Page 86 of House of the Iron Reaper

“Oh. Yes.” I clear my throat. “Welcome to the Rites Ball, generously hosted by our House Elder.”

“Deyanara of House Iron,” Deyanara says, tapping her chin.

“We’ve met,” my mother says coolly.

“Oh, I-” Deyanara’s ears turn pink.

“Mother-” I say at the same time.

“But it is very pleasant to meet again,” Mother resumes, raising her voice slightly to talk over us. “You look lovely.”

I snap my mouth shut and stare at her. Deyanara, not realising how odd this behaviour is, only gives a sweet smile and thanks my mother.

“Ronan of Swordstead,” Ronan introduces himself with a bow before correcting himself and tapping his chin. He, too, wears a blue pin on his chest and a beautiful blue cuff dangles from one ear

“Well met,” my mother responds, before fanning herself and eyeballing him. “What an intriguing outfit.”

I nearly bite out a retort in Ronan’s defence when I realise she’s being sincere. Ronan runs a hand down the front of his clothes, chest puffed proudly. He is garbed in a loose white shirt, the hem tucked into a patterned skirt that falls to his knees.

“You like it?” Ronan grins. “It’s the finest formalwear you’ll find in Swordstead. The pattern you see here-” He points at his skirt, a criss-cross of muted colours. “There’s a different one for each clan.”

My mother’s eyes light up, to my surprise. What the fuck is going on?

“How wonderful. You must find me later so we can discuss,” she insists. And then, to my absolute horror, she flutters her eyelids at him. “Perhaps over a drink or two?”

Fucking hell. Before Ronan can respond, I shove both him and Deyanara into the House.

“You are blocking the other guests,” I grind out. “I shall find you later.”

After they have both safely left my mother’s clutches, she turns to me, clucking her tongue.

“That was rather rude, Novalie,” she says, swinging her fan open once more, and I nearly choke.

“Me rude?” I splutter.

“Do speak properly.” She rolls her eyes. “And you need not stay here with me. I can quite manage greeting the guests myself.”

I eye her warily, unsure exactly what her scheme is.

“Oh, there is no need for that look.” Mother sucks in a deep breath, as if choosing her words carefully. “Novalie, I have asked you to smile at every one of these events and at every one of the wonderful dragons you meet, and you never oblige. Despite my very best efforts, you are not someone who can be made to smile.” Mother points at where Deyanara disappeared into the ball. “Except she did.”

For the first time, I have nothing to retort. My mouth opens and closes like a fish. Mother grasps my hand and it is such a foreign movement, I nearly jerk away.

“She only had to waltz into your eyeline and you smiled,” Mother continues. “She was stood here for all of five minutes and you smiled more than I have seen you do in a lifetime. You…” Mother squeezes my hand, her eyes softening. “You looked so happy, darling. Does she make you happy?”

A lump lodges itself in my throat. I know if I speak, the tears will fall, so I only nod mutely instead. Mother nods with me and releases my hand.

“Then no sane mother would object to that.” She sniffs and I realise she is on the verge of tears herself. She jerks her head towards the ball. “Well, off you go then.”

I turn to do as she says before spinning to drop a peck on her cheek.

“Thank you,” I choke out, and leave before she can see me cry.

I find Deyanara and Ronan trapped in conversation with a very harmless but very boring dragon from House Obsidian, who regales them with the specific breakfast foods that do not upset his stomach.

“Apologies, but I have promised a private tour,” I say, pulling them away.

Once we are safely in the back halls, away from the ball, Ronan claps a hand to his chest.