Page 87 of House of the Iron Reaper

“A lovely fella but he could bore the arse off a donkey,” he says with a wince.

Deyanara chuckles in the way she does when she doesn’t quite know what something means but does not wish to let on. I make a mental note to ask Ronan later and slip in an explanation to Deyanara.

“I really do need to give you both a tour, though,” I say, leading them through a set of glass doors. “Most tend to find our House very beautiful.”

“Do you not?” Deyanara asks.

We make our way at a leisurely pace down a long hall. Ronan walks between Deyanara and I, so I slyly elbow him in the ribs until he takes the hint. He stops briefly under the guide of brushing something from his shirt, letting me slot into his place between Deyanara. Wonderful.

“No,” I say after some thought. “Everything has been arranged just so, every colour and shape has been carefully selected. It is a manufactured beauty. It does not hold the same appeal to me a sunrise might do, for example, or a flower .” I pause. “Besides, I see my mother’s taste everywhere and we do not align in that instance.”

Ronan chuckles.

“Do you align in any instance?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

I start to tell him of our newfound connection, a small but important shift in our relationship when she chose to accept Deyanara, my heart warming.

“Do you reckon she might align with me, perhaps after some flowers and wine?” he continues, and the words wither on my tongue.

“Your manhood will align with my knives before it aligns with anything else,” I say.

Ronan holds his hands up in defeat. Deyanara hides a smile behind her hand.

I come to a stop before twin portraits of a tall, slender dragon. Notches are carved into the glass plague underneath, signifying the year she was born and the year she died. In one painting, she takes her human-like form, sitting stiffly against a glass chair. Dark purple hair is shaved close to her scalp, and her mouth forms a grim line. In the other, she stands as a dragon, wings spread and maw open in a fierce expression. Her eyes glow purple.

“A relative of yours?” Ronan queries.

“Ancestor,” I answer, gazing up at her. “Kyrah of House Glass. She was the last poison dragon before me, and she died over 200 years ago.”

Ronan nods but does not quite understand the weight of what I said. Deyanara does, however.

“Oh,” she breathes, before putting a comforting hand on the small of my back.

Her gaze drags from the portraits to me, eyes soft.

“Novalie had no one to teach her,” she explains to Ronan. “As dragons, our Elders teach us how to use our kratas. Dragons with the same abilities as us.”

Deyanara sucks in a breath and I know she is thinking about her father trying to teach her—and the accident that followed. She presses her lips together, taking a moment, before continuing.

“Novalie has had to learn on her own,” she finishes.

Ronan claps me on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Can’t say I know a lot of the intricacies, but that sounds tough,” he says before grinning. “It’s a good job you’re the toughest out of all of us.”

I give a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes and say, “Deimos was tougher.”

“Aye,” Ronan sighs, nodding slowly. “He was.”

Deyanara looks on the brink of tears at the mention of Deimos, so I quickly pivot.

“Besides, ‘poison’ is rather misleading, as far as dragon abilities go,” I say, waving a hand at the portraits. “We spit acid, so acid dragon would be more apt.”

“Acid dragon sounds better,” Ronan agrees. “You’re good at it, too, at least with your words.”

“Well, my words are the only way I can do it,” I say with a sigh and start walking towards my chambers, leaving my ancestor behind. Ronan and Deyanara follow me. “I have faeth, I can feel it beneath my skin, but I cannot quite use it. Not for acid, nor transformation.” I try and fail not to let bitterness enter my voice. “I can only do small things—a few scales, a certain quickness in my movements. Nothing… impressive.”

“If you ask me,” Ronan says. “It’s more impressive you fight without transforming. I’d be ripped to ribbons if I fought that fymian like this.”