Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,41
silent as Kyn tells him most of what happened in the caves.
Kyn avoids my gaze as he talks. He doesn’t ask me to fill in parts of the story he’s forgotten, and I don’t offer. He simply, easily tells Mars and Hyla about Shyne and the stones of torture, though he downplays the severity of it all. He tells them about the old man who wanted healing from the ice of the Desolation, but he says nothing about Shyne’s expectations of me. Nothing about Shyne’s theories. And though I’m certain Kyn has his own reasons for keeping those things to himself, I’m grateful.
“I’m not surprised they took you. Not at all surprised that they hurt you. What does surprise me is that you survived.” Mars fiddles with the mirror. It’s dangling from the broken window, swinging lightly as the rig jostles along. He tilts it so Kyn’s face fills the glass, a faux reprimand in his scowl. “The Shiv do not take abandonment of duty lightly.”
“Maybe we did abandon them,” Kyn says, fingering his ribs, wincing at the tender spots. “The Shiv in Dris Mora. I had no idea what it was like out here. Mars, you should have seen them. Rags and mud. And the children.” He shakes his head. “It’s no way to live.”
“You didn’t abandon anyone,” Mars says. “Least of all your kin. You were born in Dris Mora to a Shiv mother who needed you. Where would she be if you left her behind to tend to these people—people who would likely reject your assistance?”
“Especially after today.” I don’t know why I’m helping, why I care what Kyn feels for the Shiv at High Pass, but it’s insanity to think they’d accept anything from him after Mars’s little trick with the mountain. Winter isn’t happy about it either. The more Mars talks, the more she whines. She’s noisy in my head and hot in my gut. For the first time, her presence is uncomfortable.
And still he talks. “The Desolation Shiv have always thought themselves superior to those who made their homes elsewhere. They consider it a betrayal of duty, of calling. The Shiv people exist to guard Begynd—any other life is shameful. That they’re experimenting with the ice is an interesting development. I would not have thought them capable of such . . . desecration.”
To that, I say nothing. Kyn too remains silent, reaching instead for Drypp’s shotgun settled once again on the rack. It drips sleet and black mud onto the seat.
“How’d you get it back?” I ask Mars. “The shotgun. Beneath all that snow—”
“Snow isn’t a problem for me, Miss Quine. But it was Hyla who dug the weapons out. Winter and I had business to attend to.”
“Your knives, Sessa,” Hyla says, passing me the blades.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I didn’t expect to see them again.”
I let the knives rest on my lap; Lenore and Sylver glint dully in the fading light.
It’s work to keep my eyes on the road—they keep finding Kyn in the rearview. He digs a rag out from under the seat and busies himself, wiping down the gun, checking the action for moisture. He pulls a box of cartridges from the sleeper and reloads it.
He has beautiful hands, Kyn does. Long, deft fingers, patches of red-brick stone sitting like rings just above his knuckles. My gaze is drawn to the carving on his index finger, the one I noticed back in the cave.
I want to ask about it, but he’s ignoring me and there’s something sacred about ignoring someone you can’t quite escape. It’s a task you have to commit to wholeheartedly, so I leave him to it.
“Things are decidedly colder in the cab than they were before,” Mars says.
“If you’re cold,” I say, “leave Winter alone. The broken windshield is on you.”
“It’s not Winter’s chill I’m referring to, Miss Quine. I think you and Kyn have had a disagreement.”
“Yeah, Mars,” Kyn says. “We fought about who we’d eat first if the Shiv refused to feed us.”
“Do the Shiv eat their own?” Hyla asks, her nose wrinkling.
Mars smiles. “No, friend. They do not. Kyn is avoiding the question.”
“We didn’t fight,” Kyn says, jamming a shell into the shotgun.
Mars turns to face me, amusement on his lips.
“We didn’t fight,” I confirm. “For a Shiv zealot and a reluctant ice witch, Kyn and I get along impressively.”
Now Kyn does meet my gaze. He stares me in the eye and flicks his beautiful fingers across his cheek. I return the favor.