Page 28 of House of the Iron Reaper

“My thanks,” I whisper.

“It’s remarkable,” Ronan agrees, turning his head to look at it this way and that. “Can’t say I’m not jealous—our tattoos are all manual and not nearly as pretty to look at.” He squints at it. “Is that writing there?”

“It is,” I say, straightening. “Kypiro. It is dragon text.”

“Kypiro,” Ronan echoes, rolling the word around in his mouth. “What does it mean?”

I nibble my lower lip, thinking.

“There is no equivalent word in the common tongue, I believe,” I say slowly, looking to Deimos for confirmation. He nods so I continue. “It is a feeling. When Scouts were first sent out to search for doomkin, the desert and surrounding area were not well mapped. Many got lost. Those who returned described the feeling as kypiro—coming home after a long time of not knowing your way.”

My voice breaks at the end, tears pricking. Finding my faeth, however small, after all this time. I send a silent thanks to the Saints. The guilt lingers but it’s faded, like a bloodstain washed out. It feels insulting to be ashamed of a gift from the Saints.

To my surprise, Ronan’s good eye glistens also.

“Well, if that’s not the most beautiful thing,” he chokes out.

“Are you quite well, my friend?” Deimos puts a hand on his shoulder, eyebrows knitted.

“I need a whiskey,” Ronan sniffs. “Damn dragons making me cry.”

He scrubs at his eyes. Deimos and I smother our smiles.

“We shall leave you here, Bu Deyanara,” Deimos says, stopping at the top of his tier. “Although you are more than welcome to join us?”

A yes sits on my tongue before I can stop it. But it does not come out. I swallow it back down and give my best apologetic smile.

“Apologies but I… I have much work to do tomorrow,” I say reluctantly.

“Perhaps another time, then,” Deimos says kindly.

I nearly change my mind. But it is as though the full exhaustion of the day sweeps over me at once.

“I hope so,” I tell them, and I mean it.

Chapter 12

Deyanara

After a week of hard training, a stomach growls loud enough for all of us to hear. I assume it is mine and make to apologise.

“Ugh!” Ronan exclaims to the sky before I can say a word. He clutches his stomach. “I’m starved! Where can I get some food this time of night?”

Another stomach rumbles and this time, Novalie raises her hand.

“The night markets are open,” she suggests. “I… I have some extra gems I have no plans for. I can buy for us all.”

Her tone is unlike how she usually sounds, and it is the first time she has spoken to us all week. I throw her a curious glance but she avoids my eyes. I try not to let it wound me, but it does.

A third stomach rumble joins the fray, this time from Deimos.

“No need, Novalie,” he says, wisely dropping the honorific after the first time she kicked him. “My House boasts the finest restaurant in the lower tiers, and I would be delighted to cook for you all.”

“This isn’t like the whiskey, is it?” Ronan says suspiciously. “Because that turned out to be a lie.”

“It was not a lie, it just was not to your taste,” Deimos says mildly.

“I believe he is right,” I say, voice quivering. My heart thunders as though I am staring down a doomkin and not merely talking casually. “I… I can often smell the food from House Copper.”