Simon
"I am going after him, Penny. I cannot let him get away."
Penny sighs, and looks up from the thick, dusty book she was not to be reading, but is anyways. "I realize that, Simon. But you don't even have a plan."
"Yes I do!" I say, frantically trying to think of a plan.
She sets down her book and looks at me incredulously. "Really? Do enlighten me."
I swallow and rub the back of my neck, not meeting her unconvinced eyes. "Well, I-I figured I could . . . I was going to . . ." I bite my lip and glance at her sheepishly. Her eyebrows raise and she looks at me, amused, as if to say, 'I told you so'. "Yes, you are correct, Penny. I don't have a plan but I thought I would just go out there and―".
"Simon," she interjects, "you can't exactly walk into the forest, call his bloody name, and expect him to run right up to you and turn himself in. Pitch may be a roguish fiend, but he is also clever, and rightfully so. You don't become as famous as him just by stealing money and looking good doing it. It's the smart ones you must watch out for."
I laugh, but it immediately sounds too loud in the quiet room. Penny is staring me down, and I am losing horribly.
I would like to say I am a rather brave man and that I do not easily back down from a challenge, but when it comes to Miss Penelope Bunce . . .
I love my best friend. I do not know, nor want to imagine, what I would do without her always around me. She might be leaning against me in my room because she's cold and I'm always the right kind of warm for her. I might be this close to doing something incredibly stupid and she's that voice inside my head telling me to quit being so idiotic. (It even sounds like her.) We might be completely lost in the dungeons and secret corridors under the castle, and yet, she's the one who grabs my hand, tugs one of my curls, and pulls me out into the sunlight. She even helped me explain to Father how I managed to come home bloody shirtless earlier this afternoon, and he was a little less angry with me when Penny was there. (She still giggled like a madman when I told her how I lost my shirt, and I told her to shut it.)
But right now? With the dim glow from the candle on my desk illuminating her in a hazy gold? She looks like a god. She has all of the power in the galaxy, and it's resting in her deadly gaze and wicked grin. She terrifies me to no extent. And she knows it.
Her face breaks into a knowing smile, and the fabric of her dress swishes against her bare legs. Her dress is magnificently blue today. I say that, because it is nothing but swirls of every shade blue I have ever seen. Navy, cobalt, ink, royal, cyan, azure, and cerulean are all mixed together in a delicate fashion, and those are just the shades I recognize. (You tend to have an eye for it when your clothes are often the only thing you get to decide for yourself.) The waist is lined with small, sparkling crystals that shine like stars against the blue sky fabric. The silk straps are hanging off of her light brown shoulders, and the plunging neckline is adorned with violet jewels. Her wildly beautiful hair pulled back into a bun on top of her head, but loose strands have escaped and now curl around her cheekbones.
The dress is absolutely lovely, and I would bet all the money I possess that Penny hates it with everything she's got. She hates wearing dresses. The only way she will wear them is if they are the most extravagantly colourful gowns in all of England. She says that if she's going to wear torturous traps of silk and ruffles and lace, she might as well wear the boldest, riskiest dresses no one else dares to try. No one can wear the colours like Penny can.
Today is a rainbow made of only blues. Yesterday was a bonfire of reds and oranges and yellows, with curling tendrils of black and grey around the edges. She looks stunning no matter what she wears.
Penny goes on daily lectures about the simplicity of men's clothes compared to women's clothes, and how unequal the treatment of women is in our day of age. (I have to wear wigs when Father has guests or other important royals over, and they are the single most irritating thing known to man. I hate wearing them almost as much as Penny hates wearing corsets.) As soon as she sneaks into my room, she loses her stockings and shoes so fast I'm not convinced she doesn't magick them off. She also makes me loosen her corset and when I do, she always lets out a giant exhale, like she's been holding her breath for hours. Penny tells me she doesn't have enough blood in her brain to have an intelligent thought when it's tightened all the way. I tell her to just not wear it and she looks at me like I told her we should run away and join a band of gypsies. Apparently they take an extremely long period of time to put on. How would I know that in the first place?
Penny is the smartest person I have ever met. She isn't even allowed in my room; her mother is constantly reminding her of how 'unladylike' being around me is. And yet, despite her mother's warnings, she still manages to find a way into my room without my guards noticing. Devil knows how.
I can almost hear her mother's shrill voice whining, 'Penelope! It is not proper for a young women to be consorting with young men, alone, before she is married! It simply is not right!' Oh, how Penny hates that. But she's already affianced to a bloke named Micah. If I bring him up, she starts lecturing me all over again about how women are given away like objects, and I guess that is true, but I know she secretly likes him.
"Then what are you going to do, my darling Simon?" Penny smirks at me like she knows everything in the world, and most days, I think so too.
I sigh and dramatically fall onto the chair she's sitting in, my head landing on her lap. Her hands go straight to my hair, and not long after, she's winding her fingers around my curls and tugging gently. I love it when she does that, and I don't even think she realizes she's doing it half the time.
We stay quiet for awhile, and I watch as her chest rises and falls with steady breaths. I pick at her dress and trace shapes onto her legs and arms. Sometimes they are intricate shapes with no lines to connect them, and sometimes they are just our names, written over and over on her warm skin.
"I have to get it back, Penny. It's all I have left of her," I whisper, my eyes drooping closed in the receding light of the candle.
She bows her head down and bumps her forehead against mine, and I breathe in the smell of dry sage and spices until I cannot focus on anything else. "I know, Simon. I know," she says in a voice so small I can barely hear her. "I-I just worry about you. You are so brave and kind and clumsy and I love you for it, but you are also so very reckless and stubborn. I fear it will get you killed."
"You know how much that necklace means to me. I cannot, will not, let him pawn it away like a cheap piece of jewelry. I can't. It wasn't even part of the-".
She sighs loudly and shakes her head, lifting it away from mine. "That doesn't mean you have to rush in during the night, guns blazing, and get it back. If you just give me a little more time-". Time. I need to go. Now. I stand up suddenly, and she jumps. I walk over to the bed and grab my black satchel, slinging it across my shoulders and stuff it with an extra set of clothes, a small amount of money, and a couple apples I keep in my room. I pull on my hunting boots and I reach for the doorknob when Penny tells me to wait. Her voice cracks and I see tears shining in her eyes. I look away, knowing if I watch too long, I won't be able to leave.
"At least let me walk you to the stables. That is where you are headed, is it not?" Her voice is strong enough, but I can hear it waver.
"Yes," I say softly, and without another word, she snatches the jacket I purposefully left behind, and pushes it into my arms. I do not argue; I know better.
We glide silently through the hall that leads from my room to the courtyard, and Penny clutches onto me. I hope she'll let go soon. I really need to do this. The courtyard is glowing with moonlight, and stars twinkle high above us. The stable door is unlocked (the servants must not have come by yet) and the lantern on the inside is still flickering brightly.
I stride over to Cherry, my beloved horse, named after my second favorite thing in the entire world: sour cherry scones. (Penny will always be first.) When I was little, I swore up and down that Cherry's coat was cherry red, just like my scones, but I was the only one who could see it. Many people just laughed and tousled my hair, but my mother always encouraged it. My father told me to grow up.
I gracelessly climb onto Cherry and adjust her reigns while Penny tucks my satchel into the saddle pouch. I remembered my pistol this go around, so I take the time to remove it from my bag and slip it into my jacket. But as soon as she sees it, she cries out and squeezes my thigh tightly.
"Please, Simon. Don't go. You-you have to . . . it's so dangerous out there. We'll find another way, I promise. We'll go first thing tomorrow and I will help you and . . . don't go. Please," she says weakly, her grip loosening on my leg.
A tear streaks down my face and I lean down to kiss her cheek. She laughs shakily, and I notice she is crying too. "You aren't going to listen to me, are you?" She asks in a way that says she already has my answer.
I lead Cherry out of the stable and to the edge of the road. Penny walks alongside us the whole time.
"I have to find him, Penny. I don't have any other choice."
I'm already aways up the road but I still hear Penny's words echo through the darkness.
"Yes, you do, Simon. You always have a choice. I'm just not sure you're making the right one."
