Thread of Frost

Ch. 41: Brave of Heart

"This has to be illegal," Grayson muttered.

He rammed the wooden door. The iron latch shuddered, but the door didn't budge. Grayson blew warm breath into his frozen gloves. Above, the convent watched them with scornful eyes; candlelight flickered in the arched windows, and snow-kissed spires ripped through the starry fabric of the sky. Grayson could hear the distant clatter of forks and plates, and he glanced at his pocket watch. About dinner time.

Grayson raised his fist again. A small hand touched his elbow.

"Here," Penny said. "Let me."

She moved forward. Her white cloak shifted, revealing the pale crook of her neck, and her auburn hair looked almost black in the moonlight. She reached forward and turned the door handle.

The wooden door swung open.

Grayson's eyebrow shot up. "It was unlocked?"

Penny shrugged. "Convents are open to the public."

She slipped through the doorway. And Grayson — who couldn't decide what was more bruised, his shoulder or his dignity — followed.

They emerged into a wine cellar. Grayson stripped off his gloves with his teeth, pulling the map from his pocket; the parchment was damp with snow or sweat, or maybe both. "It feels wrong to steal from a church."

"We're not stealing the sword," Penny said. "We're borrowing it."

"Oh, good," Grayson said dryly. "I'm sure the gods will forgive us, then."

He took a left. Oak barrels lined the wall, smelling faintly of woodchips and something sour. A tabby cat slithered between shelves, pausing to lick at a puddle of red wine. Penny turned slowly in a circle.

"This place is huge," Penny said.

Grayson followed her gaze: three staircases branched off in different directions. He looked down at the map of Bardan; the c remained on the convent, although it was difficult to tell exactly where in the convent it was located.

"How do you feel?" Penny asked.

Grayson lowered the map. "Worried."

"No, I mean the..." Penny gestured to his chest. "You know. Your superpower."

"It's not a superpower," Grayson said.

Penny crouched down, scratching the cat under the chin. "You can lead us to an ancient sword capable of killing celestial beings. I'd call that a superpower." She rose, the cat wriggling in her arms. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Grayson asked.

"I don't know," Penny said. "Do you feel... tingly?"

The cat leapt from her arms. Grayson raised an eyebrow. "Tingly?"

She crossed her arms. "I don't know how it works."

Grayson rubbed at his tattoo; the skin felt warm and raw. "There must be hundreds of rooms in this place." His thumb traced a wave. "We should have brought Isolde. She'd know her way around."

"I don't trust her," Penny said.

Grayson dropped his hand. "You sound like—" Ryne. The word died in his throat. Penny looked away, and his chest tightened. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Penny said. "You can say his name."

She was staring at the cat, watching as it nudged a wine bottle with a paw. Snow melted into her hair. Grayson reached forward to brush it away. "Ryne would have worked out the directions ahead of time."