him was Bristol Mapes.”
Kyn releases my fingers. Fast, like I’ve burned him.
“I would never—”
“I know.” I don’t tell him how I know, how I can feel his heart tremble. How it makes mine tremble too. I don’t have to tell Kyn those things. He already knows. “But I’d rather choose for myself who I touch and when I touch them.”
His chest constricts, his throat closes. I feel it acutely, the shame of this simple action. I’m tempted to tell him it’s fine. Tempted to brush it off. But we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Kyn and I, and he may as well know this about me. I’m broken and there’s very little either of us can do about it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I won’t do it again.”
“Thank you.”
He’s searching my feelings, wondering if he should continue. There’s something he wants me to know, but he’s not sure.
“Whatever it is, you can say it,” I tell him.
“I didn’t know about Bristol. About what he did to you. I don’t think Mars knows either.”
I’m certain Mars doesn’t know. Mistress Quine was the only one who knew, and she’s long dead now.
“He may not have known what Bristol did to me, but he befriended Lenore with the sole purpose of getting me to haul his load.”
“Sylvi—”
“No. He did. She’s out here because of him.”
Kyn’s hands fly up, surrendering. “I won’t argue that point. Mars isn’t above deception to get what he wants. And I’m not claiming any great friendship with Lenore—I hardly know her—but she has her own mind. She’d come to her own conclusions about the Majority and the rebels long before we came to Whistletop. When Mars told her he couldn’t leave for camp until he’d sorted out his business, she sought out Bristol. She asked him to take her to the rebels.”
“She wouldn’t have left Whistletop if it wasn’t for Mars. He made her . . . brave.”
Kyn laughs, but there’s a sadness in his chest. “How can the bravest girl I’ve ever met think that’s a bad thing?”
“Look at where it landed her!”
“You can’t . . . it’s more complicated than that.”
I try to push the limits of this obscure connection between us, try to understand what he’s not saying, but there’s nothing there—nothing I didn’t already know.
“It always is.”
I turn my face to the mountain side of the island. The drop to the Desolation is steep here. The rocks, sharp and deadly, are sloughing off their white wrappings, leaving rivulets of water trailing down in steady streams toward the sprawling frozen pool.
“Sylvi—” There’s tension building in his chest. He has something to say. Something I don’t want to hear.
“Hyla packed the solder, so if we have enough propane in the blowtorch, we can fix the radiator,” I say. “But if we don’t hurry, we’ll lose the light.”
I leave him there, staring out at the water. It’s a noisy and heartbreaking sight, the Kol Sea. So many souls pulled to its depths. Ships dragged under by its monsters. Tragic swell after tragic swell crashes on the shiv-sharp rocks, but it’s nothing to the waves breaking over Kyn’s heart.
It’s a good thing he’s made of stone.
The radiator fix isn’t complicated, but it’s time consuming and Winter’s not making things easy on us. The first rains of Blys come hard and constant.
We use the blowtorch to heat the metal on the radiator so we can fold it over the gaping hole, and then we use what little solder we have to seal up the cracks. If Hyla hadn’t thought to bring the solder . . .
The ground beneath us is all standing water, our clothes heavy with rain and mud, the blowtorch struggling in the wet conditions. That’s when I realize Winter’s mistake. Water isn’t ideal, but without antifreeze, we’re going to have to get creative. And this rain will get the Dragon up and running. It’ll get us to the camp.
Maybe.
I dig a hole in the ground and line it with plastic sheeting to collect the falling rainwater and then I duck back under the rig and flash Kyn two more twyl blossoms. He uses the blowtorch to fire away the petals and I catch the hot gooey middle in my damp hands. I tuck one in my cheek and offer the other to Kyn. His hands are full, so he opens his mouth and I press one on his tongue.
“How many do we have left?” he asks.
“More than we should. If there had been three