Page 85 of The Black Table
“So what are we supposed to do with it, exactly?”
“Why, transliterate,” Emrys says. “Same as it ever was. We’ve just gotten a true treasure trove of new manuscript material—I’m sure your father has told you, Mr. Pendragon?—”
Kingston’s grip on his bag tightens imperceptibly.
“—and now the fun begins.” Emrys nods. “As you two are my bright stars, I’ve awarded you the chance to take on this sizable chunk.Andyou’ll have until Monday to complete it.”
“Monday?” The stiffness drops from Kingston’s voice, replaced by genuine disbelief. “We fence Sainte-Odile this weekend.”
“Good thing you have a colleague, then,” Emrys says. “Many hands make light work.”
“I need more time,” Kingston insists.
“And yet there is none to be had.” Emrys’s voice takes on the slightest edge, the tiniest bit of firmness, and it’s enough—somehow, it’s enough to cow even Kingston Pendragon. “What is human life if not one giant, immovable deadline? Best to learn to work efficiently.” He claps Kingston on the shoulder and all but shoves the folder of papers into his chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve been told there are biscuits in the faculty lounge.”
With that, Emrys sweeps out, coat over his arm and briefcase in hand, leaving just me and Kingston alone.
I wait for him to move. He doesn’t.
“So…”
“I won’t be able to work on this until Saturday,” Kingston says. “Night. Before then, I need to focus.”
“O…kay,” I say. “We can start then, I guess.” I eye the thick stack of papers in the folder—it’d be tough to get through all of them even with a full three days. But I’m not about to contradict Kingston.
“Good. We can meet in the library.” He slides the folder into his bag—not without some difficulty, given how thick and unevenly stuffed it is—and heads for the door.
“Kingston, wait.”
Once again, I’m struck by how strange it feels to say his name out loud—to him. And maybe he realizes, too, because he stops immediately short, his eyes instantly locked on mine.
“Yes,” he says. And then adds: “Gwenna.”
Direct. Decorous. And…firm.
The sound of my own name has never given me butterflies before.
“I just…” Where do I even start? I pluck at the hem of my skirt—mynewskirt, the onehebought me. “You had Callahan bring me to Camlann House. To…live with you?”
His mouth hardens to a line.
“Do you have anywhere else to live at Caliburn?” he asks at last.
“No,” I admit. “But?—”
“Is there something wrong with your room?”
I bite back a groan of frustration. “No, but?—”
“Then there’s nothing to discuss.” He buttons the front of his overcoat, those golden-brown eyes right on mine. “Don’t miss the meet tonight.”
TWENTY-TWO
GWENNA
I still don’t knowwhat to think about Latin class, or about Kingston in general, when it’s time for the fencing meet. Campus has fallen to dusk, and the walk to the field house is almost shrouded in shadows. Fortunately, Morgan agreed to go with me.
“Not exactly my first,” she says.
