Page 54 of House of the Iron Reaper

She does not reply.

I pull Deyanara to the side of the street, into a tall enclave. We face each other, only inches apart. This close, I can see the burst of red at the corners of her eyes. She is tired.

I twist my lips, picking my words with care. Deyanara absently touches the scar on her jaw, tugging her shawl up to cover it.

“Lightning is not pretty,” I say, and her breath catches. I press on. “It is more than that. Lightning is fast and powerful, and it can split the earth with one strike. It turns sand into glass and wood into ash.”

“It is destruction,” Deyanara says hoarsely. Her silver eyes shimmer with tears. “It is death.”

I pause, brushing my thumb across her cheek. I let my thumb linger against her face for a moment.

“It is power,” I say. “Everything about you is power.”

Deyanara lowers her eyes, falling back on cowed habits. I rub my lips, gathering my thoughts.

“Right,” I say sharply, grabbing Deyanara’s hand. “Follow me.”

I pull her from the enclave and guide her down the street, towards the steps leading to the upper tiers. I know the route as easily as finding my own House.

“W-Where are we going?” Deyanara stammers, letting me lead her.

“A surprise,” I say, throwing back a smile.

When she smiles in return, I find myself dreading the end of this charade.

Chapter 20

Novalie

House Obsidian perches on the edge of the upper tiers, just below the arena, gleaming deep black under the mid-morning sun. Beside it is Coalsburgh University, more akin to a siren building than a dragon one. On Frostalm somewhere, there sits a House of Learning, more a dragon building than a siren one.

Although obsidian is as sharp as any blade, it can be brittle - the corners and the edges of House Obsidian are chipped with age, and several chunks of the building have been replaced with sandbrick. The warm beige is stark against the black.

Deyanara shades her eyes as we approach, peering up at it.

“House Obsidian?” she asks.

“Mhm.”

We pause outside the black teeth of the gates, as a few Obsidian dragons shade themselves in the large shadow of the House.

Like House Coal, Obsidian garb themselves in inky black clothes, but theirs are punctuated with deep green brocades draped across their shoulders and hips. Open-back shirts and sleeveless blouses display their pearly white tattoos. The men wear silver jewellery, glittering pins in their hair and delicate chains around their wrists.

Deyanara sucks in a breath. I have not let go of her hand, and nor has she, our fingers loosely knitted together.

“Have you been inside before?” I ask as I pull her gently through the open gates.

Deyanara shakes her head.

“I have only delivered sandbrick, or iron for when they need to rebuild,” she says. “I was not permitted near the front entrance, only the side door.”

I scoff.

“They need your iron so their building does collapse atop their soft heads, and yet they have the gall to make you use the side door.” Indignation stirs in my stomach, but Deyanara only shrugs.

“It is the same in every House,” she tells me.

A pain lodges in my chest. I stop still.