Page 39 of House of the Iron Reaper

My brain churns like treacle, thoughts thick and slow. But even I know Novalie does not apologise lightly. I reach across to pat her shoulder gently.

“All these apologies… you sound like me,” I say with a tentative smile.

It works. Novalie peeks through her fingers, narrowed eyes watching me. But the tell-take crinkle at the corners give her away.

“Maybe this was not a mistake,” I say carefully.

Novalie’s hands drop, and she frowns at me. Her green eyes glow under the algae lamps. I swallow and glance away before I get caught up in them.

“Maybe this can…” I struggle to think of the words. “Work in our favour?”

“Deyanara,” Novalie says quietly. “Are you suggesting a ruse?”

Nerves on the brink of fraying, I chew my bottom lip and say, “Perhaps?”

A sly smile crawls across Novalie’s face.

“Well, well, well.” She sits back, crossing her arms and regarding me through half-lidded eyes. “No longer content with sneaking out for secret training, hmm? Whatever will Lysandra think.”

My insides turn to water, and I nearly take everything back. Novalie must see me blanche because she holds her hands up.

“I jest, I jest,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I cannot chide you overly. It was my mistake, after all.”

Novalie sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. It falls through her fingers like silk. I have the insane thought to reach out and touch it.

“This… courting.” Novalie looks uncomfortable even saying the word. “I think you may be right—it could be a useful cover for us. Although, I cannot say Lysandra was altogether pleased at the prospect.”

“If it is something that may distract me from work, then I imagine not.” I pause, curiosity overpowering. “What did she say, exactly?”

Novalie sighs.

“Ugh. She said my fancy was fleeting, and I would drop you as soon as it became difficult.” Novalie rolls her eyes so hard, they threaten to fall from her head. “Utter tripe.”

“What did you say in return?”

She straightens, ears turning pink.

“I defended your honour, of course, as any suitor would.” She does not meet my eye.

A small thrill runs up my spine.

“And?” I press.

“And what?”

“Well, what was it you said?”

“It is irrelevant.” Novalie flaps a hand dismissively and stands. “Besides, I have tarried too long.”

“Oh. Of course.”

I grip the sides of the bowl in my lap, heart sinking. I think of something to say, something to prolong her visit. Novalie hesitates, lingering, her back to me.

“Do not shirk your training,” she says without looking at me. “Be at Dragon’s Vale tonight, and every night thereafter. Do not be late.”

Chapter 15

Deyanara