Page 22 of House of the Iron Reaper

Deyanara

The world rushes back in at once, so loudly I fight not to shrink back. It is akin to a roar unlike anything I have ever heard before, pressing in on all sides, enough to rock the arena. My lungs shrink. My head swims. And the pain of the fight returns with a sudden clarity, sharp as a blade.

And then it grows. And grows. Not only my shattered rib or aching body, but a new pain across the back of my left hand.

Teeth clenched, I frantically tug off my worn leather glove, ready to see blood or broken bones. Instead, a moving tangle of golden ink writhes across my skin.

I suck in a breath.

Oh.

The shock of it gives me only a moment before a searing pain shoots over the delicate bones of my hand. I cry out, grasping my wrist.

“Congratulations to our first contender!” the Baidu calls, voice ringing around the arena as I fall to my knees. “The slayer of scorpions, the masked and mysterious, the…”

They suck in a breath and pause. The crowd ignites.

“... Iron Reaper!”

I squeeze my eyes shut, the noise of the crowd making loose sand bounce from the ground. My tattoo settles, the pain ebbing away. I look at it through blurry eyes. A golden gift from the Saints.

“Iron Reaper!” the crowd cheers, boots slamming against the ground.

My lungs ease open. Salty air stings my throat in a way I welcome, grounding me.

“Iron Reaper!”

I wipe my tears away and look to the crowd, searching.

“Iron Reaper!”

When I find the spot in the stands, it is empty. She has gone.

Elder Lysandra slams a fist on the table so hard, I hear it through the wall.

“Confess!” she snarls.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and suck in a breath. Aythora found me after the fight, sneaking me lavender tonic and another small vial of coral-pink bahk she said would help my rib heal quicker. It allowed me to be just about well enough for the next morning’s work, with only a persistent throb at my side. I spent the morning working as usual, but I stayed taut, as though waiting for Lysandra to come storming up to me at any moment. She did not.

Now the midday sun is at its peak and my work is done. News must have travelled to Lysandra already because I can hear her before I even enter the House.

Shaking the tremor from my hands, I step inside. The entirety of House Iron sits in the food hall, with Elder Lysandra at the very back. She prowls through the aisles, her smoky robes billowing behind her.

“One of you did it,” she says, her voice dangerously low. “One of you put your lives at risk last night, without any regard for the rest of this House.”

Lysandra leans down to stare a dragon in the eye suspiciously. She looks back with a flat gaze. Lysandra moves on. She looks across them with a falcon’s gaze, searching for mice.

“Confess!” she repeats, sweeping an accusatory finger around the hall.

No one says anything.

I creep across the back of the hall, back pressed against the wall and gaze lowered. I hold my breath.

“It was none of us, Elder,” a dragon pipes up.

“Oh?” Lysandra whirls on them. “So someone stole one of the shirts off your back and wore it to the Rites, I suppose?”

“No, but-”