CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO #3
The training grounds to the north were just beginning to fill, the distant clang of practice blades carrying faintly on the wind.
The rose gardens to the east were still half-shadowed, the blooms shut tight against the cold.
A fountain murmured somewhere nearby, but I didn’t let myself think about water.
Tristan was already there.
He leaned against a stone pillar with the unhurried posture of someone who had arrived early and didn’t mind that no one had noticed.
With his considerable height, the dark curls that framed his face, and his olive skin, he definitely stood out among the other knights.
He wore no armor, just a dark linen tunic with the sleeves rolled to the elbow despite the chill.
A sword belt hung loose at his hip as if it were nothing more than an afterthought.
When he saw us, he smiled. At me. And that was something I found strange.
In general, the other knights seemed to barely tolerate me.
I understood why, given the fact that I’d lied to each and every one of them as Lioran.
But the expression on Tristan’s face I found odd.
There was no suspicion, none of Agravaine’s cold inventory, nor Gawain’s careful honor, the way he always looked slightly pained to see me.
Tristan appeared to be more curious than anything else. That and he was entirely unafraid.
It was almost unsettling.
“Sir Tristan.” Galahad’s voice carried its usual weight. “I leave my ward in your care for the time being.”
Tristan pushed off the pillar. “I’ll take excellent care of her.” He said the words warmly, which seemed to bother Galahad more than indifference would have.
Galahad said something low and disapproving that I didn’t catch, but then he turned and walked away with his perfect posture and his perfect certainty, his white cloak catching the morning light.
We both watched him go, and I was beyond glad for it. When I turned back to face Tristan, his gaze was resting on the book in my arms as he then looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.
“The Book of Abominations?” He didn’t wait for my response. “He wants you to convert me?”
A laugh came out of me. It was both short and surprised, and I hadn’t heard that sound from myself in so long it almost frightened me.
“Those were essentially his words, yes.”
Tristan tilted his head toward the garden path, and I nodded, falling into step beside him, the book tucked against my chest.
“Well, I hope I won’t frustrate or disappoint you by telling you I have no interest in being converted.”
I laughed. “I’m not frustrated or disappointed; it wasn’t my choice to bring the book.”
We found a bench near the edge of the garden where a stone wall cut the wind.
Tristan motioned for me to sit down, so I did, and he sat beside me, leaving a generous distance between us, where I placed the large leather book.
He looked down at the Book of Abominations the way most people look at something they’ve been briefly and unpleasantly acquainted with.
“Have you read it?” I asked.
“Parts.” He picked up a fallen leaf from the bench and turned it between his fingers.
“The Orath index is the only section worth your time. The rest is Galahad’s sect talking to itself.”
He set the leaf down. “The original Orath text runs nearly two hundred pages.”
Then he pointed at the book with his leaf.
“What’s printed in that book is seventeen. Galahad’s order spent considerable effort deciding what to remove.”
“And Galahad removed the rest,” I added with a smile. Then I turned the book over in my hands. “You know the original?”
He nodded. “I’ve read it. The things they cut contradict the Cracked Vessel doctrine in fairly fundamental ways. Orath’s humility principle, properly rendered, makes the entire framework Galahad operates under theologically incoherent.”
He said the words without heat. Just a fact being stated, but his words were like sunshine to my soul.
I studied him for a moment then: the dark eyes, the handsome, smiling face, the easy posture, and the complete absence of the vigilance that every other person in this castle wore like a second skin around me. The fact that he’d just contradicted everything Galahad believed in...
“Is this some sort of test?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
He looked at me, and the surprise on his face seemed genuine. “A test?”
“Is Galahad putting you up to saying things like what you just did? To see if I’ll agree. To see what I’ll—”
“—No.” He wasn’t defensive, just certain. “Galahad thinks I’m a lapsed believer who might be recovered with sufficient exposure to scripture and a good example.” He shook his head as he laughed. “He is wrong about that, as he’s wrong about several things.”
The wind moved through the roses. Somewhere, a door opened and closed. All the while, I continued to study him, wondering what his angle was. Why was he even here with me?
“Can I ask you something?” I kept my voice neutral.
He turned to look at me and nodded. “You can ask me anything.”
“Why are you the one looking after me instead of one of the guards?”
He was quiet for a moment and then cocked his head to the side as he shrugged. “Galahad mentioned his sermon, and I volunteered to stay with you.”
“To watch me?”
“To watch you.”
I waited, then asked, “Why?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You seemed like you’d be more interesting than another training session or more discussions about grain shortages and disgruntled farmers.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or wary.
I settled on both but didn’t respond. And neither did he, which was nice in its own way.
Just sitting outside in the chill air with the scent of roses lacing the breeze.
But then something occurred to me, something I wasn’t certain how Tristan would respond to, but it was something I needed to ask, all the same.