Page 21 of House of the Iron Reaper

I had always been dimly aware of a world beyond our city. But it was not until I saw the colour of the ocean—a deep and shimmering red unlike any red I had seen before—I truly realised how little I knew of the world. In a childish decision, I flew towards the sea.

But I was very young, and my shapeshifting was new. My faeth, already small, quickly dwindled, and I did not have the practice needed to clear my mind, to replenish it. My wings began to fail me. They stuttered and grew stiff, retracting even as I worked harder and harder to beat them. My body was heavy as a brick. My muscles ached.

But as I fell, sinking through the air like a pebble in the water, I was smiling.

Fire coursed through my veins, rushed past my ears, set my heart off at a sprint. I cried afterwards, when my father scooped me out of the sand, but I was in no pain. My tears were a surge of raw energy. My father soothed me, smoothing down my hair, and sparks flew from my skin to meet him. He laughed, bright and loud.

On your feet, Dey.

It is only now, as I face the doomkin before me, I remember that feeling.

A burst of laughter escapes my throat, even as a stabbing pain lodges itself between my ribs. The mask presses against my face but does nothing to cloud my vision.

I turn my gaze to the doomkin charging at me. For the first time since the Iron Grief, I feel the bite of forked power inside me.

I have no shrine to kneel at, I whisper silently to my Saint. But I pray you are here with me. I pray you can hear me. I pray your strength finds its way to me.

I inhale the smell of salt and taste the tang of blood and pray to my Saint, mind clear.

Other realms call him the Idol. But dragons know him by another name—Anore the Unyielding.

My teeth ache with the taste of copper as faeth pools in the muscles of my back. For fire dragons, faeth is said to feel like the lick of flames against their skin. For water dragons, it is the cool edge of the sea lapping against their minds.

For me, it is the sharp pinch of lightning seizing me in its grip. My back muscles quiver and jolt as I push my wings out, golden leathery skin stretched between curved bones. If the crowd cheers or jeers, I do not know. But I know Novalie is there. I know she watches.

Not one but me.

Her words ring in my ears and send my heart into a frenzy. I unfurl my wings, the cool air fresh along my new skin, the weight of them bearing down on my back.

I am not a clever dragon, but I have a knack—to see something once, I can repeat it as much as needed. When the doomkin lunges at me, it is with a strike I have seen before. With Novalie.

I picture her fist and slide to the side. The doomkin lands face-down behind me in an explosion of sand and shrieks. With one beat of my wings, I push the sky down and soar into the air. My rib screams at me but I barely feel it. Faeth knits into every inch of bone and sinew and muscle. I am ignited. Charged.

I swoop down and grab the doomkin’s tail, gripping it tightly in the fleshy spot beneath its stinger I had noticed earlier—right before it threw me across the arena. It squeals, scrabbling to reach around and swipe at me with its man-like hands, but I hover in the air just out of reach. With one firm twist and less effort than I thought, its bones crack beneath my grip. I rip the stinger free.

The doomkin shrieks, thrashing in the sand. Blood as thick and dark as ink sprays from the stub of its tail. I rise higher and then higher still. Before the doomkin can recover, I raise the stinger above my head and fold in my wings.

I am a child again, free falling through the air with a grin on my face.

I land like a hammer on its back and drive the stinger through its skull. Black blood sprays in an arc across my face and mask, the silence immediate. The doomkin goes limp.

I stare down at it, my hands still gripping the stinger. I hear nothing but the sound of my own heaving breaths, I see nothing but the opponent beneath me.

Defeated. By my hand.

I stand and raise my eyes. The dragons in the stands cheer but I cannot hear them. They are a muted blur beneath the ringing in my ears. I turn on the spot, searching until I find her in the crowd.

Novalie stands, eyes wide and the shadow of a smile on her lips. I notice, for the first time, a dimple in her left cheek.

No one but me, she had screamed across ten thousand dragons.

Yes, I think. No one but you.

With the doomkin blood on my hands and its body beneath my feet, I raise my arm and point to her. Only her. I want it to be clear—no, I need it to be clear.

This was for you.

Chapter 9