Chapter 9

CHAPTER9

Tristan should’ve felt better after leaving Opal behind. He’d wanted to be alone, to be free to follow the compass’s direction without anything holding him back. He hadn’t wanted to be responsible for someone else’s safety…

But it was difficult to use that as an excuse when Opal had more than held his own when they’d faced the thing in the swamp—the thing he couldn’t stop thinking of, the thing that kept running through his head, the thing that had been in his nightmares until he’d finally woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares.

He hadn’t been able to stay. He just… hadn’t.

Now that he was gone, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about Opal. He’d been charming and kind and brave, and… Oh, gods, he had too many feelings about Opal that were impossible to easily unpack.

Had he really considered trading Opal for some decrepit corpse masquerading as his brother? The world would have lost somebody so cheerful and bright, all so that Tristan could wallow in his grief.

And Opal was cheerful, and kind, and for a few moments while they chatted and joked and fucked, Tristan forgot to be sad and tired and hungover.

Tristan sometimes even forgot to worry about dragons and revenge.

No more. Tristan needed to focus.

Better to have spent the last few days alone on the road, portioning his wine, and focusing on getting to the fucking sword that would let him kill all the fucking dragons. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get distracted by Opal.

It had been a long, long time since he’d felt this way about anyone, and maybe that was part of why he’d fled. He had too much to do, too much to take care of, and there was so much fucking guilt that plagued him that he didn’t feel like he deserved someone like Opal.

That thought stopped him dead in his tracks, and Feather walked another few steps before the reins tugged and she seemed to realize Tristan wasn’t following any longer. Gods. He wasn’t insightful. He didn’t usually have intense thoughts like this—but there he was.

Fuck.

He shook his head and continued walking. Bresson wasn’t far, and he’d be able to resupply there before heading for the unforgiving mountains that seemed to be his destination. There, he could find out what was going on in Naran and continue moving along before his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.

Before his guilt threatened to become all compassing.

He couldn’t stand his own thoughts, and he quickened his pace as he neared Bresson. He needed to find a place to get a drink, then to restock, then to try to catch some nightmare-free sleep. The ale would help, though perhaps it would be better to visit an apothecary for a potion instead.

Wouldthe alcohol help?

It would help him fall into a stupor, but that… That didn’t prevent the nightmares the way Opal’s presence usually did.

Tristan took a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder as he approached Bresson’s largest inn. He would stable Feather then see about an early dinner. With drink, or without.

He could still feel the swamp on him, even though the leatherworker had done a fine job of restoring his armor. He remembered the sight of Opal, too, somehow still beautiful despite—or because of?—his ferocity as he helped Tristan fight the demon that had nearly ended him.

Fuck. He had to stop thinking about Opal.

He waved the waitress over and ordered a meal along with a pitcher of ale. He might as well have it in case he decided he wanted it, after all. At least he didn’t have to worry about anybody judging his drinking, now.

The place was busy, but even this early in the evening there were a few rowdy tavern-goers, singing while they sloshed their drinks. It was some bawdy song about… about the king of Kithage, apparently, and crude descriptions of dragon dickings.

Tristan scowled, wanting to go over and smack some sense into them. This wasn’t a laughing matter. Dragons weren’t a laughing matter at all. He didn’t understand why some couldn’t see it. They might not know about Evan, but had they forgotten Vanea? An entire fucking town was gone because of a dragon on a rampage!

He poured a mug from the jug and drank deeply. Maybe he did drink too much, but it staved off the nightmares… didn’t it? It would have to do, even if he had to get falling down drunk to make sure he passed out and didn’t remember Evan’s burning face and the stench of it, and—

He finished the first mug before staring at the food in front of him.

Chicken. Why was it always chicken?

Why did he care?

He took a few bites, unsure if it was truly bad or he was just bored of chicken, when the door opened to let in more people. Tristan fully intended to ignore everybody else and eat and drink on his own, but something about the footsteps had him lifting his head to look toward the door.

It was Opal, bathed in the golden glow of the oil lamps, wearing a brand new set of clothes. His near-white hair had been pulled back into a braid that hung over one shoulder, and his lips and eyes shimmered even more than they had before.

Tristan watched him, awestruck by how damn beautiful he looked. He looked away and poured himself another mug of ale, but all he could see was Opal. He looked up again, and this time, Opal’s eyes met his.

Strangely, Opal wasn’t smiling, but he did make his way over to Tristan’s side. Without asking, Opal sat down in the one other chair at the table.

“Hi,” Opal said, a small hint of anger in his voice.

Tristan swallowed hard, looking back down at the mug of ale. “I’m sorry,” he said without thinking.

“You left me.” Opal fidgeted with his hands, drawing Tristan’s eyes to those well-manicured nails. “I was… I was hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Tristan repeated. He didn’t know what else to say. What was there to say? “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” There. That was something, wasn’t it? It didn’t feel like enough. What if something had happened, and he’d come across another creature like he had in the swamp? What if Opal had, and something had happened to him?

Tristan didn’t like the way that thought made him feel.

He took another morose sip of ale, mostly to give himself time to think, and looked up at Opal’s shimmering lips and eyes.

Opal’s lips quivered, like he was holding back sobs. Tristan braced himself for waterworks, but Opal only gouged a line into the wooden table with his nail.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Opal asked. “A favorite food? A favorite drink—no, that’ll be ale.”

Tristan flinched at the words, which felt like more of a jab than anything even though he didn’t think Opal had meant it to be cruel. He pushed aside the mug, feeling more awkward than ever. He looked back down, unable to keep looking at those mournful eyes. “I used to,” he said quietly. “Before… everything. Now…” He shook his head, unsure of why he was even telling Opal that much. Well, Opal already knew about Evan’s death, obviously.

“I read a lot,” Opal said. There was a strange edge to his voice. “A lot of… fairy tales, and romances. You probably already know. But those are my treasures. My mountains and mountains of books. And it’s not unrealistic to want something romantic in my life.”

Tristan studied the plate of flabby-looking chicken. “My mother read to us, when we were children,” he said quietly. “But I never acquired her love of reading.”

Evan had, though. Evan had been perfect.

Right up until his love of adventuring had led him straight to a dragon’s den.

“I want…” Opal clawed the table even harder, leaving four long gouges in it. “I want to get to know you properly. I want to support you. I want to be at your side.” He met Tristan’s eyes. “Is that wrong? Am I just… a stupid idiot, who’s going at this the wrong way? Should I go back with my tail between my legs and wait another decade before I find someone?”

Tristan stared at the table, wondering how Opal was doing so much damage to it. It was just a temporary distraction, though, and he couldn’t linger on it for long. “You aren’t a stupid idiot,” he said with conviction. “But maybe I am.” He sighed. “I know you think I’m a knight out of a fairy tale, but I’m not a treasure like your books. I’m just a weary man who’s getting older and more bitter by the day.”

He wasn’t even that old, but he felt like he was.

“You did rescue me though,” Opal said, a lot quieter. “Even if you don’t think you’re dashing, I know that you are. Most people don’t go out of their way to help random strangers, especially when outnumbered three to one. And you detoured on your quest to help with that whole swamp thing. I wouldn’t have done it, not without you there.”

“And I couldn’t have done it without you there at all,” Tristan said. “Without you there, my mother would’ve lost another child.” He looked at the gouges on the table, absently trying to think of how much damage Opal could do to his back if he could wield those fingernails like knives. They were secret weapons, just like Opal’s magic.

“I didn’t do that much.” Opal flattened his hand over the gouges. “I distracted it a little.” Then Opal sighed. “I don’t know. Tristan, what do you want me to do? How can I make your life better?”

Go away and let me drink myself into an early grave, came the unpleasant thought, something Tristan almost gave voice to before he caught himself. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “I don’t know how to do… what you want this to be.”

“I was told I should talk to you.” Opal let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I should start with the most important question. Do you… do you want me with you?”

Tristan blinked at Opal. His mouth was dry, and the ale was right fucking there, but he didn’t want to reach for it with Opal’s unkind words echoing in his ear about his favorite fucking drink. “It… It’s complicated,” he said, averting his gaze.

Fuck, did he want Opal with him? Yes. But could he admit that to himself? He didn’t know.

He wanted to be alone with his misery so he could carry out his task and not worry about what came after. He didn’t want to think about Evan or the constant cloud of despair he felt when he wasn’t half-drunk.

But when Tristan was with Opal, the despair was held at bay. Opal could be talking about nothing at all, and that was enough to distract Tristan and remind him that days could be better.

Opal’s kisses reminded Tristan of what life used to feel like.

“Complicated.” Opal looked away, but not before Tristan saw the redness in his eyes. “Because I’m not actually a delicate damsel. Because you didn’t need to rescue me.”

“Because no one’s ever needed me before,” Tristan blurted out, only for his breath to catch in his throat. Was that really how he felt? “I thought… I thought…” He laughed, the sound bitter and cynical.

“I do need you,” Opal said quietly. “Maybe not to rescue me. But just to… be at my side. And listen to my silly tales, and pretend I am somebody worth protecting, and not treat me like I’m delusional.”

Tristan sighed. “You need what you think I am, Opal. You want a knight in shining armor, and I’m just… a failing knight with dreams of vengeance.”

“Vengeance is a little romantic,” Opal said with a sad giggle. “Lots of romantic tales have vengeance in them.” He leaned forward, and Tristan got a good look at his watery eyes. “Please don’t send me away, Tristan. I want to be with you.”

Tristan didn’t know what to say to that, and for a long moment, he said nothing at all. He could see Opal’s plaintive look, and he knew the man was waiting for him to declare something similar, and… He could. He could, and he’d even mean it, but he was so afraid. “I’ll only let you down,” he mumbled. Like he’d let Evan down.

Gods, he was morose when he’d been drinking.

“You won’t,” Opal said fiercely. “I know you’re… focused. But you stopped to save me, and that was out of your way. You insisted we deal with the swamp, despite how much that would delay us. You don’t see it, but I do. You are noble, Tristan.”

He managed a faint smile. “I’m not noble, not even a little. But… you’re making me wish I was.”

Opal reached out to lay his hand over Tristan’s. “I believe in you, Tristan.”

They sat quietly, Opal stroking Tristan’s hand while Tristan contemplated the rest of the drink.

Tristan had almost made up his mind about whether to have more ale when Opal asked, “Why did you join the knights?”

“My parents are merchants,” he said after a brief pause. “They’ve done well for themselves, but I never had a head for accounting the way they did. I liked play fighting when I was growing up, then play fighting turned into sparring, then there weren’t many other options that suited me. What of you? What do you do?”

Opal reached up to play with the end of his braid. “I read. Sometimes I visit my family. Not often, because I can’t stand to be near them for too long. I’ve tried my hand at writing, but I’m not as good as some of my other siblings. And I guess I… while away the time. Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Are you nobility?” Tristan asked thoughtfully. He wished they weren’t having this conversation like this in the middle of the crowded tavern, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be alone with Opal just yet. “When were you taught magic?”

“I don’t know a lot of magic,” Opal hedged. “Just a few things everybody in my family can do. And… I’m not nobility, but I guess we count as rich to most… people. Mother and Father made sure I would be able to live comfortably once I was on my own.”

Tristan nodded. “That’s good.” With Opal’s fantasies and fairy tales, Tristan could see why he’d just pass the time—and probably hope to run into someone who’d suit his dreams. “You mentioned you have a large family. Are you estranged from all of them?”

Opal’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Estranged? No. I love all of them. Except Peridot—okay, I do love her too. We don’t really mean it when we say we don’t like her; we’re just annoyed because… ah, it doesn’t matter. That’s family drama. But yes, I have ten siblings.” He paused for a second. “Or maybe soon I’ll have eleven. I really thought Mother was done with babies, but she hinted another one was coming when I went to see her. Which I shouldn’t have done, because she was her usual know-it-all self, even though of course she was probably right, and we will not be telling her that.”

Tristan looked at Opal in something like horrified fascination. Eleven siblings, because Opal’s mother was about to have another. How old had she been when she’d started birthing children? “She must have been very… young when she had the first of you. Did she have any twins?” Was that rude? He hoped it wasn’t.

“Was she young?” Opal inclined his head, as if he had to think about it. “She’s older than Father, but I suppose I never asked her age. She wouldn’t care if I did, but it never came up. And I don’t think any of my siblings were twins. Definitely not any of the ones younger than me. I would have noticed if there were two young ones running around being obnoxious.”

Tristan blinked at Opal. There was something so strange about him, and Tristan couldn’t help but wonder if there was a bigger secret. “I see,” he said, deciding he didn’t want to pry too much. “I’m twenty-six,” he offered, not quite asking Opal’s age but curious to see how much younger Opal was than himself.

Assuming, of course, he wasn’t a long-lived mage.

“I remember! You told me during our first meeting.” Opal leaned closer to Tristan, a slight smile on his beautiful lips. “How old do you think I am?”

Oh, no. No, that was a dangerous question. He shouldn’t have mentioned the topic. Damn it. By all the gods, hadn’t he learned from women just how stupid it was to mention age? He mentally kicked himself, and he grudgingly had to admit part of his mental slowness had to do with the ale he’d had.

“Thirty at most,” Tristan said. “You look younger than I do, though.”

Opal giggled demurely. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Even though you definitely look young. With very rippling muscles, too.” Opal held up his arm and pretended to flex. “I’m just completely skinny.”

“You’re beautiful,” Tristan said. He didn’t think Opal was that thin, but he was not going to say that aloud.

He’d learned some manners, at least.

“Thank you. You’re very handsome yourself.” Opal smiled widely at him. “Okay. I know your age, and a bit of your background, and I rambled about my family…” Opal rested his chin on his hand. “What about… um… do you enjoy being a knight?”

Tristan decided he liked seeing Opal smile like this a lot more than when he was on the verge of tears. “I do,” he said. “I like the camaraderie. It’s nice to be around people who like to spar and…” And drink, but even in his half-drunken state, he knew better than to say that too. “It’s just lost its appeal, I guess, since…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to talk about Evan. Not when things were going well. “Anyway, it’s why I’m on this quest.”

“I’d be bad at it,” Opal stated very definitively. “Because I don’t like being in close quarters with other people, and I don’t like taking orders. And if I thought an order was dumb, I might even ea… um, start yelling.”

Tristan cracked his own smile. “Yes, I can see why you’d make a poor knight. But you’re far from being a damsel in distress, too.”

He realized he’d said something insensitive when Opal’s smile dropped.

“Yeah. I’m the one everybody rescues the damsels from,” Opal said sadly.

Tristan mentally kicked himself. He’d already hurt Opal at the hot springs by suggesting he didn’t need rescuing. Maybe if he hadn’t drunk so much already, he would have remembered Opal’s feelings about it.

“I think sometimes reading my romance stories made me sad. Because I was never going to be the one getting married in them. And I was content with it, I figured I’d find somebody to have a few children with eventually, but it wouldn’t be a grand romance. Then my brother got married, and he had everything I ever dreamed of, and…” Opal fidgeted awkwardly. “I got hopeful.”

“You aren’t that terrifying, Opal,” Tristan said lightly, trying to make it a joke. When Opal didn’t respond, he quickly went on. “Why is it so important to be rescued? There’s nothing wrong with being strong and able to protect yourself.”

Whatever Opal said next, it was drowned out by a group of drunkards bursting into loud song, again. At least it wasn’t about dragons. No, this time it was The Knight Who Showed His Ass, and half the tavern started singing along.

Opal looked around him with clear annoyance, but Tristan knew from experience there was no stopping a rousing song once it got going.

Unfortunately, The Knight Who Showed His Ass also had at least ten verses in some versions, fifteen if people were feeling particularly creative.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Tristan suggested, having to raise his voice a little over the din. “We can keep talking there.” He looked longingly at the rest of his ale, but it wasn’t going to make this conversation any easier. From the first time they’d met, Opal had tried to get to know him, and Tristan had resisted because everything that mattered felt so personal to him, so close to his chest.

Besides, there really wasn’t anything interesting about him.

Opal smiled at him. “Yes, I’d love to.” He extended his hand out to Tristan, and Tristan took it almost shyly. His cheeks flushed with heat, even though they’d already done plenty together, and it wasn’t like anybody here was paying attention to what they were doing.

He felt like he should add the caveat of no sex, but he didn’t think that was what Opal wanted this time anyway. It had only been a matter of days since they’d seen each other—and gods, this was every bit the whirlwind romance Opal wanted, wasn’t it? He just didn’t know what he thought about it.

Tristan led Opal to the stairs, heading for the room he’d taken with its single person bed. “I, ah… was expecting to be alone.”

“It’s all right,” Opal said, leading Tristan to the bed. “We can just… cuddle. Um.” Opal let go of Tristan’s hands and began to fidget with his skirt. “Mother told me that my father once composed a song about her gardens. I assume you don’t want me to compose a song, and you probably don’t care about gardens, but… I could try to be passionate about the things you enjoy doing?”

Tristan wished there were things he enjoyed doing besides sword fighting. There were plenty of lady knights, so he could offer to teach Opal how to use a weapon, but surely the skirts would get in the way. He certainly wasn’t going to spar with weapons against magic. “That goes both ways,” he pointed out a little awkwardly. “I could learn to be interested in things you’re passionate about.”

Opal giggled softly. “Romance ballads are my favorite. I’ll bring you to my cottage sometime. I have walls and walls of stories. I can spend hours reading. I think I did once lose a month just reading, and I only had to stop because I started to get hungry and there was nothing around for me to eat.”

Sometimes, Opal spoke so strangely. It almost sounded as though he hadn’t eaten at all for that month, but that was ridiculous.

“Do you have a favorite?” Tristan asked.

“Yes!” Opal sat up straighter, no longer fidgeting. “It’s the story of Guinevere and Sarazi. Where Guinevere goes off to fight a dragon, but the dragon is actually a princess under a wicked curse, and they fall in love and fight the evil sorcerer who placed the curse on poor Sarazi.” Opal lowered his head and said, a lot softer, “I guess it’s a… good thing she didn’t stay a dragon. It’d be very hard for a human and a dragon to have sex.”

Tristan quirked his lips into a smile. “Yeah. The human would get flattened.” He was suddenly reminded of the Dragon of Kithage song he’d heard earlier. “How the fuck does King Larkin even manage? Why would he?”

Opal bit his lip and said, very grudgingly, “Maybe King Larkin is just that desperate for huge cocks.”

Tristan snorted, but he was still uneasy at the idea of someone going for a dragon just because they wanted big dicks. Maybe it was because he hadn’t ever really been interested in men before, or maybe it was just illogical on the king’s part. And didn’t dragons have two cocks? “He must be desperate, to go for a dragon.” Desperate, and a little fucked up, too. “Gods. Let’s talk about something else, hmm?”

“Agreed.” Opal smiled back at him. “Should I help you with the sex thing? Just in case. So we don’t end up like King Larkin, tripping and falling onto dragon dick.”

That made Tristan laugh despite himself. “If you’re volunteering to give me good old-fashioned human sex, I’ll happily take you up on that.”

“I’m going to give you new-fashioned, creative sex,” Opal said, wrapping his arms around Tristan’s shoulders. “And, um… you should tell me what you actually like. I want to make sure you’re completely satisfied. It feels like I was maybe neglecting things a little…”

Tristan blinked at him, and his cheeks heated up again. “I… was actually thinking I might not be paying enough attention to you,” he blurted out. “I’m still getting used to the idea that my partner has a cock, and I guess I’ve shied away a little. I promise I’m not always this bad in bed.”

Maybe he was. Maybe the women had just pretended to climax. He hoped not.

Opal opened his mouth like he was going to disagree, then he shook his head. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But, um… I really like kissing? And you could play with my nipples? Or my hole. I really do like getting fingered, a lot.”

“I can get used to the idea,” Tristan promised, for all that he was embarrassed that Opal wasn’t arguing with him. “Do you have oil? I imagine that would be more, ah… comfortable?”

“I do have oil in my pack.” Opal smiled and leaned in to give Tristan a quick kiss to the cheek. “Thank you. I’m glad we talked. And I am very glad we’re about to… make love, too.”

Make love. Of course Opal would put it that way, romantic that he was. But it didn’t sound entirely unappealing, either. “I’m glad we talked as well,” he said, even though he didn’t feel like they’d said much at all. It was easier to move on, though, because he wanted to taste Opal’s shimmering lips and not worry about talking about himself. He touched Opal’s chin and took a proper kiss, his lips tingling.

It was so, so easy to just fall into Opal and let himself enjoy things. He could ignore all the small doubts, the desire for ale, and even the anger festering just under his chest.

And this time he’d show Opal a good time, too.