Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  Galahad smiled at him again and it was so… beautiful. “Because I know you.”

  Looking at the knight made Trystan’s brain pound in his skull. Why did his head hurt so badly? He pressed a hand to his aching temple again, trying to concentrate through the pain.

  “There are three things you need to understand here.” Galahad went on, in what must have been his “reasonable” tone. His voice was soothing and soft like he was trying to calm a horse. “One,” he held up a finger, “you are under a spell.”

  “No.” Trystan shook his splitting head, instinctively denying it. “No, I am…”

  Galahad cut him off. “You think this is still the War. Only the War is over. It has been for a long time. You and I are different people, now.”

  “No.” That wasn’t true. He knew it. It couldn’t be.

  This was all some sort of wingless charade. That was the only explanation. The knight was somehow making images appear in his mind, when they weren’t real. If he got rid of the man, they would all go away, and his skull would stop throbbing.

  He lifted his sword, again, determined to push through this madness. “If I were you, I would stop talking and start trying to kill me, knight. Because I’m about to kill you.”

  Galahad very slowly reached behind him and pulled the sword from his scabbard. Trystan grunted in satisfaction. Yes. That was more like it. Now things would begin to make sense. For a second, the world was right again and the knight held the weapon extended out in front of him. …Then he dropped it to the ground.

  The blade hit the stone floor with a defiant clang.

  Trystan’s mouth parted in shock. “What the hell are you doing?” He blurted out. “We are enemies. You can’t just not kill your enemies.”

  “You will never be my enemy.” Galahad said quietly. “I don’t kill anymore. Not ever, again.”

  Something about that claim was oddly and irritatingly familiar. “What about those guys?” He gestured to the dead bodies around them.

  The knight frowned and it was… adorable. Shit. Why was it so adorable? “They’re asleep, not dead.” He said in an irritatingly adorable tone. “I used sleeping sand.”

  “They’re permanently fucking asleep, by the looks of it. That’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.” Galahad insisted. “Their hearts are still beating. They’re alive. Some big, winged jackass told me that’s the way it works.”

  Did the knight mean him? Trystan thought maybe he did and it warmed something within his chest.

  He made an aggravated sound, unsure if he was angry at himself or Galahad. “You are the best knight ever.” He snapped. The words popped into his mind and he knew they were true. “I know of your success in battle. I know you are a fearsome opponent. What the hell is happening here, that you will not fight me?”

  Galahad missed the point. “You think I’m the best knight ever?” He looked genuinely touched. “Thank you, Trys. My God, that is so…”

  “Focus!” Trystan jabbed his blade at the man and any normal person would have either run or armed themselves. “You have no choice but to fight me, now.”

  “Of course I have a choice. I will die right here and right now, before I hurt you. That’s my choice.”

  Trystan blinked. “But, I’m going to kill you.” He repeated, confused and almost… concerned by the man’s refusal to defend himself.

  “No, you’re not.” Galahad said with utter confidence. “You’re the ya’lah. And I don’t think the greatest warrior in the world is going to kill an unarmed man.”

  Trystan’s eyes widened. “I am the ya’lah? This is the craziest thing you’ve claimed yet!” How did the knight even know the term?

  “I say you’re the ya’lah… You say I’m the ya’lah… I think maybe neither of us is right, because both of us are right.” Galahad shrugged. “I think the graal can only be found by both of us. I think we’re allies in being the ya’lah and that’s what’s going to break Igraine’s curse. A gryphon and a knight, working together.”

  Fisher’s words echoed in Trystan’s memory. His claim that no one was the ya’lah. “One is not enough. Count higher.”

  All these years, Trystan had been thinking about it wrong. That statement wasn’t a denial that the ya’lah existed, at all. It was a number. “No one” didn’t mean not anybody. It meant no singular ya’lah was enough for this mission. No one. Because there were supposed to be two.

  He blinked.

  “I know you feel the truth of our connection.” The knight pressed, looking irritatingly attractive in the blue coat he wore. “That’s why you don’t really want to kill me.”

  Trystan tried to concentrate. “Yes, I really do.” Was the man an idiot? “I just told you I was going to slay you where you stand. Why aren’t you picking up your sword?”

  “Because, second thing you need to know:” Galahad held up another finger, continuing his countdown of nonsense. “I am crazy in love with you, Trys.” He gave a casual sort of shrug. “And you are crazy in love with me.”

  Trystan stared at him.

  “Granted, you haven’t exactly said the words to me, yet.” The knight went on. “But somewhere inside, you feel it. I know you do, because you’re standing there with a sword and I’m still alive. If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

  Trystan kept staring.

  The knight’s “reasoning” was insane. …Except Trystan still wasn’t killing him. Why wasn’t he killing him? And why did he have to look so appealing when he was wet?

  “You’re out of your mind.” Trystan told him hoarsely.

  “Stab me, if I’m so nuts.” The knight spread his arms, lavender eyes level. “I’m not going to stop you. Go ahead and do it, if you want.”

  Trystan’s jaw tightened. None of this made a damn bit of sense, and Trystan’s head was going to explode, and the knight’s face was goddamn perfect, and the dickhead still wasn’t picking up his sword. Of everything, his stubborn refusal to protect his own life was pissing Trystan off the most.

  He took a threatening step closer to the knight. “If I spare you, it would only to be to torture you for information on your murderous king. You know this, yes? You would do better to fight me now and die standing, before I have you tied up and at my mercy.”

  “I don’t know. Being at your mercy doesn’t sound so horrible.” Galahad mused, unconcerned with the threat. “We can find another cave and you can do all kinds of barbarous things to my willing body. It could be fun.”

  Another flash in Trystan’s head. The knight pressing him to the wall of a cavern, stroking Trystan with his hand in a way that denoted intimacy. Kissing him, as Trystan’s seed coated his skin. Unafraid of the possession. Unafraid of Trystan.

  Trystan couldn’t even think through the blinding headache. “I don’t… I can’t…” He couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t even process what words he wanted to say.

  “I love you, Trystan. I claimed you. I would die for you, without a second thought.”

  Another flash. This one of the knight stepping between Trystan and a bullet, shielding him with a saddle, of all crazy things. A memory of sheer terror as he pulled Galahad back, sure he’d been injured. Furious that he’d done something so stupid. Desperate to save him.

  The sword fell from Trystan’s hand and he barely noticed.

  More images played in his head. All of the knight. Times and places that Trystan did not remember. Logic told him it was all a wingless charade and he should just slaughter the man, but something deeper was telling him to stop. He heard voices from both his clans, now. Whispering to him. Trying to protect Trystan from making a catastrophic mistake. Assuring him that his life was linked to Galahad of Camelot, now and forever.

  Was he going crazy or was this real?

  “Trys, this is just a spell. You can beat it. You can do anything.”

  Trystan slowly crouched down, his body wracked with pain. The battle mask faded from his features. As he often did in moments
of crisis, he reached into himself, listening for the song his mother sang. Focusing on it, rather than all the distractions in his own mind.

  And he slowly felt the truth take hold.

  Standing against the knight was… wrong. Doing anything except caring for the blond moron was wrong. A world without Galahad in it would be wrong. Trystan’s instincts were screaming at him and he trusted his instincts. He trusted the flashes of memory, and the voices of his clans, and the clarity that his mother’s song brought him.

  Most of all, he trusted the knight.

  Galahad’s questionable “reasoning” skills actually worked. His words actually made sense. Trystan actually believed him.

  He was under a spell.

  There was no other explanation. There was some kind of fog in Trystan’s head and it wasn’t natural. The desire to hurt Galahad was not coming from him. Trystan tried to clear it away, but it was like looking directly into a strobe light. Piercing brightness and then overwhelming darkness, leaving him disoriented. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to see reality through the haze in his mind.

  “Do you remember me, yet?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t know anything for sure, except his skull was about to fracture open. And that he still really wanted to kill this man. And that he would sooner die himself than kill this man.

  “Okay, then the third thing you need to know.” The knight went on softly. “I hold Camelot’s record for free diving. Over three hundred meters deep. It’s how I got the Princess of the Salamanders her ball back, when it fell in that wishing well. I can hold my breath for ages. I don’t like to brag, but…” he shrugged, “I’m really awesome at it.”

  Trystan squinted, that bizarre claim cutting through his confusion and misery and pain. “Why do I need to know that?”

  “I’m about to do some shock therapy and I don’t want you to freak out… too much.”

  Then, the knight smirked at him. A slow, slanty, “gotcha” sort of grin with a hint of Badness, and the gleam of unconventional ideas, and a shit-ton of personal magic. It was clever, and cocky, and utterly beautiful.

  Trystan knew that smirk. He would know it anywhere, anytime, and through any goddamn spell. There was only one person in the universe who could smile like that:

  His fucking lunatic mate.

  Galahad.

  Trystan drew in a deep breath, his dazed eyes sharpening on Galahad’s face. Feelings for the knight swamped him and, for once, he had genuine names for all of them. Passion. Delight. Admiration. Frustration. Amazement. Fury. Amusement. Possession. Tenderness. Need.

  Attachment.

  Love.

  He felt… love.

  Felt it so deep and so true that he wondered why he’d ever questioned his ability to experience the emotion. It was so clear. The whole world changed around Trystan, like a greasy filter was pulled back, revealing the bright image beneath. Until all he saw was Galahad.

  His head tilted to one side, memories coming faster now. This was the man who helped every helpless dimwit he passed on the street. Who’d killed his sadistic king to protect his enemies. Who’d taught Trystan how to kiss. Trystan had claimed this man. For him, there would never be another.

  This was Galahad of Camelot and this man was everything.

  Trystan opened his mouth to say something. Beg forgiveness, or shout at the jackass for risking his life, or express total shock that his “reasoning” skills weren’t so terrible after all, or at least utter some halfway intelligent word.

  Before he could say any of that, though, Galahad stepped backwards off the edge of the cliff. Freefalling towards the solid surface of the Looking Glass Pool.

  …And Trystan’s entire existence imploded.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Once the ya’lah arrives, can they fix all the evil in the world?

  I think it is impossible. None of us can do it alone, even if we are the ya’lah. I think that the champions who are born among us are meant to inspire and set things aright. But, not to solve our problems forever.

  No, everyone must play a part in writing a better future.

  That is the story of us all.

  How the Wingless War Happened

  Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller

  Atlantis- Listeneise

  Any trace of the amnesia spell that remained in Trystan’s head was obliterated in less than a heartbeat. Galahad went over the cliff and Trystan’s insides dropped right along with him. It was like a bomb went off at the center of his mind, wiping away everything false in a shockwave of pure, unadulterated panic.

  “NO!” The bellow came from every piece of him.

  Trystan didn’t consciously jump over the ledge after Galahad. He was just suddenly in the air. His wings came out to slow his descent, scanning for the place where Galahad landed. Looking for his broken body, desperate to somehow save him.

  Instead, he saw one spot in the pool rippling outward in concentric circles of silver.

  Galahad hadn’t been smashed to death, like Lamorak and Bedivere. He’d gone right through the Looking Glass Pool’s shining barrier and into whatever lay on the other side. The magical pond had opened for him, like a gate with a key.

  It had opened for the ya’lah.

  Trystan plunged after him, not caring that he might crash headfirst into the surface. In his mind, he recited the gryphons’ death prayer, because he was about to follow his mate or die trying. Luckily, the Looking Glass Pool let him pass through. The silver surface gave way, as if Trystan was diving into a lake.

  The crazy idea of two ya’lahs must have been right, because there was not even a moment’s resistance to Trystan’s entry and then he was suddenly on the other side. At the moment, he didn’t care that he’d somehow been chosen as a champion of his people. All he cared about was protecting his ha’yan.

  The Looking Glass Pool was not a dimensional portal. He deduced that fairly quickly, because rabbit holes were rarely so wet.

  Trystan was plunged into a bottomless abyss of freezing water. That was almost worse than being dumped in some other dimension. It wasn’t the cursed waves of the Moaning Sea, so he didn’t die from touching it, but it was still pretty goddamn cold. Gryphons weren’t swimmers, by nature. They were born and bred for the sky. It took Trystan a moment to orient his body and figure out how to keep his wings from drowning him.

  P’don.

  He hadn’t been in water since his grandfather taught him to swim, over thirty years before. It took a long minute for the skill to return to him.

  He scanned for the knight, who’d better be alive, because Trystan was plotting to kill him, again. Fully cognizant and free of magic, he was even more pissed than he’d been before. Galahad had just jumped off a cliff as some kind of “shock therapy” to jolt him free of the spell. What the hell was he supposed to do with a man like that?

  Fortunately, it wasn’t as dark as Trystan would have expected under the water. There seemed to be a light coming from somewhere far below. And in the eerie silver illumination, he saw Galahad swimming beneath him. Swimming, not up towards the oxygen, but down towards the weird light.

  Yeah. Trystan was definitely going to kill him.

  He dove after Galahad, using his wings to push himself through the water, trying to catch up with him. No small feat, considering the man had been one hundred percent honest about his freediving skills. Trystan’s lungs were cramping from a lack of air, while the knight was zipping along like a dolphin. Maybe he’d learned swimming skills from them, when he was “decoding their secret language.”

  Just as Trystan was convinced that he was going to die forty feet underwater, Galahad vanished from his sight. Just vanished right into a hole in the rock wall. It seemed to be where the silver light was coming from. A normal person would have been wary about barging through the glowy opening without knowing what was on the other side.

  But Galahad was not a normal person.

  Trystan forgot about breathing. Forgot about ev
erything except reaching his lunatic mate. He lunged forward with all his strength, propelling himself straight through the opening, as well.

  …And landed in another room.

  The hole in the wall led to a completely dry chamber that was thankfully full of oxygen. Trystan collapsed onto the stone floor, soaking wet and wheezing for breath. What the hell just happened? He looked over his shoulder, trying to figure out why he wasn’t underwater anymore. The hole must have been protected by magic, because all ten million gallons of the Looking Glass Pool were being held back by some invisible force. It was bizarre. Like looking into an aquarium without glass. The ancient gryphons must have enspelled this entire room and…

  Fuck it. Who cared?

  He coughed and staggered to his feet, focused on way more important things. “Galahad, I need…”

  The knight excitedly cut him off. “You remember me?”

  “How could I forget you for long? You’re a goddamn maniac.” Trystan retorted, pushing his dripping braid back from his shoulder. “But that’s not…”

  “Yep, that sounds like you, again.” Galahad grinned at him, happy and wet, which was not helping Trystan calm down. “Hey, guess what? It’s not just gryphons who can guide us. I heard your wingless grandfather, while I was up there. He said you absolutely could swim, no matter what you said before. So, I knew this plan would work.”

  Of course his grandfather would be with the gryphons. He was part of the Airbourne clan. Trystan was not surprised in the least. “I said gryphons generally couldn’t swim. Not that I couldn’t swim. Your grasp of your own language is…”

  Galahad wasn’t listening. “I wasn’t expecting this to be here, when I hit the water, though.” He swept a hand around, indicating the large room. It was empty, except for benches and a long table and some old pottery strewn around. It seemed to have been some kind of dining hall. “I just saw the light and I thought maybe this is where the graal was hidden.”

  Trystan gave it all a disinterested glance. No. The graal would not be kept in a place like this. It would be inside the temple. “Knight, focus. I need…”