Page 67 of House of the Iron Reaper

“You should grow it back, preferably overnight,” she tells him.

“Oh, that’s charming,” Ronan replies, crossing his arms. “You expect me to wear a full beard in this heat? Although I did think it would feel cooler than it does. Anyway, I look just fine without it. What say you, Deimos?”

“I…” Deimos winces, still biting back a smile. “I have never quite noticed the shape of your chin before.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

I look between them as Ronan swats at Deimos, my brow wrinkled.

“Bu Ronan, is this a kind of werewolf magic?” I ask, curious.

All three of them stop their squabbling to stare at me, and I fear I have said something quite stupid. A strangled moment passes.

“What d’you mean?” Ronan asks slowly.

I gesture at his face.

“To remove your face hair,” I clarify, cheeks warming. “I assume you were born with it, no? Is it a magic like faeth that allows you to change your appearance?”

Novalie closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Deimos and Ronan burst with laughter.

“No, Dey,” Ronan chuckles, clapping me on the back. “Nothing so wonderful as that. Come, let me explain.”

Chapter 25

Novalie

Cooled by the siren engineering in the walls of Lovers’ Rest, we sit and drink pale wine and talk and laugh. I attempt to defend Deyanara by explaining she will have never seen a beard before she met Ronan, given no one in Coalsburgh wears one. Ronan insists on explaining nonetheless, going into great detail about the process and how it’s not as easy as one might think.

“The itchy stage makes you want to tear your own face off,” he says with grave seriousness. Although even I can tell there is a new lightness in his movements, some of the tension around his working eye eased.

Deyanara and Deimos eventually wander off to peruse the stalls, Deimos thrumming with excitement over the siren jewellery on sale.

“Ronan,” I say once they have left. “I have a question for you.”

“I can’t grow it back overnight,” he says with a sigh.

“No, not that.” I wave him off. “It… it is about your transformation.”

“Ah. Now that I don’t mind talking about.” Ronan drains the last of his flask before signalling to the merchant for another. “Go ahead.”

“I suppose I have just never seen anything quite like it before,” I say, drumming my fingers off the table. “Actually, it reminded me of faeth.”

Ronan cocks his head.

“Huh, I see what you mean,” he says. “We both transform, after all.”

I nod slowly, thinking.

“But yours is much more…” I try to find the words, but they elude me. “I am not sure,” I say with a sigh. “Do you learn transformation in your youth?”

Ronan nods as another flask is placed in front of him. Despite the cooler air, sweat still trickles down his temples, and he takes a hearty glug of his wine.

“Werewolves are born with it,” he says, and then adds, “Unlike beards.”

I stifle a smile, glancing over at where Deyanara nods politely to a pair of earrings Deimos is holding to his ears.

“We transform on instinct when we’re young, and then we learn to control it over time,” Ronan continues. “It becomes more of a conscious effort, especially with rare moons.” He casts a glance up at the sky before fixing his eyes back on me. “It’s not my body that changes—it’s my soul. My body follows suit.”