Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,6
speaks Shiv. If we run into trouble out on the road, we’ll need him.”
“I don’t think your guy’s up for it anyway,” Kyn says, jumping down, taking the gun from Mars. “He just glued his eyelid shut. You’re the ice witch, yeah? Sylver Quine?” He extends his hand.
Loath though I am to share my driver’s seat with anyone, Kyn here looks far more competent than my mechanic.
“Stop scowling, Miss Quine, and shake the boy’s hand. He’s the only reason you’ll get any sleep tonight.”
I don’t shake, but Kyn doesn’t seem bothered. He bumps my chin with his knuckle instead. “You rest up, little ice witch. I’ll get us to the trailer.”
He’s a cocky pup, but there’s a steadiness to his hands. The kind of steadiness I look for in any trucker.
“If your man is so capable,” I ask Mars, rubbing absently at my chin, “why are you still looking for a driver?”
“I don’t have a dragon,” Kyn says, running his hand over the hood.
“You could have left ages ago and the Flux wouldn’t have been nearly the problem it is now.”
“Kyndel’s abilities have their limits, Miss Quine.”
The insinuation being that mine do not. “I don’t throw around magic like you do.”
“Thus far, you haven’t had to. That might change.”
“Fine. Kyn goes. But why the Paradyian? She’s hardly built for the cold.”
Mars almost smiles. “Hyla spent six years as a mechanic in the Paradyian army. I’d wager she has more experience with tank tread than you do.”
And that’s when I run out of arguments.
A Kerce smuggler, a Paradyian mechanic, and a Shiv driver. All in my rig. And I’m not great at sharing.
“I need to sleep,” I say.
Mars smiles. “Let’s get going.”
Before we load up, I plunder the cab of an ancient pickup collecting snow in the lot. It’s the rearview mirror I need. The Dragon doesn’t have one. Most days, there’s no need; the sleeper compartment blocks any view to the rear. But mirrors are handy for keeping an eye on the guy sitting behind you, and with my rig suddenly full of people, the addition feels necessary.
The mirror is spotted and cracked, but once it’s mounted, I hand Kyn-the-Shiv my keys and climb in, over the driver’s seat and the bench behind, into the sleeper compartment. It’s nothing fancy, just one big mattress and a box of dried food stashed in the corner.
Lying on my stomach with my face pressed through the velvet curtain, I watch as the others load up. Hyla’s next, settling onto the bench, her thigh blocking much of my view. Mars follows, a gust of wind lifting him into the passenger seat. Winter rankles at the command and I roll my eyes at his petty, unnecessary use of magic.
Kyn can’t decide what to do with his gun. He eyes the rack over Hyla’s head, but Drypp’s old shotgun is mounted there. I offer to stow his in the sleeper, but he slides it under Mars’s seat so it’s close at hand. How he plans to shoot and drive is beyond me, but I don’t care. We need to go.
“It’s a blind turn out of the lot,” I say. “Ease off the brake slowly or you’ll—”
“Skid? Slide? Tumble down the mountainside?” Kyn’s eyes sparkle in the mirror and he flashes me a grin. “Yeah, snowflake. I know. I grew up in these mountains same as you.”
That smile. If I was the kind of girl who took to melting, he’d be dangerous.
“Just be careful with her, all right?”
“Sleep, Miss Quine. When you wake, your rig will be hitched to a trailer full of things you’d rather not know about, and you’ll need all your wits to get us to the rebel camp.”
Mars knows a lot about me for a man who’s only been hanging around Whistletop a few months, but he’s right. As a policy, I don’t ask my clients what they need hauled. I learned the hard way that knowing doesn’t bring peace of mind, and it certainly doesn’t help me get where I’m going.
“Sleep,” he commands.
I flick my cheek at him—a crass gesture common in the Kol Mountains—but he just smiles and reaches past Hyla.
“One day I’ll tell you what that means,” he says, yanking the curtain shut.
My eyes close against the whipping drape and though I’d like to take Mars’s head off, that hot burn in my stomach says Winter’s close.
REST, she tells me. I’LL KEEP WATCH.
So instead of arguing with the snake-eyed smuggler, I curl into a nest of blankets, say a quick