Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,68

the breath searing my lungs fights its way free. It shudders through my teeth, and I settle back in my seat.

I’ve been so consumed with the cage that I didn’t fully appreciate the conversation unfurling like a satchel of forgotten game meat behind me.

“There are things she must know, Kyn. Errant thinking cannot be allowed. Not for her.”

“‘Cannot be allowed’?” Kyn asks. “She’s not a child. Your hatred for Winter seeps into every story you tell. She won’t listen if you can’t—”

“Then she is selfish.”

“I’m selfish?”

“Welcome back, Miss Quine.”

“Selfish is coercing a defenseless girl into joining a ratted group of rebels,” I say.

“Miss Trestman was hardly defenseless.”

Our words are angry, bouncing off the cab, growing louder.

“May I?” Hyla asks, speaking above the din. “Mars, Kyn? If you will allow me . . .” But no one stops. No one listens. She jams her gun out a hole in the canvas and fires a shot. It startles me and I almost pull my foot from the gas. The cab falls silent.

“Sessa,” Hyla says, setting the gun calmly on her lap. “I would like to tell you this story as it was told on Paradyia. Will you allow me?”

“I had a tutor,” I say, still fuming. “I’ve heard many versions of the story.”

“But you have not heard mine. You have not heard the Paradyian version of your history. Does that not interest you?”

“It’s the best offer you’re going to get,” Kyn says. “Take it, Sylvi. Before Mars starts talking again. For Begynd’s sake.”

Finally I nod, exhausted by the sheer volume of words spoken in the last few days. I’m not used to it. Not in my cab.

“I’ll start at the beginning, shall I?”

“Give it to us, Hy,” Kyn says. “Tell us about the monsters.”

Hyla begins with a dip of her chin. “When Begynd, son of Sola, cut his people from the rock of Shiv Island and poured himself like water into the great valley, his presence stirred something in the land and in the winter spirit that had enthroned herself in the mountaintops. Suddenly aware of herself and the world she inhabited, Winter craved another spirit to share her existence with. She craved friendship. And she sought it first in the Shiv people. But they belonged to Begynd and Begynd alone, the warmth of his kindness toward them keeping Winter’s touch at bay.”

I sigh. “So she created monsters?”

“Listen, Miss Quine.” Mars dabs at his lips, but his words prickle. He approves of the Paradyian account. Wants me to hear it. It’s enough to poison the tale entirely.

Hyla clears her throat and continues. “Winter looked to the black mineral buried beneath the rock. The kol had a power—that she could not deny—but time would teach her that it did not have a will. The kol was not spirit like she was and made for a poor companion. Frustrated, she built men out of snow, imitating the work of Begynd. But try as she may, she could not breathe into them life.”

“It was then that she gave the kol its first command,” I say, bitter, annoyed. Already the story is turning Winter into an unfeeling dictator. I can’t reconcile all that she is, but it seems too simple, unfair, to brand her so carelessly.

“Very good, Miss Quine,” Mars says, watching me from beneath hooded eyes.

“I told you. I’ve heard this story before.”

“Hearing and listening are not the same thing.”

“Listening and believing are not the same thing either.”

“Shall I continue?” Hyla asks.

“Just yell over them,” Kyn says. “When they’re all grown up, they’ll realize they don’t have to have the last word.”

Mars snorts and I force my gaze back to the road.

“Sorry, Hyla,” I say. “Yes, please. Go ahead.”

“Winter’s first request of the kol was modest,” she says, her words painting a picture. “She could not venture from the safety of her mountaintops, but the kol permeated every part of the island, all four wings and beyond. Surely, the kol knew where she could find what she so desired. ‘Find me a people to love,’ she told the kol. ‘Flesh and bone. Find them. Bring them to me.’

“The kol knew precisely where to look, for it had long ago searched out the mysteries of the sea. Flesh and bone, Winter wanted. And it was flesh and bone she would receive.”

Despite my frustration, I shiver at the thought. We’re rounding the top of the road, leaving the second cage and entering the third. I adjust, nearly standing in an effort to keep my foot on the