Thread of Gold

Ch. 18: ghosts in the snow

Penny felt like she was drowning.

The next few hours were a blur. Two guards had moved Elsie's body, but the bloodstain lingered, the red blooming like midnight poppies in the courtyard. Rain chased it into the cracks of the tile, into the fresh autumn dirt. Penny had wanted to curl up in her bed with a bottle of whisky, but Ryne had other plans for her.

"Stay with Isaac," Ryne had said. "I need you in that interrogation room, Pen." Her brother had his scheming face on. He hardly seemed affected by Elsie's death, Penny thought; but then again, Ryne was hardly affected by anything. "You can tell if someone's lying."

"I feel sick," she'd said.

"Fight it."

"You don't understand." Fear. Anguish. Pain. So many emotions, coming from so many people. She'd clutched Ryne's jacket. "I feel sick. I can't do this."

"We're royalty, Penny." Ryne's eyes held no sympathy. "We don't get sick days."

So Penny had stood in the throne room, watching as Isaac worked his way through a line of people, asking dozens of questions. Where were you tonight? Can anyone confirm that? Did you know Elsie?

She'd stood there for hours.

Days, it felt like.

Each person had stammered a few words. Their terror tasted like metal and iron and silt. None of them had been lying.

There were only a few people to go now — mostly servants — but Penny's stomach lurched. She pushed blindly towards the exit.

"Excuse me," she muttered.

Penny followed the twisting corridors, hurrying towards her secret courtyard. Wind stung her face, its icy nails raking her cheeks. She braced a hand against the stone wall and then bent over, hurling up the contents of her dinner.

She wiped her mouth.

"You shouldn't be out here," a voice said.

She turned. Grayson lingered near the entrance, his hands shoved into his pockets. The wind whipped blood into his cheeks, and his tall frame blocked out most of the light. Thick white flakes dusted his shoulders.

Snow, Penny realized dully. The rain had turned to snow.

"Go away," she said.

Grayson ignored her. "There's a murderer in the castle, Princess. That's a person that wants to kill you. Just in case you didn't know."

"Did you see it?" she asked. "The body?"

"Come inside."

Penny held his gaze. "Did you see it?"

For a moment, she thought Grayson wasn't going to answer. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I was five," Grayson said finally. "When I saw my first body. My father's body, actually. People always say that it looks like they're sleeping, but it doesn't. It looks more like they're wax figures. There's a yellow tinge to their skin." He rubbed absently at his compass tattoo. "Yes. Yes, I saw Elsie's body."

Penny shivered. "Go inside. You'll freeze out here."

"Says the girl without a coat."

"I'm fine," she lied, rubbing her arms.

Grayson sighed, and he crossed the courtyard, pulling her into his chest. Penny was acutely aware of her blotchy face, of the smell of vomit — why did she always smell bad, when Grayson was around? — but Grayson didn't seem to notice any of it. Or maybe he had. She wouldn't know, since she couldn't sense his feelings.