"He seemed afraid," Penny said.
She was curled up in a knit grey blanket, a mug of steaming peppermint tea clutched in her hands. Outside, snow collected on the windowsill like in clumps of powdered sugar. Grayson stirred a pot of tomato soup; he had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the low wooden beams. The cottage wasn't designed for men of his size.
"Who did?" Grayson asked.
"That man." Penny shifted her tea. "The one that took us here."
He lifted the wooden spoon. "Alexander?"
"Yeah."
"I think a lot of people are afraid of Halson." Grayson stirred the soup. "He has power, and he doesn't always use it wisely."
Penny drew her knees closer. "Are you afraid of him?"
Grayson considered this. His blue eyes were dark, the colour of inky twilight skies. "I don't think we should go back to that palace."
"We have nowhere else to go," Penny said.
She took a sip of tea. A candle flickered in the window of the neighbouring cottage; Maribel must still be awake. Baking bread? Cooking a stew? She wasn't sure. Grayson doled the soup into wooden bowls, frowning as he placed them on the table.
"You look cold," Grayson said.
She snuggled further into the blanket. "I'm alright."
"Come here."
Grayson cupped her hands, raising them to his mouth. His breath was warm and tickly. A shiver slithered down Penny's spine, and heat blossomed in her stomach. She was suddenly aware of his knee pressing into her thigh, of the calloused skin of his palms.
She closed her eyes. "Grayson..."
"Sorry."
He pulled back. She grabbed his wrist.
"No," Penny whispered. "Don't stop."
For a horrible moment, Grayson didn't move. She could hear his ragged breathing in the stillness. Her heartbeat was painful in her chest, knocking at her ribs like a fist on a wooden door. Then Grayson took her hands, raising them to his mouth.
"I'm not afraid for myself." Grayson's voice was low and determined. "But when I think about something happening to Maribel, or to you..." His hands tightened. "I've lost you once already, Penny. I can't lose you again."
She looked up. "I'm right here."
"I know," Grayson murmured.
Candlelight flickered across Grayson's face, catching the gold specks in his eyes. He threaded their fingers together. His warm mouth brushed the back of her hand, sending tingles down her arm.
"Is this okay?" Grayson murmured.
Penny's throat was dry. "Yes."
His mouth dropped to the delicate skin of her wrist. "And this?"
She swallowed. "Grayson?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up and kiss me," Penny said.
Grayson's eyes were dark. She could see every blond eyelash, every freckle on his throat. He was gentle at first, and she pushed closer, impatient for warmth. For friction. Grayson made a low sound in his throat, threading his fingers through her hair; heavy auburn locks tumbled from her ribbon, hitting the bare skin of her shoulders.
"Penny."
The word was reverent. Half-gasp, and half-prayer. Penny kissed him again and again, the movements becoming clumsy. The kiss felt like sinking into a hot bath; the sensation of limbs melting and reforming. Home. That was it.
Grayson's large hands spanned her waist. There was nobody else here, Penny realized, her heart hammering; nobody to interrupt. She felt like they were tucked in a cozy cottage at the center of a snow globe; for a moment, nothing else mattered. She tugged impatiently at Grayson's shirt, half-ripping it from his shoulders.
Someone knocked.
Grayson pulled back with a groan. He leaned his forehead against her own; his heartbeat thundered against her chest. The knock came again. Penny stilled, glancing in the direction of the door.
"Did you hear that?"
Grayson closed his eyes. "If that's Maribel, I swear to gods—"
"It sounds like it's coming from the window," Penny said.
She sat up. The knocking was growing louder. It could be a wooden branch, Penny thought hopefully, blown loose by the storm. Grayson rose, his eyes so dark that they looked black. He picked up a fireplace poker.
"Stay here," he said.
Grayson unlatched the window.
A large shadow flew into the room, scattering snow and black feathers. Penny ducked instinctively. The raven settled on the back of the armchair, holding out a taloned leg. She swallowed. Untied the ribbon.
"Who's it from?" Grayson asked.
She scanned the lines. "It's from Tristan."
Penny—
I wouldn't risk sending this if it wasn't important. Our shadow friend and I have escaped the prison at Stillwater Castle. We're now in a relatively safe location; I won't tell you where in case this letter is intercepted.
I've been inquiring about God-Slayer. There's only one person that can locate the sword; the person is reborn every generation, and he or she is resistant to magic and outside influence. My source refers to them as a "human compass."
Don't ask me how I know this, but I can assure you that I have it on good authority that it's true. The information means nothing to me. I hope it means more to you.
I'm sorry about Ryne. And I hope you're—
The words were smudged, as if Tristan had paused, the black ink dripping on the parchment. She thought the next word might have been "still." He'd crossed it out so many times that it was difficult to tell.
I hope this reaches you.
Tristan
Penny lowered the letter. Grayson ate a spoonful of tomato soup, his knuckles white on the spoon; it would be killing him, she knew, to wait for news of Tristan. But Grayson was doing it anyway. He was letting her read the letter first. Something warm curled in her stomach.
"He's okay," Penny said. "He's safe."
"What does the letter say?" Grayson asked.
He held out a hand. His tattoo flashed, an elegant, swirling mass of a compass and waves. Something in Penny stilled. Her heartbeat accelerated, becoming so fast that it was almost dizzying.
"Grayson," she said.
"Yeah?"
Penny leaned forward. "What is it that you always say about your tattoo?"
"That I wish it had a pirate ship on it?"
"No." Penny waved a hand. "The other thing."
"Oh," Grayson said. "You mean the thing my father always said?"
"What is it?"
Her voice was impatient. Grayson gave her an odd look. "Your heart is a compass that points to the sea."
"Where does that come from?" Penny demanded.
He shrugged. "I have no idea."
"Guess."
Grayson's face turned wary. "Why are you so interested in the etymology?"
"Grayson." Her pulse pounded. "Please."
"I don't know," Grayson said. "I suppose it's a family motto, in a sense. Every family has one. To Bend to Anyone is to Break to Everyone. Only in Darkness Can We See the Stars." He set down the wooden bowl. "I suppose this is our unofficial saying, in a way."
Penny thrust the letter out. "Read this."
Grayson took it. His blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the lines.
"Isaac was in prison?"
Penny flapped a hand. "Keep reading."
Grayson did. His brow furrowed, and when he was finished, he folded the letter into his pocket. "I don't understand what you're getting at."
"Grayson." She wanted to shake him. "Listen to me say the words. Your heart is a compass that points to the sea. What if it's a different type of sea?"
Penny watched the moment it struck him. Grayson's face melted into disbelief, carving deep grooves into his forehead. "No. It's impossible."
"It makes sense," Penny said.
"You think that I'm...?" Grayson rubbed at his face. "You think I'm descended from the keepers of God-Slayer?"
"I don't know." Penny's mouth felt dry. "But I'm saying that this map was in your family library, and you were born with a tattoo that fits the description. Don't you think that's a large coincidence?"
He shook his head. "I can't lead us to this sword."
"How do you know?"
"I've held this map a million times." Grayson tapped the parchment, spread out on the table. "It doesn't work for me."
She tilted her head. "Maybe we're thinking about it the wrong way."
"Penny." Grayson's voice was short. "This is ridiculous."
"Humour me."
Grayson raised an eyebrow. He picked up the map, waving it in the air. "What do you want me to do with it? Wear it as a hat? Dance with it? Juggle it whilst singing Is That a Wooden Peg in Your Pocket, Sailor?"
Penny bit her lip. "Hold it to your heart."
"What?"
"That's what the motto says, right?" She crossed her legs. "Your heart is a compass. Put it on your heart."
Grayson sighed. "This is so stupid."
"Grayson."
Her voice was stern. It was Penny's "You're-going-to-give-me-the-last-chocolate-croissant-and-you're-not-going-to-complain-about-it" voice. Grayson must have realized this because he held up his hands.
"Fine," Grayson said. "Fine." He pressed the map to his chest. One beat passed. Two. "You see? Nothing's happening. I told you it wouldn't—"
"Gods above," Penny whispered.
Black lines spread across the parchment, thin and delicate as spider silk. Arrows, Penny realized; they were forming arrows. She watched as the c flew across the page, settling on a single building in Bardan. A very distinctive building.
"What is it?" Grayson craned his neck. "I can't see."
"Grayson," Penny said, lifting her gaze. "I know where God-Slayer is."