Page 32 of House of the Iron Reaper

Deimos releases the hem and covers his tattoo once more, sinking back into his seat.

“But it did not,” Ronan says firmly. “That’s why you returned, no? To prove it was no mere stroke of luck.”

My eyes catch on the Shivanya figure by the door. The cushion before the shrine is threadbare, nearly worn through.

“You cannot transform,” I say quietly.

All three of them swivel to look at me. I fight to keep my eyes level with Deimos, who gives me a sad smile.

“Novalie was right about you,” he says, and the warmth of the room rises tenfold. “You are more observant than you let on.”

At the edge of my vision, I see Novalie straighten.

“Do not take my words out of context,” she grumbles, and I turn to her.

“S-So you did say that? About m-me?” I stammer out, and Ronan rolls his eyes at us.

“Continue with your tale, my friend,” he says to Deimos.

Novalie and I close our mouths and look away from each other. My hands clench, and my cheeks burn, but I do my best to ignore it.

“Deyanara is right. I cannot transform,” Deimos continues quietly. “My faeth is… lost to me. I have prayed thrice a day ever since my defeat, but it is out of my reach.”

Deimos looks down at his hands, shoulders hunched. After a breath, he continues.

“I was given bahk to recover. It saved my life, saved my krata—the beast nearly destroyed it. I feared I would never walk again. Never breathe water and ice again. Bahk saved me.” Deimos leans forward, running a hand through his cerulean hair. “And then it ruined me.”

House Copper is silent, Meris long since disappeared. Sorrow radiates from Deimos, pulls his shoulders down and lines his face.

“I continued taking bahk long after I needed it. My first day back at training, my hands shook so terribly, I thought my bones would rattle right out of me. I took some more bahk, just to stop the shaking.” Deimos squeezes his eyes shut. “Every time I faced an opponent—Saints, even if I faced a dummy, all I could see was that damn doomkin lunging at me. How easily it sliced through me, like I was nothing. I took more bahk to stem the fear, to make me see clearer. But I kept shaking, and I was still fearful, and I could only see that doomkin. I kept taking it and taking it and taking it, and it did nothing but numb me.

“The Saints know I did not deserve my faeth. So they took it, and I cannot get it back.”

Molten glass. Broken screams. My father hunched over me, limp.

And Lysandra, pulling me free from the rubble. The memory startles me—I have not thought about the ‘after’ in so long. Her arms around me, tear-streaked face pressed into my hair. My own tears had long since dried. But when she held me, she was warm and moving and alive. I cried with her, and my mourning began. I do not think it ever ended.

Now, I wrap my arms around Deimos and pull him flush to me. A startled breath escapes his lips, but he does not protest. I lean my cheek against his shoulder and hold him tight.

After a beat, Ronan stands and circles the table to join us. He bends, wrapping two meaty arms around us both, his chin against the crown of Deimos’s head. Novalie appears a second later, hugging Deimos from the other side to me, her arms not quite reaching as far as mine.

Deimos shakes, tears falling silently onto his lap. We do not say anything because we do not need to. We can only hold him and, for now, that is enough.

Chapter 13

Novalie

“My mother believes you are a suitor,” I say. “She hounded me for days after you sent that Baidu. Saints, you would think we have never received a message in our lives.”

Deimos casts me an apologetic grin, chopping a large cactus bulb into chunks. I stand beside him at the cooking counter, crushing salt and scarlet spices with a mortar and pestle. My eyes water from the sting of the cactus bulbs, but Deimos seems unaffected. He hums contentedly, like Meris, his hair tied back out of the way.

House Copper is livelier than the last time I visited. Now the sun is risen, the benches are full of Copper dragons finishing their breakfasts. The room rings with raucous laughter and animated conversation. The noise was overwhelming at first, but I soon find myself enjoying the din as it fills the gaps between Deimos and I’s conversation.

“I thought a Baidu would be a better messenger than myself,” he replies, tossing the chunks of bulbs into a wide, shallow bowl. “I have only visited the upper tiers for Dragon’s Vale. I thought your House might have guards or… something.”

I smother a smile.

“We have no need for guards,” I say, handing him the bowl of crushed salt and spices. “My mother is off-putting enough.”