Page 85 of House of the Iron Reaper

Her tone leaves no room for negotiation.

“Yes, Elder Lysandra,” I say, already wincing at working only a few hours from now.

“The work does not stop, Deyanara,” she continues. “This tryst with the Glass dragon ends now. I allowed this evening, for the sake of fond memories and… and for your father. But this entire farce has gone too far. To declare herself like that-”

“What?” I am too stunned to consider my manners before I speak.

Lysandra pauses, irate at being interrupted, before continuing.

“I will not repeat myself,” she says. “That House has always considered themselves above us and now they hope to destroy us completely. I will not allow it.”

“I cannot-”

“I will not allow it!”

Lysandra steps out of the shadows, snarling, and I recoil. But it is only when she steps into the moonlight, I see the deep shadows cast under her eyes, the lines around her mouth. Her hair, usually not a strand out of place, is now tied haphazardly atop her head, curls falling loose.

Her appearance shocks me into silence. Is this why I have not seen her since Deimos’s death? When I was curled into a ball in my bed, unable to breathe from sobbing so hard, was Lysandra the one who did the work in my stead? My mind churns.

“I understand you are to attend the Rites Ball,” Lysandra says, composing herself. “You will put an end to this tryst there. You will explain you cannot see her again, let alone marry her.”

A thousand words bubble at the back of my throat. My vision goes blurry, tears forming. Somewhere deep in my chest, a fissure forms.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

“You will stay away from that Glass dragon,” Lysandra says, ignoring me. “You will come home.”

Her voice splinters on the last word. She sucks in a breath, as if to say something more, but decides against it. Instead, she sweeps past me and closes the door. In the silence she leaves behind, I know after this ball, I will lose someone.

Chapter 44

Novalie

The Rites Ball arrives in an explosion of colour and chatter. My mother has ever so graciously offered to host, meaning my home has been invaded and I am still expected to smile. Which I do not.

We stand at the gates of House Glass, atop the sandbrick stairs, greeting guests as they arrive. Music floats from inside and the gates are lit up with coloured glass lamps. Fans of the contenders arrive wearing glass pins, signifying their favourite. An equal smattering of brown glass for Ronan and purple for me. A large amount of smoky grey glass for Deyanara. None wear blue.

Except for me. I make a show of having it pressed to the chest of my dress and two more blue pins in my hair, one for either side so it cannot be missed. Fuck these people.

“For Saint’s sake,” my mother mutters at me behind her fan. “At least look pleased to be here.”

“Do you want me to look pleased or be pleased?” I reply.

Mother snaps her fan shut.

“Is both too much to ask for?” she says behind a false smile. “Is the opulence and opportunities I gift you really such a burden?”

“You gift me a headache, for which I am as grateful as I appear,” I sigh. “And besides-”

I stop mid-sentence, my eyes snapping forward. Deyanara arrives.

She and Ronan walk up the steps to our House arm-in-arm. If you asked me what Ronan looked like, I could not tell you. Deyanara demands all my attention.

Garbed in a dress of shimmering silver, her golden hair twisted into twin horns atop her head, and blazing eyes framed in gold dust, she looks like molten metal come to life. Hypnotising in a way you know you should not touch but desperately want to, nonetheless. Each of her hair horns are pinned with blue glass.

I hold out my hand, palm up. Ronan releases Deyanara so I can help her up the last few steps, until she stands over me as usual. Her touch is warm and I thread my fingers through hers.

“Welcome to our House Glass,” my mothers says, cutting me out of my daze.