“Treasure maps,” murmured Alex.
Gywn bent over the tabletop. She could indeed discern squiggly lines on some of the documents that might well mark the end of land masses or the beginning of waterways. She caught a brief glimpse of images of mythical animals, bright, vibrant colours, explosive lettering, and something that almost smelled of musty herbs and dew, ancient mystery.
She looked at Griffyn as he bent over the papers, his lips moving silently as he read the Latin script she’d recognized from the monks’ manuscripts, unable to fathom the sense of destiny riding up her spine, filling her body with freshness and no small measure of fear.
“What is all this?” she whispered. “Who are you?”
“Charlemagne’s heir.” Alex’s voice came from the shadows.
She looked over. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “What will it do to him?”
Griffyn’s gaze lifted from the papers and held hers, but the look was unreadable. Another shiver brushed down her spine.
It was the sheer majesty of him, masked but palpable, that took her breath away.
Again, it was Alex who replied. “It means he has the burden and privilege of guarding treasures over a thousand years in the making,” he said in a voice that would have carried to Henri’s army, perched three leagues away, as if he’d waited Griffyn’s whole life to say it aloud. “It means that while some claim to fight for God, what they truly claim is glory, and greed, while others, in secret, have the burden of protecting the true wealth of our collective souls. It means Griffyn’s blood is the royal purple, in a way that cannot be bred anymore. It means he is noble and worthy. Guardian of the Hallows.”
Gwyn looked at Griffyn, feeling desperate. “What Hallows? What hallowed things?”
“The Arc of the Covenant. The Amra Christi, Instruments of the Crucifixion. The Spear of Destiny. The Shroud of Turin.”
It was Griffyn now who spoke, and his words came out like a chanted dirge, low and rhythmic, and made the hair on the back of Gwyn’s neck stand up. “The Sudarium, the face cloth that covered Jesus’s face. The Crown of Thorns.”
Chills moved in shock waves down Gwyn’s spine. Griffyn stopped, but Alex named one more, looking straight at Griffyn. “The Marian Chalice.”
Gwyn’s blood washed cold. “The Holy Grail?”
Alex almost shrugged. “He is Charlemagne’s Heir. He is the Heir.”
She stared at Griffyn, her lips parted as she tried to remember how to breathe. Yes, she could believe he was a child of kings. The hard, chiseled features of his face were anguished enough to hold such a burden. His eyes were complicated enough. Certainly his soul was wrecked enough, if that’s what it took.
And she’d betrayed him.
The room, Griffyn’s face, became difficult to see as the tears filled up and flowed from her eyes. She bent her head and stretched her hand across the table. If he didn’t want it, her, all he had to do was remain still. Or leave.
She waited. She heard bootsteps walking away. The door clicked shut. A single hard sob wracked her body.
Then Griffyn’s hand closed on top of hers.
Her breath shot out in a jagged, gasping rush. Her forehead fell onto the length of her outstretched arm.
“I’ve no words, Griffyn,” she cried, not trying to hide her sobs now. “My sorrow goes deeper than a well. I never meant for you to be hurt. It all went so wrong. Nothing matters to me but that you never get hurt again.”
“’Twasn’t only yourself.”
She sniffled. “What are you talking about?”
“I lied, too.”
She exhaled a short, sharp breath. It could have been a laugh, only there was nothing amusing. Probably never would be again. Then again, his hand was still lying
atop hers, warm.
She lifted her head, her eyes puffy and hot. “That doesn’t matter, Griffyn.”
“I knew treasure was here,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I knew the legends. I knew the truth. I knew people would hunt for it. I found a chest you thought was your father’s, and I did not tell you. I rode for Ipsile-upon-Tyne to find a treasure, and I did not tell you. I knew all those things, and I didn’t tell you, and that put us in danger.”
“No! No, you didn’t put me in danger—”