Page 24 of House of the Iron Reaper

“See, you do have a fever.”

My mother’s voice cuts through my thoughts, slamming the door on them. I shake my head. Daydreaming again, like a fool. What has come over me?

“Have you been on the lower tiers again?” Mother ploughs on. “Diseases run amok there.”

“Stop, please,” I say wearily, brushing her off again as she tries to feel my cheek. “It is just a warm evening. Allow me some peace.”

Before she can protest further, I push off the wall and into the milling crowd. My goblet is still full but I head towards the drink fountain regardless, seeking out anyone who can repel my mother. Serendipitously, Elder Lysandra comes into view.

Garbed in the deep black of House Coal, from where she was originally born, her inky hair is piled high on her head. Her arms and shoulders are bare, crimson tattoos covering her skin from elbow to collarbone. Although she is the Elder of two Houses, the others skirt past her with barely a tap to their chin. She stands alone, a full drink in her hand, her dark eyes watching the crowd. They catch me as I approach.

“Ni Novalie,” Lysandra greets me, tapping her chin.

Most lower tier Houses would address me with ‘shu’—even Elders. But not Lysandra. I tap my chin back.

“Shu Lysandra,” I reply, and her smile reaches her eyes.

“A fine ball,” she comments. “But I am afraid I must not tarry—the calls of an Elder do not cease, even for grand events such as these.”

“Mhm.” I stand beside her, looking out onto the sea of people.

House Stone is absent, as they often are—the quarry they mine is some distance away from the city and they only return once a season. House Coal has plenty of members but few show at upper tier events and the ones who do keep mostly to themselves. House Iron has barely a member to show. Leaving mostly Glass and Obsidian mingling, as usual.

I always had a disdain for these events but I am starting to realise just how terribly pointless they are.

House Glass is often likened to a museum of sorts. High ceilings painted with elaborate murals, glass displays of all the House treasures, conversation spoken in hushed tones. The coloured windows never allow full light, instead covering everything in a rainbow haze. It pleases my mother, but it makes my eyes ache.

“I would like to congratulate you, before you depart,” I say to Lysandra. She arches a brow so I add, “Your contender in House Iron. It has been some time since Iron put forth someone for the Rites.”

Lysandra’s nostrils flare and her eyes smoulder like hot coals. For a moment, I feel I am staring down the nose of a true Elder—the ancient dragons for which all House Elders are named for. Regal. Unyielding. More than a little intimidating.

“Indeed,” Lysandra eventually grinds out. “Though one must wonder whether the Rites are a priority when one’s House is in disarray.”

“The prestige-”

“Prestige is not edible,” Lysandra bites out. “Prestige does not pay for clerics. Prestige is only worth the gems you already have.”

I snap my mouth closed. A heavy pit forms in my stomach. I glance at the untouched food lining the room, and it suddenly makes me feel sick.

“Forgive me,” Lysandra says after a breath. “It has been a trying time.”

“Of course,” I reply, still looking at the food.

“With so few members of House Iron, it has been difficult to…” Lysandra closes her eyes briefly and shakes her head. “I will not burden House Glass with my woes.”

“Not at all.” I tear my eyes away from the food and take a sip of my drink, mouth dry. “We all have our woes, after all. For example, I must endure these inane social events instead of training for the Rites, lest my own mother smother me in my sleep.”

Lysandra graces me with a smile.

“Quite so,” she says and then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “I should be thankful, in truth. There are not many Iron dragons but, of them all, Deyanara has truly lived up to her lineage.”

My ears prick. Ignoring the skip of my heartbeat, I cast a casual glance around the room, as though only half-interested.

“Oh? I have not heard of her,” I say.

“You would not have.” Lysandra’s shoulders rise and fall. “She is not permitted to leave, except on business. She is the strongest dragon we have by far, and her duties are needed often.”

A stab of irritation lodges, the irrational urge to defend Deyanara coming to the fore. She is the strongest because you work her to the fucking bone.