The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

3. CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Cian Merrick

Barry’s yellow eyes slid to the repugnant boot I gripped as I approached the community fire pit. Catching my glare, the lad chuffed a low laugh. I ignored the fox and plopped down onto an empty stump, my brows pinched and my hair a finger-combed mess. The fellas, my sister, Braelin, Mam, and Gran eyed the red leather cradled in my arms but said nothing. It wasn’t the weirdest thing I’d carried to a gathering. Definitely the ugliest, though.

Last night, I was too drunk to truly register what it was, only that my blurry vision found it revolting. This afternoon, though? I should throw this atrocity into the fire. Or stake it as a ward against evil fashion puns sported by arrogant dandies who believed themselves witty.

It was a cock boot.

A bloody cock boot .

Red, dome-shaped, with a rooster stitched on both sides.

Gods above . . .

The throbbing in my hungover head didn’t give a dying star’s arse how I destroyed this boot, though. But it needed to be somewhere George would never find it again.

Since I offered no explanation, or greeting, people returned to their conversations. Filena, however, was practically giddy over my suffering. After kicking her ankle a few weeks back, I deserved her mockery—and more. In my defense, though, my magic hadn’t picked up, at any point, that the Fiachnas knew Filena was both a fáidhbhean and a cailleach . I had only wanted to stage the illusion that the collector had attacked her . . . instead of the reverse.

Still, when Rhylen looked away, I shot Filena a rude gesture and she snickered. That same moment, to my sister’s eternal joy, the clouds parted in a dramatic reveal of the lowering sun and my smirk twisted into a pained grimace.

Gods, the fecking light was a constant dull, stabbing knife in my eyes. Worth it, though, to leave Glenna aroused and breathless to piss off her competitive nature. And damn every handsome freckle on my pretty face, did I crave being the target of her verbal talons and crowing grins.

Especially the past two weeks.

Glenna’s creative mind had little to do since resting our wagon wheels beneath Seren. Supplies were low, our pooled coin laughable. Carran’s government had yet to approve our Market and Fair License request. Fortune telling, unfortunately, fell within the license’s business perimeters too.

But not music or plays, so long as we didn’t charge for admittance.

The songbirds we threw at the station’s travelers earned us little. Buskers were ten a penny in every poor village let alone in the sprawling cities east of Caledona Wood. We were shaking a copper in a tin can at their deaf purses.

No . . . our coin beggar’s show would need to be clever, bawdy, and over-the-top. Whatever low-class but high-brow dramatics it took to legally glamour the eastern mainlanders out of their money while also giving Glenna an occupation to keep her from slipping into the shadows.

She did that—often.

There were many times over the years I had wanted to knock Rhylen’s and Filena’s heads together for failing to notice Glenna’s struggles. Aye, I had abilities others didn’t. My frustrations didn’t care. I had seen visions of the future, like Filena, though only a few times. But unlike Filena, my seer magic primarily saw clues in the buried past as well as saw what was hidden in the present.

I could see through the mask Glenna glued tight to her face.

Sometimes I thought I was the only person who truly saw the real Glenna Lonan.

“I’ll search for more wild apples today,” Filena volunteered, cutting through my thoughts. “Mushrooms, berries, and nuts too.”

“Need company?” Braelin asked.

A few others nearby offered to join as well.

“When a wee hennie . . .” Gran began and the small gathering hushed for the beloved Brenna Meadows to continue. “Me mam and nan added birch bark flour to spread out our rye and wheat stores.”

Tree bark flour? As if a termite? I arched a brow at that. No one would argue with an ancient, though. Caravan fae were still connected to their wild origins when she was younger. Across from me, Filena wrinkled her nose at that suggestion and I almost snorted.

Rhylen slowly nodded his head in reluctant agreement. Stars above, the lad needed a drink. Perhaps the whole bottle. But, like the reveling tosspot I was, I saved none for him.

“We do need more firewood,” Rhylen conceded a second later.

Owen slid me a disbelieving side-glance. I loathed his full-fae magic this afternoon. Not a lick hungover despite his retching last night, the lucky arse.

Gran patted Rhylen’s knee. “Mixed the bark flour with faerie cattle milk, we did.”

“Magic cows?” a formal mortal indentured asked her.

“Nae, lad. I don’t speak of that type of crodh sìdh .” Gran chuckled. “The faerie cattle herded in The Wilds.”

Corbin choked and Sean patted him on the back, harder than necessary.

Rhylen’s body, however, went deathly still. “You’re suggesting we milk . . . deer ?”

“Aye, the wee ones need milk, Rhylee Lo.”

The slight horror on Rhylen’s face fed my hungover soul. I opened my mouth to request the first sip of deer milk, provided by the gentle stroke of his skilled hands, when Glenna stepped from the woods and all breath left my lungs.

Sweet goddess . . .

The same sun I cursed I now reverently blessed. Silky afternoon light caressed the soft feathers of Glenna’s large wings in iridescent purples and blues. The dusky plum hue of her favorite gown—and mine—hugged her mouth-watering curves and pushed up her breasts. Artfully fallen, obsidian ringlet curls bounced to her swaying steps and I had to bite back a groan.

Win by tempting me into an early grave it was then.

Excellent strategy.

Since we first kissed three weeks ago, since we’d done far more than kiss, I could think of nothing else but her. She had already been in my veins, my breath for years. I wasn’t joking when I confessed that I only knew how to obsess. She was going to ruin me.

The word “mate” terrified me, though.

I locked onto the small scrape on her upper cheek. Shame heated my skin and I blinked back the panic building in my pulse. It sickened me to look at the wound, as minor as it might be. But it also sickened me to not fixate on the consequences of my recklessness.

Glenna sidled up beside Mam, who spoke in quiet tones while gently touching the injury. It was imperceptible, but Glenna flinched, and my heart cracked—

I sat in a rickety chair, watching my bruised knuckles twist a fraying ribbon, gritting back the furious tears. I had hit him back. Knocked him square in the jaw. The power, the pleasure that filled me was indescribable. It was a fleeting feeling, though, quickly replaced with familiar, sharp pain. At thirteen, I could fight back, but I refused to cry, no matter how much I wanted to. I wouldn’t give that vile man any other reasons to call me a filthy Molly.

Mam dabbed a cool cloth on a bleeding wound on my cheek. I was still wearing an old, tattered dress of hers, refusing to take it off, despite Da’s threats to sell me if I didn’t.

“Not all heroes wear armor, Cillian,” she had whispered. “Cian, the warrior god who fathered Lugh, wore a dress when he left his known world to chase after his birthright. He met and married his true love in a dress, too, he did.”

My eyes lifted and I swallowed thickly.

Mam lowered the cloth and cupped my face with the barest touch. “It’s time to chase after yer birthright, my wee Cian.”

My mind snapped back to reality.

I was struggling to keep my breathing calm.

Everyone warming themselves at the fire probably saw Glenna fall when she couldn’t keep my eejit arse up. I didn’t beat her in a drunken rage, like Hamish did us, but what if I did one day? What if I lost control of myself? Because of a darker magic I may possess? Like Filena’s actual ability to curse and transmute an object into another?

I jumped up from the stump when Glenna caught my eye. A saucy smile softened her lips—one meant only for me. Her gaze dipped to the deplorable heeled, stitched leather I clutched in my arms and that smirk turned impish.

That smile, those lips, feck that gorgeous mouth . . .

“Cian, lad,” Gran spoke over the fire, “why do ye have one boot?”

I tore my gaze from Glenna’s rouge-painted lips to wink at Gran. “To right an ancient wrong with a bloody raccoon.”

Barry chuffed again.

I narrowed my eyes at the fox. “Remember, Barry Berry Muffin Moo Lonan Merrick”—I pointed the boot at him—“I’m with the lass who makes your treats.”

Corbin tilted his head. “Is that a—”

“A cock boot, aye,” Owen finished for him with a grimace. “George was caressing them last night.”

Filena burst into a loud cackle. “While on a man’s foot?”

“He wanted Cian to wrestle them off the gent’s feet,” Owen confirmed.

Gran wiped away tears. “Tell me ye didn’t . . .”

My jaw slackened. “You actually believe I would assault a dandy for his sh—” I didn’t finish. Why would anyone naturally conclude George did this? I blinked. How did George steal this heinous boot? No, not important right now. Shifting on my feet, I pointed at Mam, then Edna, Mam's red cardinal who perched on her shoulder, followed by Gran in mock-outrage. “You didn’t raise a hussy.”

Filena snorted. I slid her a glare—one she knew was all for show.

Gran wheezed another laugh, laughing louder when Rhylen cut in. “You’re just mad that George stroked the gent’s large boot first.”

“Feck you, former best friend.”

Corbin shrugged. “It is something you would wear.”

Sean and Owen both nodded their heads in vigorous agreement, their faces contorting with the effort to not giggle like fledgling girls.

Feathered bastards.

Aye, I was a gaudy tart, as Glenna liked to call me, and I did tease and riddle the word cock, as the fellas knew, but even I had fashion standards. This was a mockery of all that was holy and good and right with the world.

The stitching was mustard gold.

Mustard.

I opened my mouth to reply when Glenna moved toward me. “Cian,” she sighed, “your hair is the real horror story.”

With a tsk, she reached for the wild strands falling over my eyes.

I flashed her a smirk and gently caught her wrist mid-reach. When her jaw adorably clenched, I then leaned down until my lips brushed her ear.

“Glenna,” I whispered, low and rough, “grab my hair while moaning my name in the woods. I’ll leave now. Just say the word.” Her body stilled. I could feel the building steam ready to blow in that blushing head of hers. Satisfied, I angled back and added, “But don’t scandalize the children.” I gestured my head at the boys, who replied with playful insults in return.

Glenna lifted her chin, a flirty smile tilting her lips in an invitation to verbally tumble. My answering grin replied feck yes . The glittering dark gaze holding mine thundered back your loss, your wake . Gods above, my heating blood rushed straight to my groin with that one single look.

This was the opening I was waiting for, too.

A public performance to riddle her into another.

Slowly, I released her wrist. “Glennie Lo,” I drawled, “I need your dress.”

The lads cheered and whistled, including Rhylen. Others at the fire pit clapped. This was how I opened every flirty fight between me and Glenna.

“You almost ruined the blue one, darlin’ .” A single black brow arched.

“Next time be more patient when undressing me, Gent of Fem.” Laughter erupted around us and I bit down on my lower lip. “So unladylike.”

Glenna pointed at Owen. “Your ex-mate-to-be wept in relief. The poor lad feared marrying a man who wore that boot while in that outdated catalogue dress.”

My brows shot up. I told her about the dandy’s comment? Intuition flooded my gut; my mind replayed images and snippets of conversation faster than a storm-raged river—no, not me. I side-eyed Owen and mouthed, “pecker,” and he grinned.

Glenna stepped closer and I leaned in like I was going to kiss her but stopped short. Her gaze touched mine and . . . my whirring thoughts stilled for a stuttering beat of my heart. How I loved her starless night eyes. They soothed the chaos in me.

But not yet.

“I need your dress,” I repeated with a pout.

“Lady of Man, bark up another skirt.”

The fire pit broke into more cheers and laughter.

And here it was. The moment I would change our fates. Hopefully, our new flock’s too.

Leaning in closer, I stage-whispered, “How else will I earn more gifts at the train station than you?”

Glenna reared back. “The cock boot hit your head, darlin’ ?”

She didn’t understand. I knew she wouldn’t. I also knew she wouldn’t admit to being in the dark about my nonsensical comment. But I had unwittingly planted the seed in the wagon. Sometimes I was bloody brilliant without meaning to be.

“Gifts to the Love-Talkers,” I sashayed in our verbal dance, slowly, emphatically,

Her mouth slightly parted. Then her eyes brightened. A slow grin kicked up the corners of my mouth. I softly winked for her to take control.

Without missing a beat, Glenna flicked my forehead.

“Ow!” I snapped. Feck, I knew it was coming. I consented for her to do this—unlike most times. And she never flicked hard enough to inflect pain despite my dramatic reactions to feed her crowing glee. But the throbbing in my head increased tenfold for a few rapid breaths.

“Wear my dress all you like, but I’ll still get more broken heart bargains than you.”

“Aye, I’ll wear your dress.” I tossed her a sensual grin. “Your corset and drawers too.”

Glenna snatched Rhylen’s top hat off his head and angled it low on her brow. The fire pit erupted into hoots, suggestive cheers, and laughter.

My gancanagh placed her hand onto the unbuttoned part of my upper shirt, the skin of her fingers touching the skin of my chest. I was already addicted to her. Already wasting away in endless want and had been for years. But when she said the four words that always made me swoon, I fell for her all over again.

“Lady of Man, bets.”