Page 56 of House of the Iron Reaper

I pause outside of a wide archway, the obsidian bricks more chipped here than elsewhere. Flickering purple light spills out into the hall. Deyanara peers inside curiously, her eyes widening.

“A library?” she asks, voice hushed. “But… why bring me here? I do not know much dragon text.”

“Nor I, besides a few words here and there,” I reply.

My fingers itch to reach out and grasp her hand again, my palm feeling empty without her. The urge is wholly embarrassing, so I clench my hand into a tight fist and hold it behind my back.

“It will not matter, regardless,” I continue. “Please, after you.”

Deyanara tentatively steps inside, and I follow closely behind. The gloom of the library immediately envelops us in velvety darkness, only the glow of the witch candles providing a low light. The library has no windows, the walls a solid blanket of shelves reaching high above us, packed tight with books. I breathe in the familiar scent of paper and ink and dust, the smell reaching deep inside my mind for memories I have not thought about for many years. To my surprise, a lump forms in my throat.

High above us, the swoop of wings cuts through the air. Deyanara’s hand shoots out to grab my arm, clutching me tight.

“What is that?” she whispers in alarm, her eyes raised and searching the darkness above us.

I chuckle, but before I can answer, a deep voice rumbles from the gloom.

“Who trespasses here?”

Deyanara squeaks and crouches behind me. I laugh harder.

“Please,” I call back. “Spare me the theatrics.”

There is a beat of silence. Deyanara trembles behind me. The darkness shifts and, my eyes adjusting to the dark, I make out the giant form of the book-hoarding dragon. He sits perched atop a platform jutting out from one of the shelves, like a gargoyle.

Cahir, Elder of House Obsidian. Fire dragon, witch, and infamous recluse.

He beats his wings, jumping up in an arch before gracefully gliding down. He transforms as he does so, shrinking back into the size of a man as his wings remain. Landing neatly on his feet, he tucks in his wings and picks up a candle holder. The light sweeps over me and Deyanara.

“Novalie!” Cahir exclaims, a smile breaking out across his face. “Saints, it is good to see you!”

“And you, old friend.” I return his smile, tapping my chin.

He has barely aged since I last saw him, despite being twenty years my senior. Hair the colour of a roaring fire is pulled into a bun at the back of his head, his skin a few shades paler than most with the lack of sun. Earrings line his left ear and bangles twinkle sweetly around his wrists. Purple candlelight glints in his warm crimson eyes.

I step to the side, gesturing at Deyanara, who straightens with a sheepish smile.

“This is my-” I stop short, the words at the back of my throat. “This is Deyanara.”

“Well met, Fa Deyanara,” Cahir says with a tap to his chin.

“And you, Shu Cahir,” she replies. “Thank you for allowing me into your library. It is, um, lovely.”

Cahir grins, pushing his chest out with pride.

“You are most welcome,” he says. “Any friend of Novalie is a friend of mine.”

“I was hoping you could read us a book, Cahir,” I say, and his eyes widen eagerly.

“Of course! I have a particularly interesting tome on dragon horticulture from the last hundred years or so. Would that be to your liking?”

“Uh-”

“Or what about siren engineering? I have a book on the intricacies of clocks, although it is rather dry. Oh! What about-”

“Cahir,” I interrupt gently. “It was a specific book I was after, in fact.”

“Ah, of course.” Cahir flashes a bashful grin, scratching the back of his neck. “Apologies, I got rather carried away. I would be happy to read anything to you and your companion. What book is it?”