move to speak, but my mouth is dry. I swallow down a scratchy gasp.
His fingers tighten in my hair. “Are you OK? What is it?”
Finally my lips cooperate.
“Don’t slow down.”
CHAPTER 17
Cresting the top of the last cage is rough—the Dragon sputters and protests, but she never stalls. Winter tries to take the credit.
SEE, she says, SEE.
But this one’s on Vaxton, the rigger who built the Dragon. He was a pompous old codger, but there’s no denying he was a top-level wrenchman.
Kyn stops in the dead center of the road and the two of us climb out. Most of the repairs can wait until we reach North Bend, but with the canvas covering Hyla’s window gone, we’re going to have to improvise.
“A blanket maybe?” Kyn’s staring up at the gaping hole, his hands in his pockets. “You’ve got an itchy wool one back there that’s not good for much else.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize your skin was so sensitive.”
“And beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.”
I snort. “The blanket will be soaked through in no time, but I’m out of ideas. Let’s give it a go.”
While he digs out the waterproof glue and the blanket, I crawl up on the hood and apply another layer of weather repellent to the windshield. It’s hardly worth the effort, the glass crumbling, chunks missing.
“We’re going to have to bundle up,” I say, sliding to the ground. It’s gusting now, Winter blowing straight in our faces. “Even with the heater, the Dragon’s going to be an icebox.”
“We could snuggle,” Kyn says.
“I’ll let Mars know you’re available.”
We’re about a quarter of a mile from the river crossing, but the road bends just ahead and we can see Crane Falls from here: blue streaks of snow and ice, frozen as they fell, glistening wet in the light of the Desolation. My legs tremble with the temperature, but it’s warmer than it should be. Warmer than we can afford.
Overhead, the clouds shift and the moon presses her advantage. A starving slip of a thing begging to be seen.
“I can’t remember when I last saw the stars,” Kyn says, his boots settling next to mine.
“Me neither.”
And then with a great, frigid exhale, the heavenly lights are gone, hidden again beneath Winter’s gray gloom.
“Not one for sharing attention, is she?”
No, she isn’t.
“We should go,” I say. “There’s a Shiv settlement in the mountains above Crane Falls. I don’t know if they’ll have heard what happened in the pass, but—”
“We’ll keep an eye out,” Kyn says, and then, after a moment: “You’re a good driver, Sylvi. What you did back there—”
“The Dragon’s a good rig.”
“She’s better with you behind the wheel. I’m a fine driver, yeah? I know I am. I get the job done every time. But I wouldn’t have braved the Cages. Not even with the Dragon. I understand why you didn’t want to take this job.”
There are things I could say. About how Lenore left me no choice. Arguments to be had about all the decisions that led to this one. The people who suffered so we could get here. But it’s all much more complicated than it was when we started. And not just for me.
“I want you to know—”
“We need to go,” I say, not wanting him to voice that injured thing thrashing around inside his chest. I’ve been ignoring it since High Pass. At first I didn’t understand how I could feel the catch of his breath, the rapid beat of his heart, but as one feeling layered over another, as they knotted and tangled, I was reminded of Hyla’s words about her husband. And now I wonder if there’s any truth to what she said. If, over time, two people really can become one. It’s a dangerous thought, and if Kyn’s tempted to speak any hint of it, I’d rather he didn’t.
But his eyes are on mine, his jacket open and blowing in the wind. Winter’s light turns his cheekbones sharp and it’s not hard at all to imagine a craftsman chipping him from the mountain rock with exacting precision. His mouth opens but then his brow furrows.
“You hear that?” he asks.
But I’m already turning, already looking to the road. “I hear it.” Up ahead, the ice is cracking—a sobering, ominous sound. “Blys is coming. Faster than is natural.”
“Almost like Winter wanted it that way.”
When I turn back to him, his eyes are climbing my chin, the bridge of my nose, the curve of my forehead—his gaze piercing, like crampons looking for purchase in the