The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Cian Merrick

Of all the fecking places for Owen to retch up the whiskey I nicked, it would be while on all fours next to the boarding docks.

The steam engine blared its horn. More like screamed to my fluthered head and I grimaced. People hurried past to board the eastbound train. I snorted at the open disgust in their upturned features. I wasn’t sure if it was at seeing a lady man with a raccoon clutched to his dirt stained, blue skirts or a faerie losing the magical contents of his stomach—quite dramatically, too, the little shite.

I gathered Owen’s long, decorated black hair away from his face when he heaved again. “I can’t marry you now, lad,” I slurred.

“But why, love bug?” Owen erupted into drunken laughter over my mam’s nickname for me between bouts of sickness. “We’re mad for each other.”

“Because, my giant fae cock shifter”—I winked at a gent who strolled by—“I don’t marry males who can’t hold in their . . . liquor .”

The mortal nearly choked and I grinned.

Most female birds, regardless of species, were called hens. And most male birds, including ravens, were called cocks, much to the mortification of wealthy mainlanders everywhere. Cock was such a delightful word too.

George patted Owen on the back.

“God—” Owen doubled over again before he could finish.

“Aye?” I knew he meant gods , but I was a shameless hussy. “Call me your god again, darlin’. You know it puffs my chest feathers when you do.”

Owen started laughing once more.

Gods , I could use a cigarette. Not sure it was worth casing for one while piss drunk though. My world was spinning enough.

Since a wee thing, I had a seer’s ability to notice what others tried to hide. Rhylen often teased that I missed nothing and . . . I really didn’t—couldn’t. My restless, racing mind craved the noise. Not just the noise, but the chaos of multiple thought strands at once.

Feck it. My gaze reluctantly lifted to hunt for a smoke and, immediately, the blurry pieces of settings and people rushed my tipsy brain at rapid fire.

A woman in a gaudy red silk gown and jewels pulled a single coin from her purse. Not enough for the train fare.

Was I even included in the exclamation “gods?” Could people pray to me, a demi?

An older man leaned against a column and lit a pipe to mask the unshed tears in his eyes.

As the great-grandson of the Mother, the most rutting fertile god of all the gods, obviously people were praying to me when—

A younger man escorted a woman off Seren’s ferry platform, then peered over his shoulder. Shuffling behind them, a fae girl in a maid’s uniform pressed a hand protectively to the barely showing bump of her stomach.

My eyes narrowed. Obviously , as the demi-god of a fertility goddess, the people praying “oh god!” during the throes of passion were praying to me.

Two lads around twelve or so shot marbles at the skirts of their mams. One spit into a small handful of dirt and painted a phallic symbol on the cream silk beside him while the other snickered.

The corners of my mouth hooked up at that. Wait. I narrowed my eyes again. Were the gods calling me a childish dick for pointing out the obvious ?

George peered up at me and chittered.

“Well, Georgie Dirty Paws,” I half-slurred, half-drawled—it was talent at this point, really. “Barry thinks everyone’s a dick.”

“Lady of Man . . .” Owen groaned, blindly reaching for me.

“If you call me a dick too, I swear by my heaving he-vage, our wedding is absolutely off.”

He sputtered another laugh. “He-vage?”

“Male cleavage,” I cooed and pet his head. “Now up, eejit.” I dragged Owen to a wobbly stand.

A dandy gent who wore a hideous pair of red boots, brisked down the boardwalk on the way to Seren’s ferry. A cigarette in his fingers.

Finally .

My hand shot out, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, then plopped it into mine. I dragged in deep and blew out slowly. The man skidded to a stop and gaped at me. A blush warmed his cheeks when I puckered my lips at him in a flirty kiss in thanks. Until, that is, we both noticed my glove-stealing faerie familiar caressing his red boots.

“George, no,” I stage-whispered in horror.

The raccoon looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“You want me to . . . wrestle them off his feet?” I sucked another long draw, careful not to ruin my rouge-painted lips, and gestured at the dandy. “And scandalize this fine gent in front of everyone for those ?”

George nodded his head.

The man straightened and lifted his chin. “How dare you insult me in an outdated gown from the Vanderbilt Leeson catalogue.”

The hand holding the stolen cigarette paused mid-air.

There were catalogues . . . for dresses ?

George scampered a couple steps away, apparently ashamed to be seen beside an outdated catalogue dress and proceeded to pet the red boots again, the wee traitorous bastard. The man, peering down his nose, spared me one last haughty glance, then doffed his hat at my bloody raccoon and strolled off.

Before I could holler a cracker reply, Owen stumbled against me, nearly knocking us both down. To steady himself, he nuzzled his face into my neck and patted my chest. “You do have nice he-vage.”

I barked a laugh, making Owen fall into another fit himself.

“What are you two eejits doing?”

The voice registered in my scuttered brain, but I couldn’t stop laughing. Especially with Owen’s breathy wheezes tickling my neck.

I blinked back the growing blurriness in my vision and peered up to find Rhylen eyeing me, a scowl between his dark brows, Sean standing beside him. Corbin leaned around Owen and grimaced, placing a hand over his nose and mouth.

Cigarette ash fell on my fingers. “Feck,” I hissed, shaking the embers off.

“We’re getting hitched, fellas,” Owen sputtered out in Corbin’s face, making the latter rear back in disgust. “For coin.”

“For coin?” Rhylen repeated.

“Is my broody Raven jealous?” I meant to tap Rhylen’s nose and poked his cheek instead. The scowl between Rhylen’s eyes deepened. “Aye, coin.”

I threw an arm around my best friend’s shoulders, drawing him in close, Owen squeezed in along with him, and opened my mouth to speak. Except, I couldn’t remember our plan. What was our stars damned plan? My mouth clamped shut. Let’s see . . . I nicked an unopened bottle of whiskey from a bag. Owen found me. We talked about being poorer than felly poor, and—I remembered!

“A coin-beggar’s show, darlin’.”

My brother’s lips dipped into a frown. “About getting married?"

“For gifts.” I gestured at the station with my cigarette. “Mainlander wedding tradition.”

With a sigh, Corbin eased Owen off me, who then patted Corbin's chest and murmured, “You have nice mleavage too.”

I cracked a grin. Mleavage.

Warmth crept up Corbin’s cheeks at Owen’s petting.

“Lady of Man.” The snap to Rhylen’s voice sobered me up and my gaze whipped back to his. Despite the tired commanding tone, the feathered arse’s lips twitched.

A small spot by his temple was rubbed raw. He blinked in a slow squint despite the evening sky. A tiny muscle by his left eye pulsed. His jaw was clenched, even with a half-smile.

I tossed the butt of my pinched cigarette to the ground and rubbed it out with the toe of my heeled shoe. If I weren’t such an opportunistic strumpet, I would have saved the bottle for ol’ Rhylee Lo here. Instead, I did the next best thing.

Facing my best friend, I squished his cheeks between the palms of my fingerless lace-gloved hands and pouted, “Tell me I’m pretty, Rhy-Rhy.”

He breathed a laugh, a genuine one. The ache in my chest, however, the one I tried to drown with drink, began bleating for attention once more. We were broke. There was no real incoming revenue. Little to no food. A fever was sweeping through the mortals at camp. Winter would set in soon. Supplies to build our own Night Market wouldn’t arrive until spring.

And Rhylen Lonan felt the hunger pains and desperation of every single person in his flock.

Goddess save me, but I would do anything to lessen this burden he carried.

Beneath my massaging fingers, the tension in his jaw relaxed; the worry wrinkling his forehead smoothed. Wells of exhaustion dulling his dark purple eyes brightened to amusement as we continued to hold each other’s gaze. I waited . . . waited . . . and then his lips curved into a smooshed smirk I knew meant he felt sassy broody instead of stressed broody.

“Not as pretty as me,” he tossed back.

I kissed his cheek, leaving a rouge mark, before releasing his face and grumbled, “Bloody Ravens.”

His grin widened.

And dammit if I didn’t swoon in brotherly affection—

A gasp left me. The pistons of my mind accelerated.

I knew the perfect coin-beggar’s show.

Turning to Owen, I patted his upper arm. “Sorry to break your heart, lad. But I can’t marry you.”

“For feck’s sake,” Corbin muttered.

I cocked a flirty smile and winked at the fellas before flouncing off in the direction of camp. I needed to find the Gent of Fem and make a bet.

One to spark that feisty, competitive nature of hers.

One that would save our new tribe.