Thread of Frost

Ch. 43: Clever of Mind

"If we survive this," Penny said, "I'm going to write a book about it."

She was feeling her way along the cave walls. Her auburn hair was coming loose from her plait, curling in the humid air, and her blue dress was damp with sweat; they'd left her white cloak in the cavern. As Penny had pointed out, it would only slow them down.

Grayson raised an eyebrow. "A whole book?"

"Well," Penny said, "I can hardly write half a book about it, can I?" She took a left. "What would the readers think?"

"You could write short stories," Grayson suggested.

Her nose scrunched. "Not enough room for plot development."

"Or a ballad."

Penny shook her head. "Too much going on."

"What about an epic poem?"

She gave him a look. "Can you think of anything that rhymes with Lucia?"

Grayson thought for a moment. Fuchsia? Loofa? Yeah, fair play. "What would you call your book?"

Penny didn't hesitate. "Princess Penelope and Her Sidekick Save the World."

"Her Handsome Sidekick," Grayson corrected.

Penny sighed. "Everyone's an editor."

She took a right, her hands extended like a child playing a game of blindfolded tag. Grayson squinted. The only light came from the previous cavern, as well as something up ahead. He hoped it wasn't a pool of bioluminescent acid. You just never knew, with these sorts of things.

"I'd read it," Grayson said. "The book."

Penny paused. "You would?"

"Of course I would."

"It might not be any good," Penny said.

Grayson fiddled with the map in his pocket. Truthfully, he'd read anything Penny wrote. Shopping lists, reminders, instructions for the stable hands... it didn't matter. Still. Grayson had some dignity left, so he pushed the thought away.

"Books don't have to be good," Grayson said. "They just have to be entertaining."

They emerged into the light. They were standing in a glass atrium, Grayson realized; moonlight spilled through a tall dome, colouring the floor with rose-tinted light. A statue of a woman stood atop a fountain, her face half-obscured by a stone cloak. Saega, Grayson deduced; the goddess of riddles and tricksters.

"Okay," Penny said. "What if I opened the story like this?"

She cleared her throat. "It was a dark and stormy night. Princess Penelope drifted through the castle halls, a lantern held up in front of her. She was going to the library to do some research with her faithful sidekick, the Lord of Libertas. "We're almost there," the princess whispered quietly."

She looked at Grayson expectantly. He nodded. "Brilliant. I love what you did with the description. I really felt like I was there."

Penny looked like she was fighting a smile. "Grayson."

"What?"

"You really like me, don't you?"

He crossed his arms. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Penny said, "that passage was really terrible. Nobody would every say whisper quietly. And that bit about the night being dark and stormy?" She was smiling. "That's such a cliché. No serious writer would ever—"

Grayson kissed her.

He hadn't planned on kissing her. Hadn't made the conscious decision to lean down, to take her face in his hands. But there were some things, Grayson thought, that felt as natural as your heartbeat; this was one of them.