhood and service, proves us all to be equals no matter what and blah blah fucking blah.
In reality? It’s all tilting one way. Ever since the Lady of the Lake made her decision.
Ever since she picked Kingston.
He’s supposed to be leading this. Leading us.
But this death grip of his, this hero complex and hardass attitude…
It’s ripping us apart.
Finally, when what feels like two hours have passed and I’m hungry enough to gnaw off my own arm, Kingston declares we’re done.
“Kai. Wait.”
Except, apparently, me.
I skid to an exaggerated stop, just a few feet from the door and just a few steps away from whatever’s waiting for us in the dining room, which smells absolutely fucking delicious.
So this had better be important.
“Yes?” I say. All innocence.Until proven guilty,I think.
At the table, Kingston sits with his back straight, arms folded, like the anal-retentive CEO he’d probably have ended up becoming if his destiny wasn’t all wrapped up in this wild fucking goose chase for a magical cup.
“Father knows,” he says. “About this weekend.”
“Oh?”
I only half-remember what happened. But I remember enough to remember that I was probably a dick—a justified dick, but not like that matters.
I fold my arms.
