Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,63

any closer to the clouds overhead. They’re more gray than purple now, the night brutish in its constancy.

“I see now what you meant about momentum,” Mars says.

“We’ll make it. If your haul was any heavier, though . . .”

I try to find his eyes in the rearview, but his gaze is on the dried meat in his hands. He takes a bite, his face betraying nothing.

The rig shudders and spits a plume of exhaust out the smoke stack and we finally crest the top of the hill. The air is still and clear, the fog far below us now. The clouds are still in the darkening sky and I pull to the side of the road, more out of habit than necessity. There’s no one out here.

“We should wake Hyla and Kyn,” I say. “It’ll be hours before we reach North Bend.”

“I’m awake,” Kyn says. His voice is groggy but strong.

“Think you can walk?” I ask.

“He can walk,” Mars says, a satisfied grin on his face as he takes in his old friend. “Lead the way, Miss Quine.”

“And Hyla?” I say. She’s still snoring.

“One invalid at a time.”

I drop to the snow and turn to offer Kyn some help. But he’s landing next to me already.

“You are better,” I say.

“Much.” He’s changed his shirt and the jagged cuts on his face are nothing but pink memories. Hardly raised. Hardly visible. A familiar chill climbs my back and I know there’s only one explanation for it.

“I think Winter has another favorite.”

“Is that what you think?” Kyn says, a sad smile on his face. He steps past me, making for the trees. They’re of the evergreen sort up here. Tall and full and iced like the sugared cakes we haven’t had since the day we put Drypp in the ground.

Mars follows him, dabbing at his lip. “Not too far, my friend. We should stay close enough to hear Sylvi’s screams if Winter forsakes her.”

Kyn slaps Mars on the back and it seems bygones are truly that with these two. I can almost feel Kyn choose to let it all go. To see the friend he has in Mars instead of the secrets and deceit. The realization does strange, swooping things to my stomach as I pad into the trees on the opposite side of the rig. I’m still lacing up my trousers when they return.

“Hustle, hustle, Miss Quine.”

“Some of us can’t just whip it out,” I call, but I lace faster.

I hear their voices as they unload Hyla, hear her discomfort as they guide her away and into the trees. I wonder if it should be me offering to help, but they’re out of sight by the time I work up the courage to ask.

This isn’t something that would be foreign to her though. Hyla works in a world of men, much like I do. To survive, she would’ve learned to handle these moments long ago. But when they return, it’s clear she’s worse off than I realized. The wound on her shoulder has started bleeding again, her face gray and slick with exertion.

“Isn’t there any kol?” I ask, racing forward, but with little purpose. Kyn and Mars are entirely capable. As they clear the trees, they kneel, lay Hyla in the snow. She’s fevered and delirious.

Mars pulls on the leather ribbon that’s hidden beneath his shirt and tugs a pouch from his collar—the Kerce medicine bag. He withdraws a phial, removes the stopper, and runs his fingers over the top of it. They come away wet with oil and he presses them to Hyla’s shoulder, working it in small circles.

Twyl liniment.

It’s the burnt-honey smell that gives it away. The tincture is made from equal parts twyl oil and horn leaf—an herb that won’t grow on Layce. Lenore has a small stone vessel of it in her chest of drawers at home. Expensive, if you can find a vendor willing to part with it, but it’s a good pain reliever and works on all sorts of minor wounds: bruising, abrasions, burns. Ingested, it can be used as a sleep aid. When we ran out of kol, Lenore mixed the liniment with wine and spoon-fed it to Drypp. It was the only thing that kept him comfortable.

Mars replaces the phial and withdraws another, this one kol.

He pulls the stopper free and dust peppers the sky.

“She’s going to be all sorts of fun after this,” Kyn says, stepping away.

Mars spreads a thin layer on Hyla’s wound and restoppers the phial. “She’ll sleep through the