Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  “Perhaps they have seen your terrible television program.”

  The knight looked genuinely offended. “What’s wrong with my TV show?”

  “You would like a list?” Excellent. Trystan was eager to provide one. He took storytelling seriously and Galahad’s program was an affront on all levels. “The narrative is filled with holes. Direction is lacking. Themes are muddled. Fight sequences all look fake…”

  Galahad cut him off, refusing to see his own failings. “I’m fighting puppets!”

  “They are poorly trained puppets.” Trystan retorted, appalled all over again by the memory of their incompetence. “They hold their weapons incorrectly. When they even have weapons. Mostly they just sing. How can you win a battle with songs?” He considered his own words for a beat. “Unless all the puppets are secretly sirens, which the text does not support.”

  “It’s a kids’ show and kids remember things better when it’s put into song.”

  “All I remember is how bad the puppets are at singing. And fighting. Sometimes you lose to them. How can you possibly lose to a puppet?” He shot Galahad an irritated look. “Well, perhaps you could. You lose to pigs.”

  “Not killing the pigs was a choice. I was trying to reason with them.”

  “Next time, reason with a sword.”

  “I don’t carry a sword! I told you…” Galahad stopped short and took a deep breath, like he was trying to quell his temper. “You know what? I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “Because I am winning.”

  “Because I want us to get along. You and I are stuck together for a while. Tying me up is pointless. Arguing is pointless. I just don’t see the point in being enemies.”

  Trystan turned to give him a flat look. That last remark deserved no response.

  “Yes, I know. The Looking Glass Campaigns had us on opposing sides. But that was a different world and we were different men.”

  “I am the same man whose villages were burned and whose people were slaughtered.”

  “Well, I’m different,” said the poster boy for Uther’s campaign of death and despair. “And you have to know that, if you know Gwen. She loves me. She would never love me if I was a heartless killer. She would never trust me with Avalon.” He met Trystan’s eyes, willing him to believe. “That has to mean something, right?”

  Stupidly, Trystan found himself actually considering that point. Gwen was one of the few people he respected and she favored this man. Perhaps, that meant something.

  Or perhaps Trystan was just stupid.

  “We’re both on missions here.” Galahad continued. “I won’t get in your way and you won’t get in mine. Even if you don’t want to be allies, you can agree with that, right?”

  It might be worth the compromise, just to stop the nagging. “It depends on how dangerous and stupid your mission is.”

  “I found a map that leads to a treasure beyond price. I’m following it.”

  “Of course you are.” Trystan muttered sarcastically, his eyes rolling towards the sky. Gwen and Avi should never question his devotion to them. Not after he willingly suffered through this crazy man’s company. “Did this map come in a cereal box or a comic book?”

  “The map is real, Trystan. And I’m willing to give you half of all the gold I find, if you just let me get to the end. We’re riding together, so I think that would be fair.”

  “Why would I split half of anything with you?” Trystan demanded. “If I believed your nonsense, I could just take your map for myself. How would you stop me without a sword?”

  “You can have half.” Galahad repeated. “I need the rest.”

  “Your kind always ‘needs’ gold.” Trystan scoffed. The wingless would kill the whole world for a shiny hunk of metal. “How did such a limited people ever defeat my own?”

  “We cheated.” Galahad said very seriously.

  Trystan looked at him sharply. He’d expected some kind of argument or justification.

  “I’m sorry.” Galahad sounded like he meant it. “I wish we’d lost the War. Truly.”

  Of course this man would be the worst fucking enemy in the world. He couldn’t even do that right. No, he just had to apologize with sincerity and Good intentions shining out of his big, blue eyes. This had to be intentional. He couldn’t possibly be this irritating by accident.

  “Trys? You okay?”

  No one had ever shortened his name before. Not even once in his whole life. It should’ve irritated him. …Except it didn’t. P’don, this was stupid.

  “I will not untie you.” He finally decided. “But we can follow your worthless map, so long as it doesn’t take too long, or lead us off the path to St. Ives, or irritate me overly much. And if you happen upon gold on your doomed treasure hunt, I will not stop you from taking it.” Against his will, his gaze kept lingering on the knight’s incredible hair. It had to be under a spell of some kind. “It will no doubt buy you much magical shampoo.”

  There. Never let it be said that he couldn’t be “nice.”

  “Shampoo?” Galahad squinted. “Why would I need magical shampoo? I’ve never used that stuff… Oh! You think I’m going to buy --like-- superficial things with the money?”

  “Shampoo would not be impractical for you.” Trystan allowed, wanting to be fair. “Your hair is… shimmery. Keeping it that way will help you attract and secure a willing mate.”

  Galahad studied him for a long moment. “You come from the mountains, right?” He asked randomly and nodded off into the distance. “Why aren’t you living there with your mate?”

  Trystan frowned at the strange question and turned to stare off at the horizon. Past the flat desert plain were countless peaks, as far as the eye could see. Within the expanse stood the White Mountains, where the rest of the Airbourne Clan had lived and died… And the Principal Mountains, once the domain of Midas’ mother, Corah… And maybe even the fabled Mount Feather, which no one had seen in countless years, but where the most ancient clans supposedly still dwelled in isolation.

  On and on, he could see the various traditional territories of his people. Until the mountains were so numerous and so distant that they had no names or clans to claim them.

  The jagged stone monoliths of Lyonesse were beautiful to him. His homeland, although they were no longer his home. He could live there again, if he chose. After he killed everyone on his list, he could fly into the endless mountains, finding peace and solitude. He’d once planned on that life. When he was in prison for three long years, that dream had given him the strength to go on.

  Why did that future seem so empty now?

  Trystan frowned and his eyes flicked over to Galahad. “I am considering many options.” He decided, irritated that the knight was confusing what should be very clear.

  Galahad didn’t look satisfied with that answer. “So… what does your mate say about it?”

  “Little, as I do not have one.”

  The knight perked up and he was always fairly perky. “No?”

  “No. I have never experienced ha’na.”

  “What’s that?”

  Trystan shook his head, mystified by the man’s ignorance. “You killed so many of my people, yet you know nothing about us.”

  “It’s how I was able to kill so many. The Knights’ Academy made sure we knew nothing real about gryphons. Just the hatred and lies. If any of us knew the truth about your people, how could we have done what we were ordered to?”

  That was the wisest thing the Trystan had ever heard any knight say.

  “Ha’na is the bedrock of my culture.” He grudgingly told Galahad. “It is a bond shared by a gryphon and their mate. Their ha’yan.”

  The knight tilted his head. Listening.

  “It is… looking at your mate and seeing the world they will create with you.” Trystan knitted his fingers together, so they were intertwined. “Linking.”

  “Like True Love?

  “It is broader. Gryphons are generally born without emotions, so we d
o not experience True Love. Ha’na is less about feelings, than about finding your light. Your path.” P’don, it was hard to translate the concept into the common tongue. For some reason, he wanted Galahad to fully understand the vastness of it, though, so Trystan tried to find the right words. “Ha’na is about the intersection of these paths. Paths are very important, in my culture. You look at your ha’yan and see your whole future, stretching before you. The bond touches everything in your life. Ha’na is… everything.”

  “Everything?” Galahad sounded worried, again. “But you don’t have that?”

  “No.”

  Galahad went back to grinning. “Great!”

  “It is great that I’m without the greatest gift of my people?”

  “No! Not that part. It’s just… great that you don’t have a mate.” A cocky, victorious smirk played around the corners of his mouth.

  No one should be able to smile like that. It was hot, wicked sex distilled into a facial expression. Trystan felt his jaw sag, awestruck by the brilliance of it. A buzzing sound buzzed in his head, his insides tightening to the point of pain. It was the same sensation he’d had in his stomach the first time he’d flown above the clouds and seen the full breath of the sky.

  A whisper of fate flickered through his mind.

  From out of nowhere, he remembered the stories Elaine told him as a child. In gryphon legends, there were beings made of moonbeams who slipped between realms. Sometimes, one of them visited this world, bewitching all who saw it with its otherworldly light. But the creature always vanished, just as some poor bastard was about to catch it. Then the gryphon who’d spotted it was doomed, forever after. Fruitlessly searching, high and low, desperate to see its beauty, again. Longing for the brightness.

  “I don’t have a mate, either.”

  “Huh?” Trystan had no idea what the knight had just said.

  “I don’t have a mate, either.” Galahad repeated, not noticing Trystan’s mesmerized state. “And I’m not going to use the treasure to buy hair products. I’m going to build something.”

  “A statue?” Trystan guessed, trying to refocus on the multitude of reasons he had to dislike the man. The wingless adored statues. They would slaughter babies in the streets, while they erected ugly monuments to their genocidal leaders.

  “No. An art school. It’s going to be free and opened to children of any race.”

  “You will build a school for art?” Perhaps there was a more useless idea in the vast, vast world, but Trystan couldn’t imagine what it might be. Gryphons hated art. Hated anything that wasn’t useful and tangible and real. Honestly, spending money on Galahad’s shimmery hair was a far smarter purchase. “Why?

  “I love art. I used to stare at the palace paintings for hours.” Galahad paused. “You remind me of my favorite. An angel, battling back a hoard of demons to keep the innocent safe.”

  Trystan hesitated. “In the castle’s stairwell?”

  “Yes! You’ve seen it, too?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you have. And you must like art at least a little bit. You have enough tattoos.”

  “These are not art. These commemorate battles.” He lifted an arm so Galahad could see the gruesome depictions more clearly. “Warriors wear them. Why don’t you teach the young to be warriors, instead of artists? Give them a useful occupation.”

  “We already have a school for warriors. The Knights’ Academy. It’s where I was raised.” Galahad’s voice was flat. “How useful did you find my occupation, Trystan?”

  Trystan turned to look at him, thoughtfully.

  “There are enough warriors.” Galahad continued in a quiet voice. “Enough nightmares that don’t fade in the day. Let’s teach the young to do something beautiful, instead. Something that makes the world better, not emptier. I think that would be useful.”

  Shit… That was exactly what a great warrior would say.

  “Yes.” Trystan agreed softly. “Sparing children from all we’ve seen is indeed a worthy way to use your riches, knight.”

  Galahad smiled at him, happy that Trystan understood. Lavender-blue eyes cleared again. “Assuming I find the treasure, that is. Otherwise, I’m broke.”

  Trystan snorted, unsurprised. “You still have many businesses in Camelot. If you were wiser about your expenditures, you’d surely be rich enough to build an art school already. How much could a few desks and some crayons cost?” He arched a brow at him, slightly interested despite himself. “Or are you searching for something else with that map?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. It could be gold, but I also think it’s something bigger or…” Galahad trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just have to find it.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “I will.” Galahad repeated stubbornly. “I’ve been preparing for this mission for years. I studied and researched it, all the time. Arthur used to make fun of me for it.”

  “Arthur was an asshole. The world is better since his death.”

  Uther’s son had been nearly as horrible as his father. His only purpose had been to beget Avi. After her conception, he’d been useless to the future. Even King Uther had seemed to favor Galahad over his weak, whiney son.

  “Anyway, after I was banished, I had nothing, and no one, and no place to go.” Galahad continued. “All I had was this mission. So, I started scouring the most forgotten lands I could find for new clues. At that point, what was the risk in trying something crazy, ya know?”

  “Death.”

  The knight disregarded that obvious danger. “It took a year to find the map. It was on Sarras, by the way. In a library.”

  Trystan stifled a cringe at that news. Most forgotten realms were forgotten for a reason and Sarras was no exception. No one there believed in anything. It was a point of pride among the denizens that they rejected all gods and laws. How in the hell had Galahad survived there?

  Galahad hesitated. “Well, I think it used to be a library. A wizard had burned most of it, with all his friends inside.” He sighed, recalling the mad creature with pity. “He was troubled.”

  Trystan prayed for patience. The knight created more chaos than anyone he’d ever met. He should be locked in a padded room, for his own good. …Or possibly chained to a bed.

  Shit. That was exactly the kind of thought he didn’t want to be thinking.

  “I finally got the map from him, by bribing him with my last bag of Gala-Chips.” Galahad paused. “Hey, what do you think about a snack that mixes popcorn and chocolate chips?” He asked with his typical lack of focus. “That would be great, right? Like melty and crunchy, at the same time.”

  “I would sooner devour spiders boiled in arsenic.” Unlike the wingless, Trystan didn’t eat artificial food, packaged in plastic. It was why he studiously avoided those candy-coated potato chip things Galahad had invented, no matter how enticing they smelled. “More to the point, I think that treasure maps never lead to treasure. Why would someone even draw such a thing? Why not simply spend the treasure?”

  “I’m not sure of all the details. I just know it’s real.”

  “Well, I will not help you on this hopeless mission. We’re riding together, but we are not allies. I am going to St. Ives to kill someone and you are my key into the city. That’s it.”

  “Who are you killing?” The knight asked, because of course that’s what he’d focus on.

  “None of your business.”

  Galahad’s eyes narrowed at him, not liking that answer. “Alright. We’ll each do our own thing and just stay out of each other’s way, then. Just like I suggested to begin with.”

  “This is satisfactory to me.” Trystan grunted. “In St. Ives, you will wait wherever I put you, though. Left to your own devices, you will be dead within minutes in that place.”

  “That won’t work. In exchange for getting into the town, I’m going to need to have dinner with this guy named Mordy. I can almost guarantee it.”

  Trystan slanted him
a glare, not liking that idea. At all. “You have a date lined up in St. Ives? Do you have any idea the kind of men who live in that shithole?”

  “It’s not a date.” Galahad rolled his eyes, like that was just silly. The knight was blind to reality. It was the only explanation. “Mordy’s just a big fan of my show.”

  “Is he six years old? Because this is your typical audience, yes?”

  “He’s an adult, wiseass. Sometimes adults like the show, too, for various reasons.”

  “There is only one reason.” Trystan sneered. “It involves picturing you naked.”

  “That’s not true.” The knight assured him, righteously. “A lot of the time, people just want family entertainment. My show provides nostalgia and wholesome values for them.”

  Trystan’s brain might start bleeding from the naivety of that claim. Medically, it was a strong possibility that his mind simply couldn’t process it and stay intact.

  “Now, I haven’t actually met Mordy, but he seems very nice in his letters.” The knight assured him. “Almost all my fans are incredible. He just wants to hang out.”

  Trystan’s teeth ground together. “No.” He decided and didn’t even question why the very idea of the knight consorting with this man pissed him off so much. “You are not ‘hanging out’ with a total stranger, who writes you letters. He will probably drug you, rape you, kill you, and post pictures of your mangled corpse on the internet.”

  The wingless loved posting pictures as much as they loved statues.

  “Do you want to get into St. Ives?” Galahad challenged. “Because Mordy is the one who’s going to open the gate for us.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “Mordy’s invited me to visit him a thousand times.” Galahad continued. “He seems great. Besides, I think he can help me with my mission. He knows that area really well.”

  Trystan’s temper ignited so quickly that even he was surprised by the force of it. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Galahad frowned a bit, bafflingly unintimidated by a gryphon bellowing at him. “You really do yell a lot for someone without emotions. Has anyone ever told you that?”