“Galahad!” Trystan’s voice rapped out. “Do not go any farther.”
It was the first time he’d called Galahad by name. The beautifully accented voice made each syllable sound like music. Galahad instinctively turned to look at him, trying to focus. The air in the tomb felt like a drug, hazing his mind. He had no idea how long Trystan had been shouting for him, but he looked desperate.
And Galahad was now directly in front of the statue, close enough to touch it.
He blinked, coming back to his senses.
Trystan watched him steadily through the small opening, seeing he had regained Galahad’s attention. “That’s it. Return to me. The god’s power is still staining this place. It seeks to draw you in. Do not let it.”
Galahad gave his head a clearing shake, dispelling the fog from his mind. He had a slight immunity to consumer magic, but this wasn’t some cheap secondhand spell, sold on the street. The tomb was filled with the real deal. Had that caught the dead warriors off guard, too? His gaze flicked back to the last man who’d died there. He could now see the black feathers on the remnants of his broad wings.
“There’s a gryphon here.” Galahad crouched down next to the corpse. “I think he led the fight that destroyed this place.”
“There are dead gryphons under every inch of this land. Most died fighting. You should know that better than anyone.” Trystan managed to move the rock slightly with his shoulder, but he still couldn’t fit through the opening. “P’don.” He slammed a fist against it in frustration.
Sand poured down, faster and faster, making it hard to see. As if Galahad’s very presence had upset the delicate balance of the room. …Or maybe Medusa was just pissed. He spared the statue a quick look, feeling its growing evil and then looked back to the dead man.
Foreign words echoed in Galahad’s head, telling him something in the gryphon dialect. After he was banished, he’d begun to hear voices, which probably meant he was going crazy. Rather than scare him, though, Galahad often found the overlapping whispers comforting.
“I’m on a mission to help your people.” Galahad told the skeleton. Insane as it sounded, he found himself talking to dead gryphons a lot these days. He felt compelled to, although he wasn’t sure why they’d want to hear from their enemy. “Can you show me the way?” The room seemed to exist between this plane and the next, so maybe the gryphon’s spirit was still there.
At least one living gryphon certainly had a lot to say. “Knight, if you don’t get your ass back over here, I will wring your fucking neck.”
Galahad’s eyes automatically slipped down to the dead gryphon’s neck. Silver glinted in the dim light. A chain. Reaching out with his bound hands, he carefully unclasped it, taking pains not to disturb the parchment dry braid hanging down the gryphon’s back. Pulling the necklace free, he held it up and smiled.
Dangling from the silver links was an ornate key, studded with cabochon rubies. It was so easy to find, that he knew he’d been aided in his quest.
His gaze went back to the sunken face of the skeleton, inches from his own. “Thank you.” He murmured, bizarrely certain of the dead gryphon’s help. “I’ll finish this or die trying. I give you my word. You can rest, now.” It could have been his imagination, but he swore a sense of peace suddenly filled the air.
Medusa was not nearly so pleased with his promise.
The ground shook. Sand began tumbling down from the ceiling in torrents, as the remaining pillars toppled over. It was like being at the bottom of an hourglass, as time ran out. Whatever force inhabited the tomb was out of patience. It planned to kill him, even if it meant destroying itself in the process.
“Move!” Trystan roared.
Galahad was already running for the tunnel. Tons of sand cascaded down in endless waves, ripping the entire roof apart. He could feel the dirt threatening to suffocate him, scratching his eyes, filling his nose, slowing his progress.
“Goddammit.” Trystan heaved the rock another foot to the left, using brute force. “We’re about to be trapped down here forever. That counts as failing, as you claim to be unfamiliar with the concept.”
A horrible sound filled the air. Stone against stone. Galahad looked over his shoulder, towards the statue, just in time to see it crack in two. From its hollow depths, came a swarm of orange snake-creatures. Thousands of them, gliding through the sand like it was water. All of them trying to reach Galahad and stop his escape.
Galahad’s eyes went wide. Oh shit.
“Shit!” Trystan bellowed. Any sane person would have fled for their life, but Trystan still didn’t run. His hand reached out to Galahad, through the larger opening he’d created between the blockading rock and the tunnel wall. “Grab onto me!”
Galahad started for him and then hesitated. The voices in his head were louder, now. Many different people screaming words at him. He didn’t speak the gryphons’ language, but he still knew what they wanted.
The silver shield.
Galahad raced back for it, leaping over snakes who were trying to strike out at him. He had no idea why the shield mattered, but he knew he needed it. His boots sank into the sand as he waded forward. The floor was disappearing, obscuring everything that lay on it. In another few moments, he’d be buried, too. He began frantically digging in the spot where he’d seen the shield, hoping he could find it in time.
“What are you doing?!” Trystan bellowed.
“I have to find the shield!”
“Are you out of your mind? Leave it!”
He couldn’t. He wasn’t sure why. His fingers finally touched the edge of its smooth surface and he pulled it free of the dirt. The reflective surface shone even in the dim light. Satisfied that he held it, Galahad looped it over his shoulders and headed for Trystan again. He wasn’t certain he was going to be able to climb out of there before the whole tomb collapsed. And if he died, he would take Trystan with him.
No.
“Here, take this and leave me!” His palms reached up towards Trystan’s outstretched hand, wanting to give him the key. Wanting to make sure it got out, even if he didn’t. “There isn’t time. You have to go.” Trystan didn’t know what to do with the key, but he’d figure it out. The man was the greatest military thinker of the War. Maybe Galahad should give him the shield too, just in case it was important to something…
Trystan’s fingers clamped around Galahad’s bound wrists. Ignoring the key, he jerked Galahad forward, nearly bending him in half in his hurry to drag him back into the tunnel. Galahad had no idea how Trystan managed it, but he somehow hauled him up and through the opening. Galahad fell on top of him, Trystan’s arms locked around him.
The snake creatures slithered into the tunnel after them. Trystan slammed his boot down on the closest serpent, squashing it with his heel. Orange goo exploded out, along with the sickening smell of decay. For once, Galahad was not about to complain about hurting an animal.
“Hold on.” Trystan ordered and then they were flying up the tunnel.
Literally flying.
Trystan’s wings banged against the brick sides as he got them back to the surface in a matter of seconds. Even then it was almost too late. Galahad could hear the tomb collapsing into ruin, taking the tunnel with it. He barely felt the sunlight hit his skin and then Trystan was shoving him face-first into the sand.
“Stay down!”
An unholy shriek of something beyond mortal comprehension sounded from far below and debris rained all around him, but none of it hit Galahad. Trystan’s body covered his, as a humongous cloud of dust rushed out of the tunnel behind them. His arms enveloped Galahad’s head, his wings coming up to shield him from harm.
Nobody had ever physically protected Galahad before. There was no need, considering he’d spent his life fighting and never lost a battle. It was ridiculous that Trystan would consider him delicate in some way.
And even more ridiculous that Galahad suddenly felt… safe.
He’d never really felt safe before. He’d alwa
ys been in the initial wave of soldiers wading into combat situations and the first to volunteer for dangerous missions. It was how he’d tried to ensure that everything went the way it was supposed to. That Good triumphed and innocent people were protected. Galahad was the best at whatever he did. Always. He made sure of it.
Except, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Not with Trystan around.
Instead of frustrating him, Galahad found that idea to be a huge relief. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like the lone figure standing between victory and defeat. Now, Trystan was there beside him, helping to keep things under control. Between the two of them, they’d win against anything. They could save the world, if they had to. And that realization made him feel safer than anything ever had before.
Galahad shifted in Trystan’s hold, turning to look at him through the fog of dirt. The man’s flawless profile was inches from his face. Despite the chaos around him, Galahad’s heart flipped in his chest.
Trystan glanced down at him, their gazes locking. For a timeless second, neither one of them moved. Trystan’s weight pressed down on his back, holding him beneath him, and Galahad liked it. Jesus, he really liked it. Until that moment, Galahad never would have believed that he could feel anything so strong so fast.
He tore his eyes away from Trystan, confused by the strength of the passion coursing through him. This was beyond just finding the man attractive. This was… more. This was a lot more. What the hell was happening? Caught a little off guard by the strength of it, he tried to move away.
“Do not.” Trystan’s palm found his shoulder, pushing him down. His lower body shifted, becoming more aggressive, pinning Galahad’s legs with his own.
That did absolutely nothing to help the situation.
Galahad’s eyes glazed over in lust. “You need to let me up.” He demanded in what he hoped sounded like a normal-ish voice.
“It’s not safe. Rocks are still falling.”
Galahad’s only clear thought, through the crazy desire, was that Trystan wouldn’t be comfortable if he realized how aroused Galahad was. He didn’t want to make Trystan uncomfortable. “You don’t understand. When you’re on top of me I feel…”
“I won’t hurt you.” Trystan interrupted. His voice was gruff, like he understood the gist of the problem. “I’m in control of myself, alright?” His head dropped forward to rest in Galahad’s hair and he sighed in vexation. “Just give it a minute and we’ll both get through this.”
Galahad frowned. “Huh?” He tried to find leverage so he could sit up.
Trystan let out a hissing breath as Galahad’s hips moved. “For Lyrssa sake, stay still.”
Galahad froze, realization dawning. Trystan wasn’t upset. Trystan was turned on, too.
He hadn’t immediately realized that, because it was so unexpected. But now it was kind of impossible to miss. Like hugely impossible. His eyes flashed back to Trystan’s face in shock.
“It is adrenaline.” Trystan assured him, expecting complaints. “It is not my fault.”
Galahad slowly grinned, no longer trying to get free. He wasn’t imagining their connection. This was real and Trystan felt it, too. Hot damn, that changed everything!
Trystan made a sound somewhere between a groan and a curse. “And do not smile like that, either. It just makes it worse.”
“Smiling makes the adrenaline worse?” Galahad clarified, suddenly enjoying this.
Trystan glowered at him, aggravated at everything and everyone, but mostly at Galahad. “You do these things deliberately, don’t you?” The air cleared a bit and he leaned back to survey Galahad’s body for injuries. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I’m fucking wonderful.” Trystan shoved the cairn that marked the entrance to the tunnel back into place with his foot, sealing it up forever.
One of the snake creatures had been right at the entrance, so Trystan ended up slicing it in half. Its decapitated head let out a hiss of fury and hate and then went still. The bright sun seemed to blister its slimy orange skin, causing it to sizzle and smoke right in front of them.
Trystan and Galahad lay on the desert ground, watching it cook for a long moment.
“I think we should camp somewhere else tonight.” Galahad finally said.
Trystan snorted. “No shit.”
Galahad laughed at the bone dry summation. Trystan blinked in surprise, like he’d never made anyone laugh before. That only made Galahad laugh harder, happy to be alive and with this man.
Trystan’s mouth almost seemed to curve slightly in response. Except he was a gryphon and he wasn’t supposed to have any emotions. “You’re a menace, knight.” He decided and rolled all the way off of him. As he left, he dusted a hand through Galahad’s hair, shaking it free of sand. “And you lost your hat, again.”
In that second, Galahad realized something that reshaped his entire world:
Trystan Airbourne was a knight. A real knight. Someone who embodied all the shining principles that Galahad had grown up admiring. The man’s arsenal of multi-bladed weapons and litany of sarcastic remarks were just for show. Underneath that, Trystan epitomized all the best traits a knight could possibly have. He was brave, and selfless, and honorable, and kind, and he would willingly die to save a man who should have been his enemy.
No one else had ever quite lived up to the ideals of true knighthood. Certainly not Galahad. He’d come to believe that nobody could reach their lofty goals. That nobody would be that valiant and Good straight down to their soul. It was exhilarating to see that he’d been wrong. The sensation of finding something true washed over him, again.
Trystan’s gaze traced over Galahad’s face, like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re sure you’re alright?” He asked in a quieter voice. “You weren’t hurt?”
“Not a scratch.” He gave Trystan a brilliant grin. “I’ve never been better in my life.”
Trystan glanced away from his smile and cleared his throat. “Fine.” He stood up, already looking for something to grumble about. “Magical weapons are usually valuable, but going back for that shield was stupid.”
“Shields aren’t weapons. They protect from weapons.”
“Shields are defined as weapons, because they can be used offensively.” Trystan shook his head. “You have a shocking lack of knowledge about your own language.”
Galahad made a face. “I just feel like the dead gryphon wanted me to take it, okay?”
“Perhaps it is a cultural difference, but my kind rarely encourages grave robbing.”
“I wasn’t grave robbing. I just had the very strong impression that the warrior would’ve been pissed if I left the shield behind.” Galahad said, without really thinking about it first. “He thought I needed it. I think his name was… Evalach?”
Trystan looked at him sharply.
Crap. That probably sounded crazy. Galahad winced. “Okay, you have a point. It was probably a dumb thing to do, but I was…”
“Explain this ‘strong impression.’” Trystan interrupted, his gaze intense.
“Just a feeling, really. Something told me I should take the shield.”
“Voices?” Trystan guessed in a strangely serious tone. “Did voices tell you?”
No way was Galahad admitting that out loud. It sounded like something a crazy person would say and he didn’t love the idea of Trystan thinking he was crazy. “I should have forgotten about the shield.” He said instead. “You’re right. It was dumb to go back.”
Trystan tilted his head, like he noticed the non-answer. “Evalach was a fabled ya’lah, from long ago.” He said after a beat. He seemed to expect that Galahad would have a big response to that news, but Galahad wasn’t sure what it should be.
“What’s a ya’lah?” That word sounded… familiar.
Trystan made a face, like the question annoyed him and he went back to his normal frowning. “A ya’lah is someone who has never designed a “body positive” clothing line for magazine covers. That’s for fucking cer
tain.”
“I didn’t design that collection. I just modeled it. It sends a really relevant message about expanding the fashion industry to everyone.”
“Fine.” Trystan grunted, like he didn’t want to talk about dead gryphons or society’s unrealistic beauty standards. “I am just amazed that you managed to survive the afternoon.” He dusted off his clothes like the task took all of his attention. “As I said, the gods like to waste their miracles on helpless beings.”
The casual insults didn’t faze Galahad a bit. He doubted they ever would again, because now he’d seen behind the curtain. “Thank you for helping me.”
“I did it for my sister.” Trystan headed back towards the horses. “You will not disappoint her by dying, so you’d better smarten the hell up.” He shook his head in exasperation. “I do see the foundation of your bond with Gwen more clearly, though. She’s a lunatic, too. It’s no wonder you get along so well.” He slanted Galahad a look over his shoulder, grudgingly curious. “What is that key you found?”
“I’m not sure, yet.”
“You risked your life for a key and you have no idea if it is even important?”
“I’m going on faith.”
“I will not call you an idiot, because it seems to upset you. …But that is exactly what an idiot would say.” Trystan grabbed the reins of his horse. “If you try something like this again, I will take you straight back to Camelot. I’ll find another way into St. Ives, before I have Gwen’s chosen brother dying in my care.”
Maybe it was the lingering magic in his head at work, but, in that moment, Galahad knew he was at a crossroads. He could continue on his own path… or he could step onto Trystan’s.
Rationally, there wasn’t much of a choice. Trystan couldn’t feel emotions, and saw him as an enemy, and had kind of kidnapped Galahad. There were probably sixty reasons why it wouldn’t work out between them. He should obviously slip away from the man and continue west on his own. Choosing Trystan would almost certainly leave Galahad broken in the end.
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 8