Page 7 of House of the Iron Reaper

Something about her pulls me in. She makes the rest of the room outside this circle feel dim, like dying algae. She wears no emblem of her House, only plain training clothes similar to mine. Neither of us holds weapons nor armour, only bodies and fists. We stand upon the same ground, trapped inside the same ring.

Even as my pulse sets off at a gallop, something shifts within me, like a brick I had not known was out of place now slotted perfectly. I feel taller.

Novalie darts forward and throws her fist. This time, my eyes raised, I catch the blur of purple and whip my head to the side. Still, I am a fraction too slow and her knuckles catch me, glancing off my cheek. But it is not enough to daze me. Not enough to hurt. I seize my chance.

Turn your hips. Bend your knee. Throw your shoulder.

For a surreal moment, Novalie and I lock eyes. She is barely inches from me. I catch her scent—sweet, like caramel dates. I can still smell it when my fist connects with her face.

With a crunch and a yelp, Novalie flies backwards, landing hard outside the circle. For a long moment, I can only stare, mouth open. With growing horror, I look down at my fist and see blood splattered across my knuckles.

“I…” Words fail me, the guilt immeasurable. I run over and throw myself to the ground beside Novalie. “A thousand, thousand apologies! Please forgive me—no! I do not deserve forgiveness!”

Novalie pushes herself up to sitting with a groan. My shame triples when I see the crookedness of her nose. I open my mouth to stammer out another apology but I burst into tears instead.

“Reapers take me,” I cry. “Apologies, apol-”

“Quiet your incessant babbling,” Novalie cuts me off, her voice thick with blood.

She spits a tooth into her palm and the sight of it makes me bubble with more tears. The others crowd around us. I startle as the werewolf claps me on the shoulder, giving a low whistle.

“By the Five, I thought you’d killed her,” he says with a laugh before crouching down to squint at Novalie’s nose. “That hit looked a mite painful.”

Novalie throws him a look that could wither grass.

“Perhaps you would like to be on the other end of it next time, Fa Ronan?” she says, inspecting her tooth.

“And ruin this?” Ronan gestures to his disfigured face. “I’d rather not.”

“Suddenly that spot you struck me feels much better,” the blue-haired dragon says to Novalie before flashing me a smile. “Much obliged, Fa Deyanara.”

“S-Shu Novalie,” I stammer, ignoring them. “I-”

I stop short as Novalie takes her tooth and pushes it firmly back into her gum, as casually as if she were putting a cork back into a wine bottle. She runs her tongue over it before spitting more blood into the sand.

“Ugh,” she says, as though only mildly inconvenienced.

“Uh…” I try again, shock ebbing. “I will take any punishment without complaint. Please, Shu Novalie, whatever you-”

“Drop that ‘shu’ nonsense immediately,” she dismisses me. “Make yourself useful and bring me a damn cloth before I get more blood on my clothes.”

“O-Of course. Yes, a cloth, of course.”

I spring to my feet and sprint over to the clerics bag. I find a clean cloth nestled amongst a pile of medicinal bhak, glass vials tinkling against each other. In the name of saving time, I pick up the whole bag and hurry back over. Somewhere behind me, Aythora claps her hands twice and orders everyone else back to training. I kneel next to Novalie and offer her the cloth, before diving into the vials.

“There is lavender tonic in here, I am sure,” I say, hands shaking too hard to pick up any one bottle.

My eyes have dried but the shame presses on me like sandbrick. I find the lavender tonic and hold it limply as Novalie presses the cloth against her nose. The fabric blooms red. She gives me a sidelong glance.

“You can stop with the pathetic look,” she says, voice muffled.

“Apologies, I just…” I swallow thickly. “I feel terrible.”

“No, you do not,” Novalie says. I blink at her and she adds, “You were smiling.”

I still do not know what she means but, rather than argue, I simply stay quiet. Novalie huffs a sigh.

“Before you hit me,” she explains slowly. “I saw you. And I know you saw me.”