Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,122
had no idea what it would cost to drag me away from the wolves at High Pass. There’s a lot of this that’s unfair.”
I lift a lazy shoulder. “If I’m going to have anyone tearing up my insides, I’m glad it’s you. You’re kinder than Winter.”
He steps closer, his gaze moving over my face. “She’s still in there, I think. I can feel her sneaking around.”
I can feel her too. For so long, I was worried she’d leave me, and now . . .
“But I’m not alone with her anymore,” I say. “You’re in there too.”
“Will you ever send her away?”
“From the island or from my heart?”
“Either?” he says. “Both?”
“I don’t know if I can do that without destroying myself,” I say, letting my gaze wander his face, take in the warmth of his eyes, the glimmer of stone across his cheekbone. His lips. “And that would destroy you.”
His eyes go wide. “I hadn’t thought of that. For Begynd’s sake, we’ve got to keep you safe!”
A smile hooks my lips, tugs. “Sounds a little selfish.”
“I’d just like to be consulted whenever you decide to do something dangerous. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Like take on Winter?”
“Nah, you’ve got her all figured out,” he says, quietly, stepping closer. “I just need a heads-up on the really hazardous stuff.”
My heart stutter steps at his nearness. “I think I can do that.”
“Thank you, little ice witch,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “I mean it.”
The wind picks up and raindrops bump into one another, ringing out across the expanse. We listen for a minute, watch the rainbows dance.
“We’ll figure it out,” Kyn says, leftover raindrops glistening on his lashes. “We’ll learn everything we can about Maree Vale and Winter. About Begynd. Everything there is to know about how the kol works. We’ll talk to the Shiv and the Paradyians.” He squeezes my hand. “We won’t make the same mistakes they did, yeah?”
The same mistakes . . .
“I guess Shyne was right,” I say, turning it over in my mind. “Yesterday does matter.” The thought is a dangerous one, the words mutinous on my tongue. “Understanding what happened, it’s how we’re going to save tomorrow.”
Kyn smiles and I have to remind myself I’m not the kind of person who melts at a thing like that.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just . . . I think you’re right, snowflake. I fought it for a long time too—understanding the history of my people—but I think it’s the only way forward.”
I’ve been wrong for so long, it’s strange to hear I might have gotten something right. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, the pride in his chest expanding, filling mine. He bumps my chin with a stone knuckle. “Welcome to the rebellion.”
Acknowledgments
Novel writing and rig driving may not seem like similar vocations, but I’ve found they do have a few things in common. Both are solitary endeavors requiring long hours in a chair and far too much time in your own head. To the driver and the author, the unraveling road can feel endless and fraught with difficulty. But these obstacles are part of the adventure and, like Sylvi, I didn’t get here alone.
Along the way, many have climbed up into the cab, reminded me to keep my eyes on the road, and kept me company when I needed it most. I’d like to thank them.
To Matt, for supporting my need to tell stories and for never asking why. For drawing and redrawing the Sylver Dragon as I saw it in my head. For answering all my weapon-related questions, and for catching my mistakes when I thought I knew what I was doing. Thank you for loving me and for being my partner in all things.
To Justus, I’ll never forget your enthusiasm for this story and its world. For your willingness to brainstorm with me and for being proud of your mom, thank you. It means more than you’ll ever know.
To Jazlyn, for being the best snuggler and officemate a mom ever had. Your imagination inspires me. Thank you for demanding I tell you stories. I hope you like this one.
To Mom and Dad, for your unwavering support and for being curious about this strange job of mine.
To my grandparents, for pushing my books on anyone who’ll listen. I have you to thank for a generation of readers.
To Jill Williamson, Stephanie Morrill, and Jenny Lundquist, for your friendship and for reading early versions of this story and continuing to cheer me on.
To Stephanie Garber for Thursdays, and to Kristin Dwyer for believing that this was the book. To Adrienne Young, Stephanie Brubaker, Alexis Bass, Jessica Taylor, Joanna Rowland, Jennieke Cohen, Kim Culbertson, and Rose Cooper. Your companionship has made all the difference.
To my Soul Sisters: Natali Corrington, Lacey Jordan, Julia Bolognesi, Sharon VandenBos, Elisa Calhoun, Allison Calhoun, Amanda Calhoun, Ashley Eastlund, Frances Houston, Sharon Wilkinson, and Stephanie Luke. My dedication about covered it, but I’m so glad we get to live life together.
To Wade Webster, for sharing your expertise of the road and big rigs. Finding you a willing conspirator and all-around fount of knowledge was a fun surprise. I’ll take the blame for every error and thank you for all the details I managed to get right.
To my agent, Holly Root. What a journey this has been! Thank you for guiding me safely back to the shelf and for believing that we’d get here. To Taylor Haggerty and the rest of the crew at Root Literary, thank you for working so hard on my behalf and for cheering when this book sold. I’m so glad you’re all on my team.
To Maggie Lehrman, for seeing something in my book worth pursuing. Thank you for that faith.
To Ruben Ireland, for pulling Sylvi from my mind and rendering her so perfectly. I think there’s magic in your blood.
To Marie Oishi, Hana Anouk Nakamura, Jenn Jimenez, Nicole Schaefer, Brooke Shearouse, Jenny Choy, Patricia McNamara O’Neill, and everyone at Amulet Books, for creating a beautiful package and treating this story with the utmost care. It’s been an honor.
To Shasta Clinch, for your kind precision and heroic catches. Your touch on this story was illuminating, and I’m grateful.
To my editor, Emily Daluga, who made this book better in every way. Your clever editorial eye is gold, and it’s such a privilege to work with you. Thank you for falling in love with Sylvi.
And finally, to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The One in whom I have believed. Thank you for gifting me a spark of your infinite creativity, and for teaching me to walk on water. Five years ago, when the idea for this story arrived, I had no idea how necessary sea legs would be. But you knew and you taught me to keep my eyes up. It has been the one discipline that kept me from going under. Thank you for every hard lesson and every glimpse of grace. I am eternally grateful.
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