Page 109 of House of the Iron Reaper

“My mother never apologised to me,” she says suddenly and gives a sigh so weary, I turn to look at her.

I’m about to say something back, although the strangeness of it has rendered me at a loss of words, truthfully. But she stares straight ahead and her lower lip wobbles. I wait instead.

“I hated it,” she says eventually. “I always hated it. That she could never just say such a small thing. Even when we argued and cried and said awful, awful things to each other. And then I…” Mother presses her lips together. Her nostrils flare as she inhales. “I did the exact same thing to you.”

“Oh,” I croak past the gravel in my throat. And then, weirdly, I say, “It’s alright.”

It isn’t. It has never been. But my heart twists at the sight of her—a perfect glass statue fracturing in front of me. I do not want it to crack further.

Mother shakes her head and a tear dribbles down her cheek. She wipes it away, smudging the shimmering blue powder around her eyes.

“I was terrified,” she says, her voice thick. “Truly terrified. I have never been more scared in my life than when I thought I would lose you.”

“Mother…”

She turns suddenly and grasps my hands in hers.

“But I always have been,” she tells me. “Every time you left to go training, I would feel sick with worry. Every time you came back with scrapes and bruises, I hated it. Hated it.”

She grips my fingers in hers and closes her eyes briefly, steeling herself.

“I’m sorry, Novalie.” Her voice shakes but her eyes are clear. “I took my fear out on you and I’m sorry.”

There’s an odd feeling in my chest. Like a fissure I was not even aware of has pulled itself back together, even if only slightly. My throat aches.

It’s alright, I want to say. I’m alright. To hold her hands and smile and say it never bothered me.

Instead, I open my mouth and a sob claws its way out.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” My voice catches on the last syllable, dragging it out in an embarrassing high-pitched whine, my face curdling with the effort of holding back tears.

And then the dam bursts and a loud sob racks my body. My mother pulls me into her, wrapping her arms around me. She presses her cheek against the top of my head. She rocks me back and forth. And I realise how much I needed my mother and I cry even harder.

Riding the back of a werewolf is nothing like I expected. The desert air is hot and thin as it whips past me. I can barely open my eyes without them streaming. My fingers ache as they grip the handle of Ronan’s harness but I do not dare loosen them for fear I will tumble off the back of him and into the sand.

I glance behind me to see Coalsburgh already in the hazy distance, dancing in the heat.

Ronan’s tongue lolls, flopping backward as his paws kick up a sand cloud behind us. We zoom past a caravanserai. The sandstriders screech and the people inside stare, open-mouthed, but we’re gone before they can say anything.

“Are you alright?” I call down to Ronan, my words nearly snatched away by the wind.

“Water!” he yells back between pants. “Fucking… hot!”

Carefully, I reach down to grab a flask of water, keeping one hand firmly gripped on his harness. I use my teeth to unscrew it and tip it over Ronan’s head.

He howls happily, fur dripping, and shakes his head off with a vigour that nearly knocks me off his back.

“Careful, you lunatic!” I snap.

Ronan answers me with a rumbling, maniacal laugh. Ahead of us, we get the first glimpse of the Crimson Deep and my heart leaps into my throat.

“We’re nearly there!” I yell, a grin splitting my face. Behind me, Ronan’s tail wags.

Part 2

Deyanara

The sea salt air stings my lungs but I breathe it in regardless. The Crimson Deep stretches before me like a sparkling ruby blanket, the sea wind sending my hair across my face.