Page 38 of House of the Iron Reaper

“I almost expected you to gain a new tattoo for that,” she says.

She tugs down her shawl, exposing her smile, and hands me the dish. I take it, but I find myself looking at her mouth.

Even though I only glance for a second before meeting her eyes, neither of us let go of the dish. My heart pounds ferociously. My stomach flutters as though trying to take flight. Realising I have not been breathing, I inhale sharply. How much must someone mean to you if only a look is enough to take the air from your lungs?

Novalie blinks, and looks away. I take the dish onto my lap and avert my eyes, staring forward.

“My thanks, Shu Novalie,” I say, my voice hoarse. I clear it awkwardly.

“The next time you call me ‘shu’, I will tell Aythora you have been shirking your training.”

“You would not.”

“Oh, I would.” The usual venom in Novalie’s voice is lacking.

When I gather the courage to cast her a sidelong glance, I see her smirking.

“The Houses were in high spirits today,” I tell her, removing the clay lid from the bowl, and taking a deep inhale of the contents.

I had passed House Coal after my shift ended, not stopping to see Lysandra before I made my way to Copper Heart. But even from the gates, I could hear the cheer over supper time. Turning to Novalie, I smile at her.

“I have you and Deimos to thank for that,” I say, praying my gratitude is clear.

Novalie huffs a laugh.

“Deimos, mostly, and Meris.” She shakes her head. “If I had cooked alone, you would likely have a very different expression on your face. Not quite glee, perhaps more disgust.”

I laugh, and the feeling is so unfamiliar, I nearly stop myself. Novalie’s smile widens.

“I do not believe it,” I tell her.

“No, no, you are quite right,” she concedes. “You would eat it out of politeness and make yourself ill.”

“It is bad manners to refuse a dish,” I agree. “But I cannot imagine any scenario where I would refuse you, regardless.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to flee. I turn away from Novalie quickly and begin shovelling food into my mouth as a poor distraction. Novalie is quiet for several moments, only heightening my embarrassment.

“I have made a mistake,” she says eventually, echoing herself from earlier. “Lysandra asked me how I knew you. Why I was asking for you. I could not tell her the truth so I… I told her…”

I pause eating and watch with wide eyes as Novalie sinks forward. She groans, head in hands.

“Reapers take me,” she mumbles miserably. “I… I have told Lysandra we are… courting.”

I stare at her, food forgotten. For a long moment, I do not understand what she means. Perhaps I misheard her.

“Courting,” I repeat plainly. “Surely you do not mean…”

Novalie says nothing, her head still in her hands.

“Courting,” I say again, stuck in a loop. “As in… a couple.”

Novalie shoots back up to sitting, her face frantic.

“It is not real, you understand,” she emphasises. “The words just… they exploded from me before I could stop them. And then Lysandra acted like I was lying—which, of course, I was. But she was not to know that. And she thought the whole idea was simply ridiculous, which just made me angrier and…. and…”

Novalie wails, covering her face with her hands. Even so, I see the fierce blush of her cheeks.

“I am sorry,” she says from behind her palms. “I have made such a mistake. I am so, so sorry.”