“All set?” Roman asked.
Iris decided it would be best to tackle this … unpleasantness head on. She turned to address him—you really don’t need to come, Kitt—but he had already shut the door, perching on the side step as he had promised to do.
Iris got a good eyeful of his chest, which was blocking her window. But she could see he was holding on to the rickety metal of the side mirror—which looked like it might come off any moment—as well as the door handle. A strong gust might blow him away, but she held her tongue as the captain turned the engine.
They rolled out of Avalon Bluff, heading along the western road. Iris had never ridden in a lorry; it was surprisingly bumpy and slow, and she watched as the captain shifted the gear stick. She could feel the purr of the engine through the soles of her feet, and she couldn’t help but keep an eye on Roman with every pothole they hit. And there were quite a few of them.
“These roads haven’t been cared for in a while,” the captain explained when Iris nearly bounced off her seat. “Not since the war broke out in this borough. I hope your friend there can hold tight. It’s only going to get worse.”
Iris winced, shielding her eyes from a sudden flood of sunlight. “How long will this ride be?”
“Three hours, if the weather permits.”
Half an hour later, they stopped at the neighboring town of Clover Hill so the captain could load one last round of resources in the back. Iris rolled down her window and prodded Roman in the chest.
“It won’t do us any good if you break your neck on the way to the front,” she said. “I don’t mind sharing the seat. That is, if you don’t mind me sitting on your—”
“I don’t mind,” he said.
He stepped down, his hair snarled from the wind.
Iris opened the door and stood, cramped in the cab, as Roman ascended, sliding into the seat. He wedged his bag next to hers and then reached for her hips, guiding her back to sit on his lap.
She was rigid as a board, settled on his thighs.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
“Iris,” he whispered, and she stiffened. “You’ll go through the windshield if you don’t lean back.”
“I’m fine.”
He sighed, exasperated, as his hands fell away from her.
Her determination lasted all of ten minutes. The captain was right; the roads got bumpier, rutted from weeks of rain, and she had no choice but to relax, aligning her spine with Roman’s chest. His arm slid around her waist, and she rested in the warmth of his hand, knowing he was keeping her from bashing her head against the windshield.
At least he got mouthfuls of her hair in return, she thought. There was no doubt in her mind that he was as uncomfortable as she was. Especially when she heard him groan after a particularly deep set of ruts in the road, which seemed to knock their thoughts sideways.
“Am I hurting you?” Iris asked him.
“No.”
“Are you squinting, Kitt?” she teased.
She could feel his breath in her hair as he murmured, “Do you want to turn and see for yourself, Winnow?”
She didn’t dare, thinking it would place her mouth far too close to his. At the very least, he was calling her Winnow again. That was familiar ground for them; she knew what she could expect from him in those moments. The word spars and the snark and the frowns. When he addressed her as Iris … it was like completely new territory and it scared her sometimes. As if she were stepping up to the edge of a great cliff.
They reached the front late that afternoon.
A small town had been vacated by the residents, every building given over to the cause. The lorry parked in front of what looked to have been a city hall, and soldiers began to swiftly unload the crates of vegetables and bullets and fresh uniforms. Iris stood in the bustle, Roman behind her. She wasn’t sure where she should go or what she should be doing, and her heart was beating in her throat.
“Correspondents?” a middle-aged woman with a deep voice asked, stopping before them. Her uniform was an olive green with brass buckles, and a golden star was pinned over her breast. A cap covered her short black hair.
“Yes,” Iris said. “Where should we—”
“You’ll be shadowing Dawn Company. I’m Captain Speer, and my soldiers are just finishing up their time in reserves and will be heading to the trenches at sundown. Here, come this way.”
Iris and Roman fell into pace with her as she strode down the dirt street, soldiers sidestepping and casting curious glances at the correspondents as they passed. Iris had the brief, wild hope that she might encounter Forest. But she soon realized that she couldn’t afford to be distracted, letting her eyes roam over the many faces around her.
“Our companies serve on twelve-hour rotations,” the woman said. “Sunrise to sunset, whether that be watching the front, tending the communication trenches, or resting in reserve. This town is the reserve base. If you need to refill your canteens or grab a hot meal, you’ll go there, to the mess hall. If you need to wash, you’ll go to the old hotel on the street corner. If you need a doctor, you’ll go to that house, although do be forewarned that the infirmary is overflowing at the moment and we are low on laudanum. And if you look ahead, you’ll notice this road leads into the woods. That is where you will march with Dawn Company to the communication trenches, which can be found on the other side of the forest. You’ll stay there for the night, and then be ready to move to the front at sunrise. Any questions?”
Iris’s mind was whirling, trying to sort through all the new information. Her hand reached for her mother’s locket, hidden beneath the linen of her jumpsuit.
“Is there a chance we’ll see action?” Roman asked.
“Yes,” Captain Speer said. “Wear a helmet, obey orders, and stay down at all times.” Her gaze snagged on a soldier passing by. “Lieutenant Lark! See to it that the correspondents are given instruction and equipment for their time here. They’ll shadow your platoon for the next several days.”
A fresh-faced soldier stood at attention before his eyes rested on Roman and Iris. Captain Speer was halfway across the road before Lark said, “First time, is it?”
Iris resisted the urge to glance at Roman. To see if he was feeling the same dread and excitement that was coursing through her.
“Indeed,” Roman said, extending his hand. “Roman Kitt. And this is—”
“Iris Winnow,” Iris said before he could introduce her. The lieutenant smiled as he shook her hand. A scar cut through his mouth; it tugged the right corner of his lips down, but his eyes were crinkled at the edges, as if he had smiled and laughed often in the time before the war. Iris wondered how long he had been fighting. He looked so young.
“We’re happy to have you both here,” Lark said. “Come, I’m just heading to the mess hall to eat my last hot meal for a few days. It’d be good to grab a bite yourselves, and I’ll explain more about what you can expect.”
Lark began to lead the way to the city-hall-turned-mess, and Iris moved to walk on the other side of him, so that the lieutenant was between her and Roman. Roman noticed; he granted Iris a slight glance before turning his attention to what lay before them.