Trystan sent her a sideways look, caught off guard by that remark.
His sister enjoyed strong-arming those around her. Currently, she was intent on finding Trystan a mate, whether he wished for one or not. She often pointed out how attractive women were, hoping to entice him. This was the first time she’d ever mentioned a male’s appearance, but the new tactic was only to be expected. Midas must have told her that gryphons weren’t strictly binary in their choice of partners. Gwen was no doubt thrilled to have more options to choose from in her matchmaking campaign.
It was surprising that she would consider a man for Galahad’s potential partner, though. The wingless tended to be far more puritanical than the gryphon. They typically preferred one gender, usually the opposite of their own. Nothing in Trystan’s research had indicated that Galahad favored males. That trait would have gotten him kicked out of the King’s Men, in fact. …Which was probably why Gwen hadn’t mentioned it before. If she suspected that Galahad wanted to keep his private life a secret, she’d guard it too. It was her nature to protect.
Except now she was telling Trystan.
Why?
“I do not care what the knight looks like.” He told her, unsettled by this turn in the conversation. …And his assertion was almost true. He certainly didn’t want to care what the knight looked like. “I judge the worthiness of a potential mate based only on their actions.”
“I totally agree.” Gwen bobbed her head. “That’s very fair.”
“The knight’s actions do not speak well of him.” Trystan persisted and it was a vast understatement. “Choose someone else --anyone else, of any gender-- and I will consider sleeping with them, if it makes you content.”
There. Maybe that would satisfy her.
“I don’t want you to sleep with somebody to make me happy, dummy! Ew!” She batted his arm. “I want you to have a relationship.”
“A relationship?” That seemed to be the wingless word for claiming a mate. “This is a very serious thing.”
“Yes! It’s also a very great thing, if you don’t want to die alone.”
“We all die alone.”
“God, you’re morbid.” Gwen waved that aside. “Anyway, I’ve put lots of perfectly wonderful romantic prospects in front of you and you just run them right over. At least three have cried.”
“You choose weak prospects. That is not my fault.”
Since boyhood, Trystan had always wanted a hero for a mate. They were all gone, now, but he would still accept no less. He remembered Lunette and Ban too clearly. He would have no one at all, before he had less than that example.
“Can you just keep an open mind about Galahad? Please?”
“No. My mind is stubbornly blocked by facts.” He paused. “And I cannot choose my mate, at this time. Soon, I have to journey many places, killing all the men on my list. That will take all my time and focus.”
Gwen glowered up at him. “You’re still stuck on that vendetta thing? Really?”
Trystan braced himself against the accusation in her eyes. “I will bring Galahad back to you, but then I must leave Camelot to hunt down my enemies. It will take months. Possibly longer. I have told you this.”
Gwen was a warrior. She accepted nothing but victory, so she shook her head and ignored his plans completely. “Just… be nice about bringing Galahad home and see what happens. That’s all I ask. Don’t --like-- put Gal in a sack, or knock him unconscious, or tie him up, or anything.”
“And if the knight doesn’t wish to come home?” He challenged. “If he wants to stay lost?”
Gwen’s mouth thinned in determination. “Oh, he’s coming home.” She declared righteously. “Put him in a sack, knock him unconscious, and tie him up if you have to.”
Trystan so enjoyed the woman’s ruthlessness. His expression softened, his eyes finding hers. “It’s done, j’aha. I promise you.”
She beamed up at him again and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “I love you, brother.”
If he knew how to say it back, he would have.
Instead, Trystan ran his thumb down the center of her face, from her forehead to the bridge of her nose. Keeping his clan content in his care was worth anything. Even a senseless mission to save a monster.
“Do not die while I’m gone.” He warned and went striding into the palace’s inner courtyard.
The rest of the castle had developed into a mix of influences from three very different people. Midas was focused on maximizing the garish aesthetics of the place, and Gwen was focused on preserving some traditions, and Trystan was focused on defenses. Somehow they made it all work, with tacky furniture being placed around heirloom vases and intricate security systems. Trystan thought the effect very pleasing.
But, the inner courtyard where Avalon played was positively fortified. Trystan didn’t give a shit about aesthetics or tradition. The child was his goddamn heartbeat. Nothing and no one came near Avi until Trystan was sure they weren’t a threat. He was insistent on that and nobody argued. She was the heartbeat of all of them.
“Avalon.” He called, treading across the grass. “I am leaving, now.”
There was a maudlin sculpture in the center of the yard, featuring a young soldier, courageously holding his sword aloft. The plaque at the bottom declared it a commemoration to “Bedivere the Brave. Knight of Camelot and Martyr of Legion. Who Died Saving Children From the Flames of War.” Bedivere was the only King’s Man who’d ever acted heroically, so Trystan did not overly mind the man being remembered.
He just minded how he was remembered.
Art served no purpose. How was that not obvious? Surely, if Bedivere gave his life for such a noble reason, he would’ve preferred his memorial to be something more worthwhile. Food for hungry families or arms for living soldiers. Yet this dead hunk of metal, in a walled garden, was how his people chose to tell his story. If he lived in Camelot forever, Trystan would never understand the wingless.
He spared the hideous bronze monstrosity a dismissive look, his attention on Avalon. “Do nothing overly cute while I’m gone, yes? I do not wish to miss it.”
“’kay, Trystan.”
The little girl was wearing a vividly pink, glittery dress and playing with sidewalk chalk. She’d drawn a vast map on the cobblestones, using lavender and yellow lines to form a checkerboard pattern. Trystan studied it for a beat and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “What is that?”
Her big eyes blinked up at him. There was a fuzzy cat-ear headband on her head. He had no idea why. “It’s Legion, of course. The gone-away gryphons was talking to me about it.”
P’don.
The florid gryphon oath filtered through his head.
“Cursing is a no-no.” Avi said, easily reading his mind. “Mommy says so.”
Avalon Skycast was an Enchantress. She might be a child, but she already saw the future, the past, and all possibilities in between. The dead gryphons often spoke to people burdened with an important destiny, helping to guide them. Since Avalon Skycast would one day change the world, they communicated with her regularly. Trystan easily accepted that. But, while he honored his ancestors, no one was allowed to frighten his niece.
“Avi,” he knelt down so they were at eyelevel, “I told you to ignore the gryphons, if they told you anything scary, didn’t I?”
Avi wrinkled her nose at him. “The gone-away gryphons aren’t scary, Trystan. We’s friends. They like me.” She grinned and threw her arms wide. “Everybody likes me!”
He ignored her mind-blowing cuteness, but it was hard. “If you wish to know about Legion, I will tell you.”
Her head tilted in curiosity. “Do you know what really happened?”
“Yes. It was the last day of the Looking Glass Campaigns.” He pointed to Bedivere’s tragic statue. “Where he died.”
Her blue gaze flicked to the bronze eyesore with a small frown.
“Uther, King of Camelot, attacked a peaceful gryphon village with his villainous knights.�
� Trystan continued, giving her a sanitized version of events. “Lyrssa Highstorm, queen of my people, rightfully killed him for it. But too much damage had been done to the town of Legion. It burned and many people died. The gryphons lost that fight and the War was finally over.”
King Uther had been Avalon’s grandfather, but he’d also been an evil bastard. There was no use in pretending the man’s death hadn’t been just. Trystan always believed in telling the young the truth. It was the only way they’d learn.
Avalon’s eyes went back to her chalk map and then she looked up at Trystan. “I think Galahad should tell us what really happened.” She decided. “He’ll know. He was there.”
Yes. Galahad of Camelot certainly had been there.
The son of a bitch had led the troops that massacred the town.
Trystan had often tried to kill Galahad during the War. They had been on opposites sides, after all. And it occurred to him, not for the first time, that he could simply kill Galahad, now. It would save him no end of trouble. Trystan had promised to find Galahad and bring him back to Camelot, but he’d never said the man would be alive. Producing a body for Gwen to bury would, in theory, fulfil his vow. It really was the simplest solution.
Except Avalon and Gwen loved Galahad.
Trystan met Avi’s blue gaze.
She smiled back at him with warmth, and purity, and total trust.
Trystan sighed. “How much do you love the knight?” He asked, wanting to be sure he couldn’t solve this problem the easy way.
“A lot.” She clapped her hands together. “He’s the best knight ever!”
“He’s not.” Trystan assured her, because the man obviously wasn’t.
Trystan had been in prison during Legion, so he hadn’t seen that battle firsthand. But he witnessed what Uther’s knights had done in countless others. The gryphons had been nearly exterminated in Camelot’s relentless genocide. Trystan had known it was impossible to stop the sheer numbers of knights that came for his people, but he’d still stood against the onslaught. It had cost him years on battlefields and locked in cells, but he would do everything again, if he had to. Make all the same choices. He might have lost the War, but he’d been on the right side.
Galahad had chosen a much darker path.
“Gal’s my third best friend in the whole world.” Avi continued cheerily, believing in the man’s Goodness, when she really should know better. “You’s going to love him, too!”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Trystan resigned himself to returning with a breathing knight. “While I am gone, remember I am your second best friend, yes?”
“I know.” She bounced forward to hug him goodbye. “I’ll miss you! Tell Gal to bring me back a magic carpet, ‘kay? He said he would, before he left.”
Trystan closed his eyes briefly, his chin resting on her curly-cue curls. “He’s probably forgotten your gift.” No knight had ever kept a promise. Being lying dickheads was part of their nature. “I will remind him, though.”
And then beat the shit out of him until he bought Avalon exactly what she wanted.
Avi pulled back to look into his eyes, again. “You don’t need to worry so much.” She said quietly and he knew she saw every thought in his head. “We’ll all be okay.”
“Gryphons do not worry. I told your father this. I just don’t like to let this clan out of my sight. I do not trust any of you to survive without me.”
She tilted her head. “But you want to go find all those mean guys on your list, don’t you? If you did that, you’d be gone for a looooooong time.”
Trystan hesitated, because that was true. He did plan to hunt down the men on his list. He’d never mentioned that to Avalon, obviously, but it didn’t matter. She could read his intentions. Killing them would take Trystan from his clan, which was the last thing he wanted. But what choice did he have?
Those traitors had to die.
“I do not know where those men are, so I will not be going off to kill them anytime soon.” He temporized, unsure how else to respond.
“Oh, I know where they are!” Avalon’s hand shot up like she was eager to be called on in her kindergarten class. “The meanest one is in St Ives.”
“Marcus is in St. Ives?” Trystan’s heart leapt in anticipation and frustration.
St. Ives was a pit of brothels and casinos on the edge of hell. The last city before the Moaning Sea, St. Ives was situated on territory so inhospitable that no one else wanted to claim it. It was also surrounded by a forty foot magical wall that not even gryphons could fly over. The only people welcomed inside were Bad folk and, occasionally, their abducted hostages. How the hell was he going to get to Marcus, if the jackass was hidden in a locked city?
“You should be careful if you go there, Trystan. There’s other Galahads in St. Ives.” Avi nodded, as if that was common knowledge. “But, I just want mine, okay?”
He had no idea what that meant, which was typical of many of his interactions with Avalon. It was difficult to untangle all the threads that were woven into her visions. Perhaps she was telling him the city was filled with knights.
Shit. He hoped it wasn’t filled with knights. He hated knights.
“I will only return with one knight.” He assured her. “Even that is too many.”
Avi’s small palms cupped either side of his face, smearing chalk all over his skin. “Galahad is supposed to be with us.” She assured him sweetly. “You’ll see. Be nice to him.”
Avalon was always right.
Trystan accepted that, even when he wished she was wrong.
“Fine.” He could not stand against her and Gwen on the matter. Besides, Trystan could be “nice” to anyone. Even asshole knights. He was nothing if not gracious and fair. He’d be the first to tell anyone that fact and then fight them to the death if they disagreed. He ran his thumb down the center of Avi’s face. “I will do my best and return home soon, yes?”
“‘Kay. Bye-bye! I love you. Bring me back a present!”
Trystan’s heart melted in some unexplained way. He watched her go skipping back to her sidewalk art. “What kind of present do you want?”
“The big glass bubble. It’s pretty. And big! We need it a lot!”
“Uh-huh.” Trystan had no idea what that meant, either. It didn’t matter. He’d figure it out. Whatever Avi wanted, he’d provide. “I’ll get it for you, then.” He rose to his feet, prepared to go. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return to his clan.
“Hey, Trystan?” Avalon called after him. “When you get back, can you tell me about ya’lahs? Like Elaine used to tell you?”
Trystan stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping back to gape at her. “You know of the ya’lah?” He had told Avalon nearly all of Elaine’s stories, just as the woman would have wished, but he had never told her that legend. “You’ve seen this person in your visions?”
“Sure.” She didn’t look up from the drawing, cheerfully humming an ancient gryphon hymn. Trystan’s mother used to sing him the same song. “That’s how the curse breaks.”
Trystan stood there for a long moment, his mind spinning and his heart pounding in his chest. He had not heard anyone mention a ya’lah since the zoo. Now, Avi spoke of one in the same conversation where she claimed Galahad of Camelot was the best knight ever?
Knowing Avalon, that was no coincidence.
The child saw everything and the dead gryphons were always whispering to her. Trystan’s ancestors would want the curse lifted as much as anyone. If they saw a path where it could happen, they would help to guide…
No.
Trystan shook his head, unable to believe he was thinking what he was suddenly thinking. No. Avalon Skycast was always right, but not this time.
No way was the Butcher of Legion the ya’lah.
No fucking way.
Chapter One
Camelot and the gryphons once lived in peace with one another. But then Uther came to power and he was jealous of all we had. Our freedom. Our lands.
Our knowledge.
And especially our graal.
The graal is the greatest treasure of the gryphon people. No one alive has ever seen it. Some even think it to be a myth, but I believe the old stories. I believe that the graal is not of this world. I believe that its powers surpass even level six magic. I believe it can do things that are beyond our understanding.
And I believe that our ancestors knew such an object could easily be used for ill purposes.
That is why it had to be hidden away.
How the Wingless War Happened
Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller
Lyonesse Desert- East of the Umberland Plains
Through the smoke came an angel.
Galahad’s stinging eyes widened in amazement when he saw the man striding through the squalid desert town. Large and tanned, with white wings and golden hair, he looked like he had stepped right off of an old master’s canvas.
Galahad loved art. His favorite painting had always been a century-old, thickly-varnished masterpiece that hung in the stairwell of Camelot’s palace. It depicted a heavenly warrior battling demons and protecting the innocent. Galahad had stared up at it when he was younger and thought that angel was the most beautiful thing in the world.
But the two-dimensional image was nothing compared to this man.
“I’ve come for the knight.” The angel said very distinctly. His accent sounded out of time in the modern world, but there was no mistaking his words, even over the growing roar of the flames.
The beautiful angel was there for him?
Uh-oh…
For the first time, it occurred to Galahad that he might die in this place. Why else would an angel be appearing? Shit. How was that possible? He hadn’t expected to die, even as they lit the pyre beneath him.
But he also hadn’t expected an angel to show up at his death. That was a triumph, by any measure. Galahad always tried to see the bright side of things, even when being roasted to death. If he died today, at least he was on the right side. The angel’s appearance proved it. It proved that Galahad had been right to trust in a bigger purpose to the universe. In a greater plan. He’d been right.
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 2