Page 30 of House of the Iron Reaper

“Your House, fool,” she hisses.

“Apologies! Yes, House Iron.” I suck in a breath and start from the beginning. “Deyanara of House Iron.”

“No matter the stumble, Ni Deyanara, you made it in the end,” Meris says playfully.

After a beat, her smile slips and her eyes widen. She looks between all of us before settling on me again, gasping.

“Saints!” she exclaims. “The Iron Reaper!”

“A little quieter, please, mother,” Deimos hushes her, shaking his head. “Deyanara wishes to remain anonymous.”

“Ah, of course, apologies.” Meris lowers her voice, but her eyes have stars in them as she gazes up at me. “The Iron Reaper… in my House! Imagine! But how different you look—I must ask how you darkened your hair so well? And your stature…”

I squirm under the intensity of her questions. Novalie bristles, muttering something like, “I’m here too…” under her breath. Thankfully, Deimos notices my discomfort and shakes his mother from her reverie.

“We were hoping for a repast, mother?” he prompts.

Meris blinks, her attention brought back to focus.

“Oh, yes, of course! You all must be ravenous.” She hurries behind the counter. “I just finished a fresh batch of spiced fig stew. Deimos, help me bring everything out for our guests. Everyone, please take a seat!”

Novalie, Ronan, and I settle down at one of the long tables, as Deimos and Meris fuss behind the counter. Novalie and I make to sit down next to each other at the same time, arms knocking. I turn to apologise but she has already stood, cheeks glowing as she sits next to Ronan instead on the opposite side. Ronan quirks an eyebrow at her before clicking his tongue in understanding.

“Ah,” he says. “You want to keep an eye on your closest friend. Better view from this side, I suppose.”

“What insane nonsense are you spewing now?” Novalie says tartly as the heat rushes up to my neck. “I have no close friends here.”

“No?” Ronan’s eyes flick between us, a wicked smile on his lips. “Lovers, then?”

I nearly choke on my own saliva. Novalie turns a shade of purple that almost matches her hair.

“You-you… I do not… We are not-”

“What has the esteemed Novalie at such a loss for words?” Deimos interrupts, carrying five bowls of food stacked along his arms. He places them delicately on the table.

“Nothing,” Novalie says through her teeth, refusing to make eye contact with me. She turns to Ronan as Deimos leaves to collect more dishes. “How many times must I say it? She is my rival.”

“Rivals. Lovers.” Ronan shrugs. “When they both take up your every waking thought, what’s the difference?”

Novalie stares at him, agape. I can almost hear the acid bubbling up inside her. I lower my eyes, finding a rather interesting spot in the wood to stare at.

Lovers.

My heart hammers so loud, I wonder if it might burst from my chest.

“And here we are.” Meris saves us, swooping in to place the last of the dishes on the table.

Deimos scoops three large ladles of spiced fig stew into my bowl, filling it to the brim, before laying two fresh flatbreads on my plate. I stare down at it, eyes wide. I cannot remember the last time I saw so much food.

“M-My thanks, Shu Deimos, but you need not waste so much on me. I should-”

“Food is the foundation of all strength,” Meris interrupts, heaping hot grain into another bowl and placing it next to my stew. When I open my mouth to protest, she continues, “And it is considered impolite in House Copper to decline a meal.”

She says this with a twinkle in her eye, making me think it is not quite true. Still, I grasp onto the excuse.

“Then I am greatly obliged.” I smile and bow my head.

Steam rises from my stew, a mixture of earthy richness and something creamy. Even smelling it makes my stomach rumble greedily. I rip a chunk of flatbread free and dip it into the stew, blowing off the worst of the heat, before taking a tender bite.