Page 50 of House of the Iron Reaper

I nod, and he gently undoes the fabric knot keeping my hair tied. Thick and coarse, my hair springs free. I watch carefully as Deimos picks up a wide-toothed comb and begins to brush it out.

Ronan arrives with three cups of tea balanced on a tray, a proud grin splashed across his face.

“It took some time to work out the contraption you have there,” he says, placing the tray down. “But I am nothing if not persistent.”

The smell of mint scents the air, and I find myself relaxing somewhat.

“I have a number of clothes you are welcome to borrow,” Deimos tells me as he gently works through a knot. “But they may not suit a woman’s fashion.”

“Why not?” Ronan enquires, nestling himself between the larger of the cushions on Deimos’s bed. He nearly sinks through entirely.

“Women tend to dress in a more neutral fashion,” Deimos explains. “We men lean towards colour and decoration.”

Ronan considers this, his eyes sliding from my clothes, in various shades of beige, to Deimos, garbed in a cerulean tunic overtop a pale blue silk shirt with billowing sleeves, and loose emerald trousers wrapped tight at his ankles. Copper earrings dangle from his lobes, and matching pins glimmer in his blue hair.

“Huh,” Ronan says, sounding sincerely surprised. “Can’t say I noticed before now.”

Deimos cocks a brow, unimpressed.

“Style is wasted on you,” he mutters, turning back to my hair. “I have heard the nobles in the upper tiers have taken to wearing face paints recently, men and women alike.”

“What is the fashion in Swordstead, Ronan?” I ask. The lack of honorific rolls off my tongue a little easier this time around. “Do women's clothes differ much from men's?"

Ronan thinks for a moment.

“No,” he declares. “We wear whatever stops us freezing to death, generally. Furs and leather and the like.”

I almost break out in a cold sweat just thinking about wearing fur. I cannot imagine such cold.

“I shall fashion your hair into a new braid—one which is more appropriate for a turn about town, and less for a twelve hour shift,” Deimos says. “Would that be alright?”

I nod firmly.

“I trust you.”

Deimos flashes a dazzling smile and switches to a wide comb. The feel of someone else touching my hair is strange but not unwelcome, especially as Deimos hums contentedly, like Meris when she cooks. I wonder if he realises he does it. I wonder if I do anything my father used to, without realising. I hope so.

“Hmm.” Deimos twists his lips and pulls his hands back, rubbing his chin. “Deyanara, would you be willing to take a small trip with me?”

I blink at him through the looking glass.

“Now?” I ask. “At this time? What about-”

I turn to look at Ronan. He’s buried in the cushions, snoring lightly.

“Uh, never mind.” I look back at Deimos. “Where did you want to go?”

Dragon baths are plentiful in Coalsburgh. It’s something we have always enjoyed as a people, often carving into mountainsides to find wells of hot water buried there. The streets of Coalsburgh are littered with archways into the mountain, decorated with crimson glass to signify the hot water inside.

As trade with the sirens grew, they brought their own baths with them. Nowadays, you can find two types of baths in Coalsburgh—ones in the mountain with red glass doorways, and ones inside buildings made by the sirens, carved to mimic fish scales and with chimes of blue glass tinkling above the doorways. Cold water. During the Sunwake season, the siren baths are often more crowded than the dragon ones.

Deimos brings me to a blue glass bath close to his House. At this time of night, anyone awake would be found in the dragon baths and so the one we approach stands quietly, except for the twinkling glass.

Belated, I realise what this means. I work all day in the sun and sand, I return each night with a layer of sweat and dirt. The baths in House Coal are always empty by the time I use them—and I do use them frequently—but I’m always as quick as I can be so I can sleep for longer.

I look up at the baths and my shoulders fall.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Deimos says, looking sideways at me. My thoughts must have been clear on my face. “This is a treat. One should always pamper themselves before a tryst.”