But Tristan doesn’t seem to hear me, or if hedoes he ignores me, ’cause he and Adele are staring at each other.Adele says, “President Lecter is slaughtering their people?” likeit’s a question, but the look on her face tells me she’s notlooking for an answer. She’s gone even paler, her cheeks a whitesheen even under the shadow of the ridiculous piece of stiff clothon her head.

“Who the scorch is President Lecter?” Skyeasks.

Adele and Tristan both turn sharply towardus, like they’re only just remembering we’re here. Tristan’s handsare tightened into fists, which are turning slightly pink under thehot sun, like he wants to punch someone. If he tries anything, I’llfeather him with arrows quicker’n he can say sunburn.

“He’s a person, like us,” Tristan starts, butthen stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Not like us, not really. Imean…” He’s having trouble explaining, which isn’t helping thetension in the air. I see Skye pull her sword outta the groundslowly. Just in case.

“Let me,” Adele says gently, placing a handon Tristan’s arm, which is now trembling slightly. A simple touch,but it speaks so much to me. It’s the way I would touch Circ—theway he would touch me. More’n a touch—a feeling. These two mean agreat deal to each other, that much is as clear as the cloudlesssky above us.

Fingers brushing Tristan’s skin, Adele says,“Do you know of the people living underground?”

Wilde looks at Skye. Skye looks at me. Ishake my head, say, “All we know is that one day the Glassiespopped from the ground. Only they weren’t the Glassies, not yet.They were just white-skinned people, like you, trying to buildshelters. It was a long time ago. They didn’t last very long. Theyweren’t used to the air. It’s…not good air.”

The guy, Tristan, takes a step back out ofthe sun, removes his eye coverings. Adele mimics his movements. Hereyes are huge, as big as a full moon, but his are even bigger.“What happened next?” he asks.

I shrug. They came back. Not the same ones,of course, they were dead, but others. More prepared. Wearing funnysuits. Protected somehow. I wasn’t even born, but we all know thehistory. Over many years they built huge structures, constructed aglass dome over everything. Only once the dome was finished didthey stop wearing their funny suits. We don’t know for sure, but wethink the dome protects them from the bad air. They live longer’nwe do.”

“Why did they attack you?” Adele bursts out,like the question’s been pushing against her lips for a whilenow.

Wilde responds ’fore I can even begin tothink of what to say. “They’re scared of us. Because we’redifferent than them.”

“They searin’ killed a bunch of us,” Skyeadds, “but not all. They underestimated us. Now we’re gonna kill’em. Startin’ with you.”

I watch as Adele’s fingers tighten ’round hersword handle. Her face hardens. It’s like watching Skye look at herreflection in the watering hole.

“Skye,” Wilde says, “we should listen to whatthey have to say.”

Skye doesn’t look convinced, but she relaxesher body a little, as if she’s not looking for a fight. But I knowbetter. She’s still standing on the balls of her feet, still strungas tight as a bowstring, ready to spring into action if she doesn’tlike what she hears. My fingers dance along the shaft of thepointer I’m holding, too, just in case I need to use it.

Turning back to our visitors, Wilde says,“Tell us again who you are, how you fit in with the Glassies. Yousaid you’re sun dwellers?”

“Yes.” Tristan nods vehemently. Says “Yes,”one more time. “Well, I’m a sun dweller. We live underground. Thereare three layers, Sun, Moon, and Star. Adele is a moon dweller,from the middle layer. The deepest are the star dwellers. There’sbeen a massive rebellion; our people have been fighting, because myfather was…not a good man…a tyrant.” Don’t I know thefeeling. Our father was a bad man, too, selling my youngersister, Jade, to the Soakers in exchange for what he thought was aCure for the airborne disease killing my people. Only he didn’twant it for my people. Just for himself and a select group ofleaders. Not a good man. I don’t cry when I remember his death.Killing him is ’bout the only good thing the Glassies havedone.

“And the Glassies?” Wilde asks.

Tristan shifts from one foot to t’other. Ishe nervous? “They used to be sun dwellers—at least, most of them.Some of them were moon and star dwellers too.”

“I told you!” Skye says. “They’re the same.They’re the enemy.” The tension is back in her arms. She lifts hersword.

“No!” Adele says, practically shouting,speaking quickly. “None of us knew they’d gone aboveground. None ofus even knew it was possible. They—the earth dwellers, er, theGlassies—have cut themselves off from us. We had no idea what theywere doing to your people. If you don’t believe us you can try tokill us, but by God you might die trying.”

Things are escalating too fast and I knowthat look in my sister’s eyes and ’fore I even know what I’m doing,I throw down my bow and jump in front of her, grab her muscly arms,so much stronger’n my own, but she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t try tobreak through, almost like she knew I’d stop her and was onlymoving forward ’cause she felt like Adele’s words required ananswer of force.

Behind me, Tristan says something I nevercoulda predicted. “We killed my father because he was evil. IfPresident Lecter is as evil as you say he is, we’ll help you killhim too.”

Chapter Three

Dazz

I don’t mind thedeepening cold as we trek up the mountain. It’s familiar, like anold friend, crisp and alive, even as it creeps through my boots tomy toes and reddens my nose.

“Do you think much has happened since weleft?” Buff asks.

It hasn’t been that long, maybe two weeks.Despite the short length of our excursion away from ice country,there’s only one answer to my friend’s question. “Yes,” I say. Theonly question we asked Wilde before we parted ways was whether ourfamilies were safe. Knowing that was enough. Now I wish I’d askedmore. Like “How is the new government coping?” and “Has King Goffreceived his sentence yet?”

“Dazz?” Buff says, snapping me away from mymuddled thoughts.

“Yah?”

His only response is a hard-packed snowballto my gut. We’ve reached the snowfields.

I respond in turn, pelting him with aslushball that’s filled with gravel and twigs. And then we’re bothwhooping, relishing the powdery snow beneath our boots, our legschurning, suddenly zinging with energy, carrying us up the slope.We reach a rise, laughing, panting, elbows on knees.

This is ice country. This is my home. Wilde’srevelation echoes in my ears:

The Glassies spoke of the risk of the Icerstoo. How now that King Goff has been overthrown they can’t trustthe people of ice country either. They said they want to cleansethe lands from the desert to the mountains to the sea.

If the Glassies want to kill us, let themtry. We’ll fight for our lives the same way I fought for my sister,Jolie.

They’re forcing us into a war. The Icerstoo. We’ll have to stand together.

Wilde’s words grate against my teeth. If it’sa war the Glassies want, we’ll give it to them. We will stand. Wewill fight. We will win.

“Hey, relax,” Buff says, slapping myshoulder. “Let’s get there first, then we’ll think about what hasto be done.” As usual, my friend is able to read me like a book.Hiding emotions has never been my thing.

I flash a false smile and continue on up themountain.

At some point, the snow starts falling, ahandful of lazy flakes meandering on a light breeze, paintingeverything white. We trudge on, the hours falling under the solesof our thick, bearskin boots. I wonder where Skye is, whether herand Wilde and Siena have met up with their spies yet, whetherthey’re making their way back toward wherever the Tri-Tribes arecamped out.