Page 20 of House of the Iron Reaper

I rise to my feet.

I cup my hands around my mouth.

I pool all the faeth I have into my throat.

Amplified with magic and every inch of my frustration, I scream.

“Do not dare die at another’s hands!”

The crowd falls into a hush as ten thousand eyes swivel to look at me. I do not stop.

Because Deyanara is looking at me too.

“You are my rival!” I bellow. “You are not permitted to be killed by anyone but me!”

Fingers grasp at the hem of my shirt, trying to pull me back into my seat, but I shrug them off. Ripples of tittering gossip radiate around me, but I ignore them too. I am not done.

“Do you hear me?” My throat burns and copper clings to my tongue. Deyanara is fixed on me, and that is all that matters. I think of her smile. “No one but me!”

My pool of faeth spent, I allow myself to be tugged back down. Mother grabs my shoulder, pulling my face in close to hers and covering us both with her fan.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she whisper-screams.

Her eyes are ablaze and I would shrink back under the fierceness of them, if I had not seen such familiar eyes in the looking glass each morning. She carries on.

“You have humiliated me in front of our House-”

I pull away from her, easily slipping out of her scrabbling grip.

“Yes, yes, apologies,” I say dismissively, voice hoarse. I rub my throat, feeling the faeth ebb away. “I shall not do it again.”

Mother stares at me with a mute fury but does not say anything further. Not in front of others, at least. The rage radiating from her almost matches the heat from Aythora.

But no matter. I turn impatiently back to the fight.

Did it work?

Deyanara rolls to the side to avoid another charge, using the momentum to stumble back onto her feet. Her legs wobble beneath her, threatening to give way. I worry at my lower lip—did my words do nothing? Mean nothing?

The doomkin rears back and charges towards her once more, feet thundering across the sand. The archers remain primed, the wardens watching closely. I lean so far forward, I am nearly out of my seat, my heart somewhere in my throat.

“What is that sound?” Mother says, frowning. “Is that coming from her?”

I narrow my eyes. She is right—Deyanara’s shoulders shake as she makes a choked noise. I nearly rise to my feet again but mother quickly yanks me back into my seat.

“What is that? What’s happening?” I ask Aythora without taking my eyes off Deyanara. “Is she dying?”

“No.” Aythora slowly shakes her head. She, too, cannot look away. “Listen.”

I strain to hear over the screams of the doomkin and the din of the crowd. It is only when Deyanara throws her head back, arm clutching her ribs, that I realise.

The twisted bitch is laughing.

Chapter 8

Deyanara

When I first learned to fly, I went higher than I was told to. My father chased after me, but I was far above him already. New wings beating against the air, as if I was pushing the sky down rather than lifting myself up. The world below me grew smaller, and in the hazy distance, I saw the glittering sea of the Crimson Deep.