Page 79 of House of the Iron Reaper

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I shake them away irritably. Crying has never done me any good and so I refuse. It is better to squeeze the pain into a narrow tunnel, direct it towards something more productive. Something that will win me my Ascension. I sling a sandbag across my shoulders and start lunging in long strides across the training grounds.

I make it across the full length, muscles burning, but when I turn to make another lap, I freeze.

Deyanara lunges across the ground in my direction, two sandbags resting on her back. When she approaches, I jerk my chin at them.

“Aythora is not here,” I tell her. “Who are you showing off for?”

“Who else is here?” she says and I startle at her boldness.

This close, I can see the bloodshot of her eyes and the puffiness of her lids. I open my mouth to say something—hopefully words of comfort, although that has never been my strength—but she only gives a small shake of her head. So instead, I turn my nose up and sniff.

“And you thought I’d be impressed by two sandbags?” I say, crossing my arms.

“Are you not?”

I scoff.

“I have seen you pull sandbricks three times that weight.”

Deyanara nods thoughtfully, dropping the sandbags easily and drawing to her full height.

“What can I do, then, to impress you?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are the most impressive damn person in this entire city. You have impressed me since I met you and every day since and I want to both shake you and kiss you for not seeing yourself as I do.

“Combat,” I say instead, slightly hoarse. “Best me in combat.”

Deyanara gives a sheepish grin and scratches her temple.

“Have I not already?”

I remember the crunch and flash of pain when her fist connected to my face. I fight back a wince.

“Pure luck,” I say, waving dismissively. “You will not be able to do it again.”

We position ourselves across from each other in the middle of the training grounds, a chalk circle surrounding us. I watch Deyanara step into the ring, waiting for the transformation I know will come.

Her posture shifts, shoulders straightening, feet planted and loose fists raised. But the biggest change is her face, always her face. Soft silver eyes blaze like twin gems and a light smile plays on her lips.

Deyanara smiles often—at least, until recently. Small and diffident, usually, as though embarrassed to even be present. But when she smiles in the ring, it is something else entirely. She smiles because she’s having fun.

I find myself smiling in return as I raise my fists.

Quickness is my greatest strength. Before Deyanara can throw a punch, I sweep to the side and swipe my shin behind her knee. It connects and Deyanara falls to one knee with a grunt. I roll to the side before she can counter and try again for her other knee.

Deyanara grabs my ankle before I can land a hit and throws me back. I stagger and roll, landing neatly in a crouched position. Deyanara climbs back onto her feet, eyes alight.

“Your fight is next week,” she states.

“It is.” I step forward and strike out but she pushes my fist to the side easily.

“What will you do when you Ascend?” she asks.

When. Not if. I smile at her.

“I will likely take my mother’s place as Head of House Glass,” I tell her, dodging a punch. “And you?”

“Me?” She blinks and I have the chance to seize on her surprise, but she looks so damn adorable, I only feint a swipe instead. “I cannot take your mother’s place.”