Page 52 of House of the Iron Reaper

“Anything,” I tell him, his hair tickling the back of my arm.

“I was reluctant to re-join the Rites,” he says and slowly kicks his legs in the water. “But it was the right thing to do. Since meeting you and Ronan and Novalie…”

Deimos takes a deep breath.

“I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.”

Something tugs in my chest and I find myself blinking back tears again. Even in the dead of night, with a sky full of stars and the chill of the siren baths, I feel like my body is made of sunshine.

I let my head fall onto his.

“Can I confess something?” I whisper. “So do I.”

Chapter 19

Novalie

Nerves chew at my stomach as I wait for Deyanara to arrive. The sun peeks only slightly over the horizon, the sky painted red as Coalsburgh awakens. I had lightly nibbled my breakfast, earning a frown from my mother, and spent entirely too long arranging and rearranging my hair. Even now, I am displeased with it, and fight the urge to reach up and rearrange it once more.

This is ridiculous. I should not be nervous, certainly not for some false courtship. And yet, when I catch sight of Deyanara walking towards me, my stomach leaps into my mouth.

“Good morrow, Bu Novalie,” she greets me softly.

She looks different. Her golden hair is braided into two dragonesque horns atop her head. Several curls have been loosened, framing her face and trailing down the back of her neck. I absently wonder what it would be like to twirl one around my finger.

And her clothes I do not recognise. A muted red dress, cut open at the shoulders and a slit exposing the smooth skin of her muscled thigh. Saints.

I clear my throat, realising I have been staring.

“Good morrow,” I reply hastily. “You…”

Deyanara’s eyes widen expectantly as I trail off.

“You look lovely,” I finish, and my voice comes out breathier than I intended.

Heat floods my cheeks. Lovely does not begin to describe her. Lovely feels like a drop of paint in the mural of her vision. But what else can I say?

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I… I thought it prudent to look the part, as it were. To maintain the illusion.”

Deyanara reaches up to absently touch her hair, and I notice the quake in her hands.

“You do. Look the part, I mean,” I say stupidly. Coughing, I try again. “You should wear your hair like this more often.”

I sound like I have given her an order. Deyanara’s brows raise and I stumble on, trying to correct myself.

“Not that I mean you should do anything. You are, of course, not obligated at all. But you would look nice if you did. But only if you choose to. Not to say you look ugly usually, your hair is fine either way. I hardly notice, really, although not to say I do not care.”

Reapers take me. Let a sinkhole appear beneath my feet and swallow me whole, never to be seen again. Let a building fall upon my head. Anything to get me to stop talking.

“You look lovely, also,” Deyanara gently interrupts me, a smile threatening, and saves me from my barely coherent ramble.

“My thanks,” I say, grateful to move on from this harrowing moment. “I thought you might like to browse the shops with me?”

I offer my elbow, despite the height difference. Deyanara slots her hand through, resting it on my forearm. She is warm against my skin and I ignore the fluttering in my stomach.

We stroll through the middle tiers, making our way to the upper tiers in no hurry at all. Baidus and delivery dragons flit past us, and the scent of breakfast stalls wafts through the air.

“Elder Lysandra gave her permission, then?” I say as we climb the slope to the upper tiers.