Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,16
able to defend themselves from Majority invasions over the centuries. The Paradyian army is massive, their king respected—begrudgingly by the Majority ruling class—but respected nonetheless.
They are a kingdom untouched by the magic that has cursed Layce and they’ve worked hard to keep it such.
“A debt,” Hyla says. “A debt I am happy to pay.”
“You owe me nothing,” Mars says, adjusting the mirror and meeting Hyla’s gaze in the reflection. “You’ve only ever been a faithful friend.”
“But the saving of a life is something a Paradyian is bound to repay.”
“Have you not saved mine a dozen times since we left Paradyia?”
“I’ve done only what you’ve allowed me to do. Your life cannot be threatened as mine can,” she says, settling back in the seat. “Until I am sure, until I know in my heart that I have paid life for life, I cannot return home.”
It’s so noble I have to remind myself this woman nearly shattered my arm last week.
“As it happens, returning to Paradyia isn’t something that can be done without extensive planning,” Mars says.
“But you will return?” I ask Hyla.
She runs her finger over the gun strapped to her thigh, her words slow and deliberate. “The children of Layce are told not to dwell on the past, yes?”
“History is not taught in our schools,” Mars says.
“In contrast, we Paradyians are told not to promise the future. I cannot say where I will be tomorrow, Sessa. I wish I could. I’ve a husband across the sea who fought and slept alongside me for nearly ten years. Even now, I feel him in here.” She presses a hand to her chest. “We have become one person—he and I—and he has the great privilege of taking care of our two girls while I am away. I do not know what this road will bring, but Paradyia is home. My family is home, and I long to see them again.”
She smiles and I find myself returning it. I know what it means to have a home. It’s how I feel about the Dragon. How I feel about Lenore.
“You said Mars’s life can’t be threatened the way yours can. What did you mean by that?”
“Mars is strong in ways I’ve never seen,” she says. “How do you kill a man who could encase himself in ice with the snap of his fingers?”
“Finger snaps do nothing,” Mars says, his face turned away, distanced somehow from a conversation that revolves around him. “It’s words, Hyla. The power is in the words.”
“How did he save your life?” I ask, thinking of Lenore. I understand what it is to owe a debt.
“It was not my life he saved—”
“If you’re ready to hear a story, there are a few I would gladly tell you,” Mars says. “But not this one. Not now.”
Hyla claps Mars on the shoulder and settles back. “Another time then, Sessa. Another time.”
I grind my teeth at the mindless obedience. “We’re coming up on High Pass. There isn’t time for stories anyway.”
The road has emptied now. We’re alone out here, save Winter. And as we approach the pass, I feel her hot and restless in my belly.
Snow has fallen steadily since the moment we left Hex Landing. Now though, the wind picks up, battering the rig from all sides and sending snowflakes into a flurry. Winter’s never suffered visitors to the pass lightly, but there’s no forgetting my last trip here. I suck at the phantom blister inside my lower lip and focus on pushing through the snow. The blister’s gone now, but one Kerce word was all it took.
We’re high now, thousands of feet above sea level. Higher even than the village at Whistletop, and the mountains here are loud in ways that still surprise me.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME, Winter snarls.
I chance a peek at Mars, but despite Winter’s rage, he’s relaxed. Visibly so. His pale face has some color, his black eyes shimmer, and in the light bouncing off the mountains, I see something in them I hadn’t noticed before: There’s an iris visible beneath the kol.
“What?” Mars says, turning his face to mine.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m driving.”
He chuckles—soft and light. It’s almost endearing and I hate him for it. I don’t want to like this man.
Up ahead is a narrow fork. To the left, the road climbs down, a byway cut into the mountain that swings out and around, heading back toward Whistletop. But there’s no turning for home now. Not if Lenore’s at the end of this road.