Thread of Frost

Ch. 43: Clever of Mind

Penny twined her arms around his neck. She smelled of winter air and something sweet like apples; he could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Grayson held her waist with gentle hands. Every part of him — every synapse and nerve ending — ached for more, and it was only through a surprising amount of self-control that he kept from pulling her closer. Don't scare her, he thought.

Penny pulled back. "Grayson."

Her voice was a whisper. He blinked, dazed. "What?"

"Do you hear that?"

Grayson closed his eyes. He could hear nothing but the hungry pounding of his own heart, galloping in his chest. Then he heard it: a faint rumbling sound.

"Burning hells," Grayson muttered.

"Let's go back." Penny turned for the door. "I don't like the sound of—"

The door slammed shut.

Grayson turned. There were no exits, he realized; no doors or windows except for the one that they came through. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Penny crossed to the statue, squinting up at the skylight.

"Okay," she said. "This is eerie."

Grayson stilled. "Princess?"

"Yeah?"

He held up a hand. "Look at that wall."

Golden letters appeared, glistening like wet paint. The rumbling was growing louder; it rolled overhead like thunder, a giant's hand smashing at the glass dome. Grayson moved closer to the letters.

I am realer than real, but then I am not;

I stir up memories but am often forgot;

Everyone has me, but no two are the same;

I wear many faces, but what is my name?

"This is the second test," Penny whispered. "Clever of mind."

Grayson turned away. "Do you happen to know the answer?"

"No," Penny said. "Do you?"

He blew out a breath. "Let me think."

Grayson paced the room. He'd never been good at guessing games. He could vividly recall Maribel running down to the docks in Libertas, her yellow welly boots sinking into the mud, asking sailors a million questions. Why was the jib curved? How did the boat float? Would the boat sink if you put enough weight on it?

But he'd never been interested, Grayson thought. He'd wanted to know how to steer the boat, and he didn't care about the mechanics behind it. His father once said that he'd been born impatient for answers. He didn't care about the questions.

"Did you hear that?" Penny asked.

Grayson stilled. "What?"

She moved closer to the wall. "I think I heard a rat."

"A rat wouldn't survive this far underground," Grayson said.

Penny pressed her ear to the wall. A beat passed. Two. Then she sprang back, almost tripping over her skirts. "Okay. That was definitely a rat."

Grayson shook his head. "I don't hear it."

"It's inside the walls," Penny said.

She rapped on the surface. Grayson raised an eyebrow; he was unsure how a rat would survive for years in solid stone walls with no food sources, but this hardly seemed like the time to discuss rodent adaptability strategies. He scanned the words.