“The rebels did this?”
“Oh no, ma’am. We did it.” He taps the Majority patch on his shirt sleeve. “Every action has a consequence, I’m afraid.”
“But your workers didn’t blow that road,” Kyn says, leaning past me. “They aren’t rebels.”
“Most of ’em aren’t, you’re right about that. Best keep your fingers crossed these poor mucks make it through the week. Have to scrounge up some more workers if their brains turn to mush, and who knows where we’ll come knocking. You know all about that though, don’t you, Shiv?”
Kyn’s fingers tighten around the windowsill. “Know all about what?”
“Oh nothing,” the superintendent says, scratching his beard. “Just making sure you’ll pass the message along. Not everybody will have the pleasure of seeing what you’re seeing today. Off you go, now.”
Kyn grabs my window and yanks it back into place, scraping his cheek at the superintendent. We should go, but I can’t stop staring at the haunted line of laborers. Not far from where the Dragon idles, a woman chews her fingers, bloodying them trying to get at the kol. It’s how Lenore’s ma looked before she passed. Before we buried her in the cemetery outside the Stack.
“Sylvi?” Kyn says.
I tear my eyes away and shift the rig into gear. But my hands are cold and clumsy and behind us, horns blast.
“Fluxing Majority,” Kyn says, as I get the Dragon rolling. “They lose more of their workers to kol madness than anything else, but they don’t give a flux about the people cutting it from the rock. The bastards deserve every fight the rebels bring their way.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, and work to erase every desperate face we just rolled past. “And you said it was Mars who had the principles.”
Kyn’s not wrong. The Majority’s asking for a fight and there are plenty of people who will bring it to them. But the superintendent does have a point: Every action has a consequence.
At the very least, we’ve lost half a day. But with a trip through High Pass suddenly on the horizon, I fear we’ll lose more than that by the time we reach the end of this road.
And it’s the rebels who have left us no choice.
CHAPTER 5
Mars and Hyla are standing on the side of the road when we make the turn south. I stop just long enough for them to load in. We endure the blast of a single horn, but the road opens up here and traffic starts to even out.
Kyn moves to the bench seat next to Hyla, giving Mars the passenger seat.
“There’s a shop rag in the glove compartment,” I tell him, nodding at his hands. Blood creases his knuckles, turning his nails black and crusted.
“Thank you,” he says, digging out the rag, wiping at the stains.
“It won’t be long before they realize Jymy’s gone,” I say.
He tucks the rag away with a flourish. “I’m not afraid, Miss Quine. Are you?”
“Of all the things I’m afraid of in this moment, the Rangers concern me least.”
“High Pass then?”
“High Pass. But first, we need to talk about the tires on your trailer.”
“I know all about the problems with the snow at High Pass, Miss Quine.”
“And your tires?”
“They’re Paradyian-made, Sessa,” Hyla says, leaning forward between the seats, perching her goggles atop her head. “Like your Dragon’s tank tread, like the trailer’s turret. Fear not.”
My gaze moves from Hyla to Mars. “You’ve tested them in the pass then? Because there’s something seriously wrong with the snow there. No one trucks the summit anymore.”
“Miss Quine, this haul is of the utmost importance to me. I would not risk losing it to anything so maddening as snow.”
He says “snow” the way the riggers say “flux.” Like it’s a dirty word and he’s happy to pull it out and slap you with it. But I decide he has a point about his haul. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to make this trip happen.
“Mars tells me there are monsters on Layce, Sessa. Do they live in this pass? Is that why you do not want to go there?”
“Why do you call me Sessa?” I ask, pulling my eyes from the road, catching her fractured gaze in the mirror. “What does that mean? Is it Paradyian?”
“It is. A title bestowed on women of great honor.”
She’s so serious, I can’t help but grin. “And do Paradyians show such deference for all their truck drivers?”
Hyla blushes, her face flustered.
“It’s a formal moniker,” Mars explains. “An indicator of respect. Hyla was being polite.”
Kyn snorts. “You’re going to have to watch that, Hy. No one fears a polite soldier.”
“I’m always polite,” Hyla says. “Kindness does not make me weak. It allows others to be strong as well.”
“An army of polite Paradyians,” Kyn ponders. “Something I’d like to see before I die.”
“I shall show you then. Soldiers with manners and high-powered rifles. They are not as contrary as you believe.” Her tone is so severe Kyn howls with laughter.
Hyla shoves him into the corner of the cab, spreading her knees and pinning him there. Kyn’s laughing too hard now to fight back and Hyla has to lean forward to be heard.
“Are there monsters, then, Sessa?”
Mars could answer this question, I’m sure, but he watches me instead. I have to wonder what Lenore’s told him. If he knows what happened to Old Man Drypp.
“Not in the pass,” I tell her. “No.”
But like all the magical places of the world, there are monsters on Layce.
“Why come here?” I ask Hyla, eager to change the subject.
Paradyia is known for its artists and musicians. Its warm, blue waters and sunlit skies. It’s known for its refusal to engage in the politics that govern the Majority’s islands, and indeed, they’re the only kingdom in the Wethyrd Seas that has consistently been able to defend themselves from Majority invasions over the centuries. The Paradyian army is massive, their king respected—begrudgingly by the Majority ruling class—but respected nonetheless.
They are a kingdom untouched by the magic that has cursed Layce and they’ve worked hard to keep it such.
“A debt,” Hyla says. “A debt I am happy to pay.”
“You owe me nothing,” Mars says, adjusting the mirror and meeting Hyla’s gaze in the reflection. “You’ve only ever been a faithful friend.”
“But the saving of a life is something a Paradyian is bound to repay.”
“Have you not saved mine a dozen times since we left Paradyia?”
“I’ve done only what you’ve allowed me to do. Your life cannot be threatened as mine can,” she says, settling back in the seat. “Until I am sure, until I know in my heart that I have paid life for life, I cannot return home.”
It’s so noble I have to remind myself this woman nearly shattered my arm last week.
“As it happens, returning to Paradyia isn’t something that can be done without extensive planning,” Mars says.
“But you will return?” I ask Hyla.