Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,106

of us needing twyl . . .”

“Yeah.”

When we crawl out from under the rig, the sky is black and the hole I’ve dug is full of rainwater. Kyn lifts the Dragon’s hood and I gather the corners of the plastic, making a bag of sorts, and then heft it over to the rig. Kyn offers me his leg and I climb from his thick boot to his knee so I can hang the bag over the radiator.

“Aim true,” he says, unscrewing the cap and using the hot end of the torch to work a hole in the plastic.

The water flows from the melted opening into the newly patched radiator, though there’s no way for us to know if the thing is still leaking—there’s simply too much water on the ground. The true test will be when we fire the engine.

“We could use some more fluid,” I say, looking around, wishing I’d dug two holes. The radiator took all the liquid in the bag, but it’s not full up.

“Here,” Kyn says, shooing me away and climbing up on the bumper. “I got it.”

His voice is staid, but there’s something like mirth bubbling up in his stomach.

“What do you mean, you got it?”

But he’s tugging at the laces on his trousers and I suddenly realize what he’s doing. Despite the heaviness that threatens to spread both of our rib cages, I laugh. It’s a good idea. And better him than me.

“Avert your eyes, little ice witch.”

I turn away and leave him to it, something of lightness hanging about my shoulders.

“Aim true,” I tell him. “Aim true.”

CHAPTER 28

“How long do you think we have before the Abaki try again?”

We’ve been on the road for almost two hours now and we haven’t seen a single monster. Fog and kol swirl on the wind, pushing up against the Dragon, petting her as we squirrel away. But Winter’s holding her cards close and when she plays them, we’ll be hard-pressed to do much. We haven’t a single functioning weapon.

“The ground back there,” I say. “Whatever Mars did to it kept the Abaki away. But I can’t imagine it lasting all the way to Queen’s Point.”

“You know where the camp is then?” he asks. “You weren’t lying back at the mines.”

“I’ve a fairly good idea,” I say, blinking away the memory of his heartbreak as my bike flew past him and out into the snow. “But I’ve never been out here before and I’ve no idea what the road looks like between here and there.”

Kyn stares out the window for a minute and then climbs between the seats. I watch him in the mirror, scrounging around, ducking into the sleeper. Finally he slides back into his seat and spreads the old Kerce road map on his knees. He’s conflicted, likely breaking some sort of confidence. I feel the pressure of it behind my breastbone. After a moment, he exhales and his fighting loyalties quiet.

“I’ve only ever been to the camp once,” he says, running a finger over the northeast wing of the isle, “and only by ship. This map is incomplete though. Just this side of the cliffs here, the road descends, through the mountains, all the way to sea level. The camp is there, positioned between the Desolation and the Kol Sea.” Exactly where I thought it would be, but it’s good to know the road itself will take us there. “Based on the instructions Mars gave Bristol, the only way to reach the camp itself is to cross the ice.”

“The Desolation you mean.”

He nods. “It’s a short stretch, less than a mile, but I don’t know if a rig as large as the Dragon has ever attempted it.”

Probably not. There’s not a rig quite like the Dragon on all of Layce. And still—

“The ice will hold.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” If I’m sure of anything, it’s that. Winter won’t give up her hold on the isle so easily.

Based on what Kyn’s just told me, the road will pitch downward soon, and we’ll have a wall of mountain rock outside my window and the Desolation outside Kyn’s. And then it’s just a short, straight shot to the camp. A straight shot to Lenore.

“How are we on twyl?” I ask.

“We should be OK,” he says, spreading the remaining twyl blossoms on his knees. There’s more than enough to last us another hour.

Kyn hands me the innards of another sticky blossom and I swallow down the old, flavorless wad—not ideal, but there’s nowhere to fling it. To keep the kol and the