Page 55 of House of the Iron Reaper

“Even House Glass?” I ask, even though I already know what the answer must be. Of course my mother would never allow a lower-tier dragon through the front door.

Deyanara gives a small nod, almost apologetically, and that infuriates me further. I sniff angrily and keep walking.

“Well, that obviously ends now,” I say firmly. “My House will meet you at the front gates for any future deliveries. If they need anything at the side door, they may take it there themselves.”

Deyanara says nothing for a long moment, trudging beside me.

“My thanks,” she says quietly. “But you do not need-”

“It is not because of you, of course,” I hasten to say. “Do not mistake me, this is not for your benefit. It is for everyone who delivers to us. I shall not have them treated as lesser, it is a disgrace to my House.”

The corner of Deyanara’s mouth ticks up.

“Of course,” she says, and I silently thank her for humouring me.

We approach the great front doors of House Obsidian, tall and wide enough to fit a fully transformed dragon. Excitement purrs in my chest—I cannot wait to show Deyanara what is inside.

But my excitement is cut short when a tall man with a spotless green shawl wrapped around his head steps in front of us, blocking our way. My nose scrunches in irritation but Deyanara taps her chin.

“Good morrow,” she says politely.

The man ignores her, turning to me.

“Good morrow, Fa Glass,” he says, as though Deyanara does not exist.

“I did not address you,” I tell him plainly.

“A lower tier dragon has not been granted permission to enter House Obsidian today,” he continues, still not looking at Deyanara.

Her cheeks bloom pink, and her head bows. I consider punching this man in the face.

“What are you prattling on about?” I snap. “No one needs permission to enter a House. We are here to visit Cahir, in any case, so he shall be the one to cast us out if need be. Not you.”

“You may enter, Fa Glass, but a lower tier may not,” he says, his tone final.

I have never harboured much patience in my life, and already this man has whittled it down to a nub.

“Your permission means as much to me as sandstrider shit, and at least that is useful for something,” I snap, voice rising with every syllable. “Get out of our way, you lackwit, lying imbecile.”

I kick out, catching his shin with the hard ball of my foot. He yelps, and I kick again, aiming for the back of his knee. He collapses in the sand, groaning and clutching his leg. Quite an undignified heap.

“You will never speak to her like that again,” I tell him with a quiet coldness, looking down at him like a worm on the ground.

Real fury burns in my chest, and it is only the squeeze of Deyanara’s hand that stops me from pressing my boot against his neck.

Instead, I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the balmy air, and breathe out through pursed lips. I step over the crumpled man, pulling open one of the large doors, and step to the side. I only let go of Deyanara’s hand so I can make a sweeping, dramatic gesture.

“After you,” I say.

Deyanara glows. She fights to hide her smile, but it shows nonetheless. She steps over the man groaning on the ground and inside House Obsidian. Through the front door this time.

For how dark the building is on the outside, the inside is surprisingly bright. Tall, slim windows made of clear glass line the walls, letting in long streaks of sunshine and warming the obsidian floor. Tendrils of desert ivy crawl along the walls, deep green against black. Obsidian chandeliers hang from the ceiling, holding pale wax candles. Obsidian is the only House in Coalsburgh who refuse to use algae to light the rooms, for whatever inane reason. Instead, they import expensive candles from Caldercruix, whose fields are rife with bees. Deyanara gazes up at them, lips parted in surprise. I recall Deimos asking Ronan what a candle is and shake my head—only those who frequent House Obsidian would know, I suppose. Once dragons take a liking to something, our hoarding nature is hard to ignore.

Our boots squeak against the floor as Deyanara follows me up a wide, grand staircase, moving deeper into the House. We pass a few Obsidian dragons as we go. They say nothing to us, but I hear them speaking to each other in hushed tones and feel their eyes on our backs. Annoyed, I wait until they scurry past before suddenly spinning on my heel to stare at them. They startle.

“Have you something to say, cowards?” I demand.

They quickly shake their heads and scurry away. Deyanara tries not to smile as we press on, tugging up her shawl to cover her scar.