Page 88 of House of the Iron Reaper

He slaps a hand against his chest.

“I also find you impressive,” Deyanara adds quietly and she even manages to hold eye contact for a few seconds before blushing and looking away.

I fight a smile.

“Thank you, both,” I say and open the door to my chambers. “Welcome to my favourite place in House Glass.”

My chambers are similar to many of the rooms here, with a high ceiling and windows for walls. Except the glass here is colourless, letting in golden light during the day and silver at night, and a great tapestry hangs to one side, ready to be drawn across when I need some darkness.

Ronan gives a low whistle and says, “It’s big.”

“Is it?” I blink at him before surveying the room. It seems the same as every other room to me.

I suppose Deimos’s chambers were smaller, but his was stuffed full of clothes and pillows. Ronan is staying at one of the inns on the lower tiers, which would have smaller rooms. And Deyanara… House Coal is half-built into the mountain, like a mine. I realise a woman of her height might not even fit on the bed.

“Uh, yes,” I say. “I believe this is a large room. Please, make yourselves at home.”

I realise my mistake as soon as I’ve said it. Deimos had a wide bed, a staggering amount of cushions, and a thick rug on the floor. I have none of that. My bed is narrow enough only for me. I sleep on my face—to the bafflement of my mother—and so cushions rarely get used. And my furniture is sparse, except for a thin table overladen with picture books from Cahir and the somewhat uncomfortable wooden chair accompanying it.

Why is everything in my House uncomfortable? How did this happen? I think of cosy House Copper and feel a stab of envy.

“This’ll do,” Ronan announces, sitting on the wooden chair. It creaks dangerously under him.

Dey sits gingerly on the bed, hands clasped between her knees. I sit beside her and wonder why the fuck this feels so awkward.

Deimos.

It’s because one of us is missing. Even if we weren’t in my chambers, the void of him would be unmissable. The space he occupied—should still be occupying—feels like a tangible thing, like a physical hole punched into us.

We sit in silence. Everyone is thinking the same thing.

The quiet is broken when Ronan unscrews a flask. I narrow my eyes at it, not even sure where he pulled it from.

“Got any glasses, Novalie?” he asks before looking around and chuckling. “Stupid question.”

“What is it?” I ask, standing up to pull a spare glass from my bedside cabinet, usually reserved for water in the middle of the night.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

I look at Deyanara, expecting her to be as confused as me, but she wears a grimace instead.

“You already know?” I ask, handing the glass to Ronan.

“I wish I didn’t,” she mumbles, which does not fill me with confidence.

Ronan gleefully pours an amber liquid into the glass. He waits for me to sit back down before raising it in the air.

“My favourite story about Deimos is when we took that trip to Lover’s Rest,” he says. “Which makes us sound like a couple, but I digress.”

I puff out a laugh.

“He forced me on that walk after dinner, when my stomach was bursting at the seams. Truthfully, he wanted to let you two have a moment alone together.” Ronan looks at us. “He was always rooting for you. Told me everyone should have what he and his lady love have.” A pause. His throat bobs. “Had.”

Ronan swirls the drink around his glass and sucks in a breath.

“Anyway. Off we went through the markets and the food stalls and the like. We sit down at a bench and we chat away for a wee while. And then he turns to me and he says, ‘I know you’re full so don’t eat it straight away, but here’. And he hands me a snowberry tart.”

Snowberries. I’m not overly familiar with it but I know Swordstead has snow and berries, so I put the two pieces together. Fruit from Ronan’s home.