Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,14

it can be found solely in the mountains of Layce and, as such, only the Majority is allowed to mine it. They tell us it’s so the council can ensure the proceeds benefit all the islands under their control, not just a small smattering of mountain folk. Not just the ones digging it from the rock.

You can imagine how Layce feels about the Majority stealing the land from under their feet.

And still we truck and still we work, and, excepting the rebels, we keep our mouths shut because as long as the kol deliveries arrive on time, the ruling class mostly leaves us alone; they keep to the lowlands where Winter’s not quite so frigid. They want our kol, yes, but our Winter? That they could do without.

Rangers move up and down the road, hollering, pointing guns at the workers, though most of them are standing as compliantly as they’re able. Their arms wave in the cold air and they whimper, eyes seeing monsters that aren’t there, bodies twitching.

This isn’t punishment. These workers aren’t responsible for the raids. They were just unfortunate enough to be on shift when the Majority ran out of patience. This is a warning. To the rebels. To every sympathizer passing by.

You attack us, we attack them.

The rebels went too far this time—and the Majority isn’t leaving us alone any longer.

The traffic grinds to a standstill, but we’ve finally caught sight of the reason for the backup. There’s a fire in the road. Crates stacked high, hissing and popping as flames bite through cheap wood.

“It’s twyl chewing gum,” I say, recognizing the packaging. “They’re torching it.”

The gum is used to combat the negative effects of kol. Miners and those working in the Stack are given daily allotments of it, but the quantity is rarely adequate. Whenever we visited Lenore’s father, we’d take extra coin so he could buy his own supply, but the Majority allows their merchants to charge exorbitant prices for their recipe. Prices very few laborers can afford, which keeps them dependent on the Majority. I unlatch my window and let it fall. The unmistakable honeyed stench of twyl rides the wind, mixed with smoke and kol dust. Kyn pulls his shirt up over his nose and mouth.

“There’s gum in the glove compartment,” I say. With this much kol in the air, we need to protect ourselves.

He tears himself a piece and passes me one as well. I tuck it in my cheek, but I haven’t got enough for all these workers and I don’t imagine the Rangers would treat them kindly if I offered.

“My ma burns twyl blossoms indoors when the winds are high,” Kyn says. “Says it keeps her head clear of the kol.”

“Lenore does the same thing. But torching the gum isn’t going to do any good.”

We’re approaching a broad-shouldered man clad in Majority red and black, the word SUPERINTENDENT stitched onto his lapel. He’s standing in the center of the road, waving rigs around the fire.

“What’s all this?” I ask, leaning out my window, catching his attention.

“Week’s supply of twyl,” he says, ambling over. “A shame isn’t it? These poor souls are going to have to be about their business for the next seven days without a stick of gum to share.”

“The rebels did this?”

“Oh no, ma’am. We did it.” He taps the Majority patch on his shirt sleeve. “Every action has a consequence, I’m afraid.”

“But your workers didn’t blow that road,” Kyn says, leaning past me. “They aren’t rebels.”

“Most of ’em aren’t, you’re right about that. Best keep your fingers crossed these poor mucks make it through the week. Have to scrounge up some more workers if their brains turn to mush, and who knows where we’ll come knocking. You know all about that though, don’t you, Shiv?”

Kyn’s fingers tighten around the windowsill. “Know all about what?”

“Oh nothing,” the superintendent says, scratching his beard. “Just making sure you’ll pass the message along. Not everybody will have the pleasure of seeing what you’re seeing today. Off you go, now.”

Kyn grabs my window and yanks it back into place, scraping his cheek at the superintendent. We should go, but I can’t stop staring at the haunted line of laborers. Not far from where the Dragon idles, a woman chews her fingers, bloodying them trying to get at the kol. It’s how Lenore’s ma looked before she passed. Before we buried her in the cemetery outside the Stack.

“Sylvi?” Kyn says.

I tear my eyes away and shift the rig into gear. But my