Page 34 of House of the Iron Reaper

He does not answer right away. I watch as he finishes slicing the last pepper, throwing it in the pan with the cactus bulbs. It is only when he has washed his hands and begins drying them with a cloth he answers.

“There are a mere handful of water dragons in Coalsburgh,” he says, staring at a fixed point ahead of him. “The dry heat does not agree with us, so many of us migrate to Frostalm, to be closer to the water. Some dragons even find a home in Caldercruix, next to the great lake there. Ronan even mentioned a dragon who lives in Swordstead—she commands both water and ice, so the climate there is a comfort.”

“Oh?” I lean in, genuinely intrigued. “I have not heard that before.”

“Nor I. It is funny, is it not, the silos we place ourselves in. Cities. Houses.” Deimos turns to lean back against the counter. “Regardless, I have always known I was bound for Frostalm.”

“Hm. That’s where you will go, then? After the Rites?”

Deimos nods.

“I know someone there. A siren.” He swallows. “These Rites… It will help me find my faeth again. I know it will. And then I will be free to join her on the water.” His face softens. “Where I am happiest.”

I find myself smiling, chest aching in an entirely pleasant way. I am warm, like I am a cup and someone has filled me to the brim with spiced tea.

“If that is where you are happiest,” I tell him seriously. “After the Rites, I sincerely hope I do not see you again.”

Deimos cracks a wide grin, nudging me with his shoulder.

“You grow softer each day,” he cajoles.

I roll my eyes, but my smile is persistent.

“Enough of that,” I say, and gesture to the pan of vegetables. “Show me what else we must do.”

“As you command, Shu Novalie.”

I prod him with my elbow until he yelps.

“First name only, Deimos,” I tell him. He simply smiles in response.

In the quiet of House Copper, we pass the morning in companionable silence.

I stand before the looming black building of House Coal, enough packed meals on the sled behind me to feed a small army. A young dragon ran off to fetch Lysandra when they saw me arrive. Several others look on curiously.

When Elder Lysandra appears, it is with a frown and a cocked brow.

“Good morrow, Ni Novalie.”

“Shu Lysandra.” I tap my chin, accompanying the greeting with a friendly smile. Or I hope it is. I am not well practiced at friendly smiles. “I come on behalf of Deimos of House Copper.”

Lysandra steps to the side of me to regard the meals, her long cloak dragging in the sand.

“We have no trade arranged with House Copper,” she says. “And why have you come on their behalf?”

“No trade has been arranged, I admit,” I reply, ignoring the latter. “Deimos extends these meals as an act of kindness, nothing more.”

Lysandra’s frown cuts deeper.

“Dole,” she states, her mouth twisting as though the word itself tastes grotesque.

“Friendship,” I counter. “From a neighbour.”

“What interest would House Copper have in a friendship with us?”

Lysandra steps closer, and I resist the urge to shrink back. It is no wonder Deyanara appears so cowed, living under the shadow of Lysandra’s presence.

I force my chin up, the first bite of irritation gnawing at me. This is not going how I intended. Why can she not see this gift for what it is?