Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,61
inside soon if we don’t do something.
“Would you like me to pull the lever, Miss Quine?”
“Yes,” I say, and then, with conviction: “Do it.”
Mars flips the lever and though I’m tempted, I don’t ask Winter for assistance. I don’t ask for her help. I’d rather she keep her distance just now. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven her for what happened to Kyn at High Pass and though I’m glad she hasn’t left me for good, I can’t handle another confrontation between her and Mars.
The mechanism engages and the blades whir to life. My right hand finds the control panel—two dowels, one for the right arm and one for the left. With my little finger on one and my thumb on the other, I work the arms into place—branches shear off as I go. When both arms are extended out to the left and right, their saw blades spinning, I lock them into position with a flick of my thumb, my foot still pressed hard to the floor.
“You use these often?” Mars asks, lingering between my seat and Hyla’s, watching the blades spin.
I shake my head. “No. But before she was mine, the Dragon was used for rock trenching. The blades are not ideal for half-frozen trees, but there wasn’t time to retrofit them. You can see Bristol had the same idea, though his saws are better suited for this kind of growth.”
The Dragon’s blades are large, five feet across. They pivot on their hefty arms, rotating as they spin, hacking away at the branches, their motors making it impossible to hear anything quieter than a holler.
“What’s that glinting from the blades?” Mars asks.
“Diamond,” I say.
He snorts.
“You disapprove?”
“Not at all. Though it would stagger the Paradyians to see diamond put to such a use. It’s a difficult rock to come by there and highly sought after. The women wear it around their necks and in their ears.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes. But only for the very wealthy.”
“It’s waste rock here. In the mines they have to battle it to get to the kol. It’s impossible to cut through but it makes a wicked tough blade.”
“Supply and demand, Miss Quine. It’s what makes me rich.”
“Are you rich?” I ask, yelling over the sound of the saws.
“Not nearly rich enough.”
The fog is dense now, my visibility gone. I can’t see past the bucket but I don’t dare slow.
“I’ve never cared much for coin,” I yell.
“That’s not at all what I hear.” There’s a challenge in his voice, a question.
“People say what they want. Doesn’t make it true.”
He strokes his chin, narrows his eyes. “But if you were rich—let’s say you’re as rich as the King of Paradyia. What would you buy?”
The rig plunges deeper and deeper and I do the same, searching my heart for anything I need that I don’t already have. “There is nothing,” I say, honestly.
“Liar.”
It’s loud and my voice is tired from yelling, but there’s something about the steady racket, the contentious banter—it’s so alive.
“I have everything I need in the Sylver Dragon. I’d have her repaired, I suppose. Give her the royal treatment. But as long as I have the rig, I have freedom. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”
“And the tavern?”
“It’s Lenore’s home, her livelihood, so of course I’d want that. But for her. Not for myself.”
“And what of Miss Trestman?”
The resentment I’d been ignoring splits wide at the question, pricks my nose with hurt. I’d done everything I could to see that Leni had all the coin she needed and yet . . .
“If I could buy her safety,” I say, “I would. But that can’t be done here.”
“You make a fair point,” he says, thoughtful. “Some things cannot be secured with coin. And still, I do not believe you have everything you need.”
Another face breaks into my thoughts. A dark face with a stone cheekbone and eyes like spiced wine. A mouth that smiles easily.
I don’t need Kyn—I barely know him. But the stirring in my chest reminds me that there are other things in this life I didn’t know I wanted. Things I might come to need.
I sit taller in my seat when another desire surfaces. “I’d buy freedom for the workers in the Stack.”
“How noble of you,” Mars says. The saws drag, the motors struggling, and I’m too distracted to read his tone. Can’t tell if he’s serious or mocking.
“What about you?” I ask. “What would you buy?”
“If I had all the riches of the Paradyian King? Simple,” Mars yells. “I’d buy an army.”