CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT #3
At that, Tristan subsided, but he gave Lance a look that said he was studying him, looking for the reason Lance had just gone against everything he stood for. There was suspicion in Tristan’s eyes, a narrowing.
I made a note in the ledger I kept only in my head, the one I’d been maintaining since I was fourteen years old and first learned that information was the only currency that couldn’t be stolen.
The leash held. Lance’s compliance was clean, with no detectable lag, and the resistance was genuine: I hadn’t wanted it otherwise.
A man who capitulates too easily isn’t useful; he’s just another variable that could tip without warning.
I needed to know whether Lance’s cooperation came with a spine still attached or whether I was dealing with something that was already hollow.
His spine was still intact; he was still resisting. Just... now constrained. Exactly how I wanted him.
-ARTHUR-
Galahad’s hands were folded on the table in front of him.
He was composed, and his hands were almost theatrical in their composure, the way only a man who’d rehearsed his innocence could manage.
The bruise Lance had left on his jaw had started to yellow underneath the blue-purple, and his eye was still swollen, though he could now open it.
His attention was directed precisely at me, and that steadiness cost him something. I could see the effort in it.
Lance hadn’t looked at Galahad once since he’d taken his seat, even though he’d agreed with Kay that Galahad’s title shouldn’t be stripped, something I found very strange considering Lance had been arguing for exactly the opposite only the evening before.
I supposed after having a night to think on it and the conversation the two of us had had, Lance had realized how my hands were tied and he’d come around to my way of thinking.
Kay, meanwhile, had been watching me all morning in that way of his, the kind of expression that looked like patience but was actually calculation.
After the knights had had their say (or those who wanted to have their say had) regarding what should be done with Galahad, I delivered the final verdict.
“Three weeks ago,” I said, “I gave Sir Galahad autonomous authority over the prisoner’s custody. That authority was granted contingent on two conditions. The first was that any significant change in the prisoner’s condition be reported to me directly.
The second was that all actions taken under that authority remained within the bounds I outlined at the time of the assignment.”
My voice was level. I kept it level the way I kept my hands level when I was in pain; that is to say, I was deliberate and practiced.
“On the night of the thirty-second day, the prisoner’s magic broke its binding. This is a significant event by any measure. I wasn’t informed by the knight who had been charged with her custody.” I paused. “I was informed by the disruption itself.”
Nobody moved.
“That is a failure to follow the first line of orders.”
Galahad’s jaw tightened barely, but it was enough that I caught it.
“Additionally,” I said, “two knights present in the corridor that night, neither of them assigned to the prisoner’s custody, were compelled to intervene. This required the involvement of Sir Tristan, who wasn’t on duty. It required the attention of Sir Lancelot and the rest of you, I daresay.”
I didn’t look at Lance. “It required my own attention at an hour when my attention was required elsewhere.”
Kay shifted his weight slightly. Just slightly.
“These are not small failures,” I said. “They represent a chain of operational breakdowns that originated with a single point of failure. An authority was granted. That authority was not exercised within the terms of its grant.”
The fire in the hearth popped. Gawain shifted in his seat.
I looked at Galahad directly.
“Sir Galahad’s autonomous custody of the prisoner is hereby revoked. Effective immediately, the prisoner returns to a standard rotation under the watch captain’s assignment. Sir Galahad is formally rebuked for failure to report and failure to operate within the scope of his orders.
This rebuke will be entered into the record of this council.”
I watched Galahad absorb that information, watched him decide how to absorb it. He inclined his head in a small, careful motion, the angle of a man accepting a consequence he found unjust but had no ability to contest.
“This is not a question of Sir Galahad’s faith,” I said.
“Nor of his competence as a knight. It is a question of the king’s authority. When I give an order, it is followed. When I grant an authority, it is exercised within its terms. When something goes wrong, I am told.”
I let that sit for a moment. “These are not complicated requirements.”
I took a breath. “Sir Galahad’s title and his seat at the Table continue. Neither will be revoked.”
No one spoke.
I reached for the tankard in front of me and drank a few swallows of ale before I set it down again.
“We’ll move to the northern dispatch.”
Kay opened the ledger in front of him and began to read, and the council moved forward. Meanwhile, Galahad’s hands stayed folded on the table in front of him, and I didn’t look at the bruise on his jaw again.
The fire filled the silence where everything I hadn’t said lived.