She runs her finger over the gun strapped to her thigh, her words slow and deliberate. “The children of Layce are told not to dwell on the past, yes?”
“History is not taught in our schools,” Mars says.
“In contrast, we Paradyians are told not to promise the future. I cannot say where I will be tomorrow, Sessa. I wish I could. I’ve a husband across the sea who fought and slept alongside me for nearly ten years. Even now, I feel him in here.” She presses a hand to her chest. “We have become one person—he and I—and he has the great privilege of taking care of our two girls while I am away. I do not know what this road will bring, but Paradyia is home. My family is home, and I long to see them again.”
She smiles and I find myself returning it. I know what it means to have a home. It’s how I feel about the Dragon. How I feel about Lenore.
“You said Mars’s life can’t be threatened the way yours can. What did you mean by that?”
“Mars is strong in ways I’ve never seen,” she says. “How do you kill a man who could encase himself in ice with the snap of his fingers?”
“Finger snaps do nothing,” Mars says, his face turned away, distanced somehow from a conversation that revolves around him. “It’s words, Hyla. The power is in the words.”
“How did he save your life?” I ask, thinking of Lenore. I understand what it is to owe a debt.
“It was not my life he saved—”
“If you’re ready to hear a story, there are a few I would gladly tell you,” Mars says. “But not this one. Not now.”
Hyla claps Mars on the shoulder and settles back. “Another time then, Sessa. Another time.”
I grind my teeth at the mindless obedience. “We’re coming up on High Pass. There isn’t time for stories anyway.”
The road has emptied now. We’re alone out here, save Winter. And as we approach the pass, I feel her hot and restless in my belly.
Snow has fallen steadily since the moment we left Hex Landing. Now though, the wind picks up, battering the rig from all sides and sending snowflakes into a flurry. Winter’s never suffered visitors to the pass lightly, but there’s no forgetting my last trip here. I suck at the phantom blister inside my lower lip and focus on pushing through the snow. The blister’s gone now, but one Kerce word was all it took.
We’re high now, thousands of feet above sea level. Higher even than the village at Whistletop, and the mountains here are loud in ways that still surprise me.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME, Winter snarls.
I chance a peek at Mars, but despite Winter’s rage, he’s relaxed. Visibly so. His pale face has some color, his black eyes shimmer, and in the light bouncing off the mountains, I see something in them I hadn’t noticed before: There’s an iris visible beneath the kol.
“What?” Mars says, turning his face to mine.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m driving.”
He chuckles—soft and light. It’s almost endearing and I hate him for it. I don’t want to like this man.
Up ahead is a narrow fork. To the left, the road climbs down, a byway cut into the mountain that swings out and around, heading back toward Whistletop. But there’s no turning for home now. Not if Lenore’s at the end of this road.
The mountain looms large in the windshield, the incline steep. Kyn’s leaning so far forward his face is inches from my own. In the rearview, I see Hyla, her brow wide and flat, her golden eyes round and hungry, devouring the road before us.
My eyebrow hitches. “First time through High Pass, then? You all picked quite the season.”
The engine groans as the Sylver Dragon climbs higher up the mountain. I shift gears and press my foot to the floor, flooding the rig with enough power to get us to the top. The tank tread spins, digging into the snow crust. Even with the steady, faithful push of the tread, it’s a slow climb. The lower fork drops behind us as we press forward toward High Pass, the long narrow passageway that marks the summit of the Kol Mountains.
“What’s that?” Kyn asks, pointing to the ridge high above the roadway.
“Shiv caves,” I say. “Shouldn’t you know that? You’re the Shiv expert, remember?”
“They live in caves?” he asks, gaping.
I bite back a retort. His lack of knowledge scares me. Kyn might speak Shiv, but he’s a liability up here if we’re forced into an encounter. “There’s a series of dwellings on both sides of the pass,” I say, my tone measured. “But the view from here is deceptive.”
“Why?” Kyn leans farther forward, craning his neck left and right. His ear brushes mine and I have to shove him back into his seat. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Are their numbers fewer than they appear?”
“Far more,” I say. “The cave openings you can see from the road are nothing compared to the network beyond.”
We’re still too far away to see individuals, but it’s clear there’s movement.
“They’ve seen us,” Mars says.
In the mirror, Kyn is a mess of awkward elbows as he attempts to remove Drypp’s shotgun from the mount behind Hyla.
“You can’t shoot that up here,” I say, catching his gaze in the mirror.
“We can’t just let them attack the rig.”
“Look at the ice, Kyn. It’s barely clinging to the north peak. You fire that in the pass, the mountain might come down on us.”
IT MIGHT COME DOWN ANYWAY, Winter whispers.
Mars hears her, grins.
Kyn takes aim. “That’s what you and Mars are here for.”
“You can’t,” I say, focusing now on Mars, panic rising in my chest. “You can’t use magic. Not up here. Winter makes her home in the pass.”
“Your point, Miss Quine?”
“She may suffer you fairly if you let her be, but what would you do if a crew of smugglers rolled into your home and started rearranging things?”
Mars sits taller. “I’d offer them a bottle of my favorite red and ask for the latest news.”
“Mars—”
“We need to make a stop,” he says.
“Bad time to have to take a leak, boss.” Kyn’s grip is still tight on the gun.
“It’s up there, isn’t it?” Mars asks, a thin white finger jutting toward the south peak.
I know where he wants to go, but I won’t. I’m not stopping here. Not after what happened last time.
“I understand the draw, Mars. I do,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “But the best way to get your haul safely across the Shiv Road is to first, make it through High Pass alive. Stopping to pay homage—”
“Make the turn, Miss Quine.”
“I’m telling you—”
“I can make you take it,” he says, his voice deadly.
“And risk losing your haul?”
“Make the turn.”
“For some stupid Kerce sentiment?”
Mars clears his throat and turns his black eyes to the road. I follow suit, proud to have stood my ground. It’s insanity to make this stop. To take the turnout. He’s never been told no. Never been refused. He’s held that power over everyone’s head until they’ve handed over their own free will.