The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cian Merrick

I tipped the bottle of sacrificed aged whiskey to my mouth and drank, heavily, before passing it off to Rhylen. For the first time in weeks, we were alone. Not too far from where we sat on the edge of camp, the hum of pixie wings serenaded the night. An owl hooted in the distance. And above us, bare tree limbs swayed.

Everything was swaying in my vision, though. We had imbibed in a different bottle of sacrificed whiskey with the fellas first. Before Corbin dared me to steal Bryok from storage and take the skunked pecker for a walk. I pet the former prince’s adorably vile, whiskered head, making Rhylen snort. We all wanted to snap his neck. The girls would snap ours if we did, though.

Alas, pranks would have to do.

George materialized at my side from the night’s shadows. The shape of him was a wee blurry to my blinking eyes. His little paws dropped a silver case through the flower crown in my lap, the one I had attempted to weave in my tipsy state for Mam. Snorting a quiet laugh, I placed the simple wreath of wild purple asters atop my head, then grabbed the . . . cigarette case? I popped the lid and nearly moaned at the sight of a half-dozen shop-rolled sticks. I opened my mouth to thank the fluffy lad, but he was gone.

Rhylen lifted a book of matches with a crooked smile. He didn’t have to say a word. George nicked those too, gods bless him.

I placed a cigarette between my lips and Rhylen struck a match. Leaning forward, I dragged on the smoke until it lit—and sighed. A cigarette and a bottle of whiskey—perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

I fell back in a graceful arch until my head rested in Rhylen’s lap. My fingers sought his and knotted them together with mine across my stomach.

Now it was perfect.

Rhylen chuckled under his breath. I was still trussed up from tonight. The fall of skirts around my legs was like a blanket. It was a pleasant, comforting feeling. Though now I wore Glenna’s bodice. It was too fecking cold near dawn to wander around camp sleeveless.

“Talk to me,” I murmured.

I knew he wouldn’t thank me for tonight’s revenue—not directly. The fae didn’t use mortal expressions of thanks. The words bound them in a bargain to owe a future favor. And while Rhylen trusted me, it just wasn’t a faerie’s way.

“I’m . . . I’m overwhelmed.” My brother imbibed another sip of whiskey, then leaned his head back against a tree and peered up at the stars. “I was so bent on burning the Fiachna’s empire to the ground, I didn’t fully consider the logistics of starting a new tribe from the ashes of my fury.”

He hadn’t named his tribe yet either.

Images of Raven Folk at camp rushed through my mind at breakneck speeds. The hems of their emotions and inner thoughts ripped at the seams before me and . . . I quickly understood what Rhylen was too afraid to speak aloud.

“Don’t confuse fighting the shame forced on us to feel all our lives as fear of you.” I caressed my thumb over his fingers. “Your flock lowers their eyes and looks away out of conditioning.”

Rhylen’s throat bobbed. “That shame,” he whispered, “is a different fire still burning in me.”

“Aye.” I twisted to flick the cigarette’s ashes away from us, considering Bryok’s dead stare for a second. “Most here are still afraid to meet the eyes of Braelin and other former middle-ranks. It’s not you, chieftain .”

He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth for a second. “What you and Glennie did tonight—” his voice caught and he blinked his eyes. “I don’t just want to feed the camp. I ache to see those former fellys and slaves feast every fecking day. I . . ." He swallowed thickly again. “The memory of our fellas wolfing down food in the groom’s tent, like the starved dogs we were, remains a white-hot flame in my veins.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Not providing food makes me feel like I’m no different than those govs.”

I knew he felt this. I had seen it on him since the first full day of camp set-up—the very moment he realized we literally had nothing to survive on. He discussed flying to Seren to call in a bargain owed for cows, chickens, pigs, and farming supplies. But the fellas decided to wait and see if busking could bring in enough coin to purchase livestock and feed first. Once our license was approved, Filena could begin reading fortunes.

The Kingdom of Carran, however, was slower than a snail on sharp gravel.

Rhylen continued to smile and interacted with everyone in that playful, teasing way of his. He led with the same patience and kind directness he had with the set-up and break down crew. But that shame, that fear of becoming what he had despised marked every tense muscle in his body.

I intimately knew that overwhelming fear, that sickening shame . . .

The scrape on Glenna’s cheek filled my vision and I shoved at my da’s blistering voice in my head. Hamish deserved no part of my life, not even my self-loathing.

Another tear slid down Rhylen’s cheek.

“Your coin beggar’s show,” he said with a gentle squeeze of his hand, “will restore people’s dignity. We’ll be beggars no more.”

Well, shite, now my eyes misted.

I rolled my head to fully see him and the forest tilted a little. “I’ll shake my arse and flash my ankles as much as it takes to not eat termite flour bread.”

Rhylen threw his head back in a loud laugh.

And damn, I could melt into a puddle at the sight.

“Milk a deer for me, though, Rhy-Rhy.” I bit my bottom lip and he laughed again.

The crunch of leaves sounded nearby and Rhylen’s head whipped to the side. “Glenna and Filena,” he whispered.

I would never not be amused by how our sisters’ names rhymed.

Nor would I never not irritate Glenna as payback for her pranks.

Dangling the cigarette between my lips, I twisted to grab the whiskey from Rhylen’s hand and settled it against me. Then I took that same hand and combed his fingers into my hair, above the flower crown. “Play with the strands, lover.”

He sputtered another laugh but obeyed.

The girls slowed before us. I blew out a stream of smoke and lifted innocent eyes.

My sister’s lips quirked to the side. “Gossiping and braiding each other’s hair, are you?” Her gray eyes slid to the taxidermized-ish skunk. “Braiding his too?”

Glenna considered my and Rhylen’s knotted hands on my stomach, then how he was preening the longer locks of my hair.

“Rhylee Lo loves to braid my hair,” I half-slurred, “while telling me all his darkest birdie secrets.”

Glenna remained fixated on the rhythm of Rhylen’s fingers, her jaw moving back and forth.

“Cian’s hair is so silky,” Rhylen murmured. “Makes the secrets spill out of me, it does.” Our eyes locked and my brother lost it. He could never keep a straight face. The whiskey didn’t help.

Glenna snatched the cigarette from my mouth and placed it in hers.

I drew in a scandalized breath. “Pie harpy!”

“Dowdy wench,” she shot back.

Smirking that competitive smile of hers, she bent to thieve the whiskey next and I grabbed the bottle. Glenna batted at my hand and I snorted, gripping the neck of the bottle tighter.

Her slender brow peaked.

I narrowed my eyes—

Ash fell from the cigarette balancing between her lips. I dodged it just in time, pushing into Rhylen, who grunted with the impact. Orange embers winked out in the grass where I had been laying. Glenna’s eyes widened in horror only for a slight second. Then they slid to the whiskey.

The corked bottle was tipped on its side.

We both dove for it, but her sober arse was quicker.

My sister’s cackling filled the forest around us, but Glenna’s crowing howls were louder.

With a growl, I pushed up from Rhylen’s lap to stand.

“Shite,” she breathed, then grasped Filena’s hand and tugged her into a run.

I was too sloshed to give a proper chase. But dammit all. A few seconds later, the girls disappeared into the dark surroundings.

I slumped against the tree beside Rhylen.

“Bloody Ravens,” I grumbled.

A corner of his mouth hitched up. “She didn’t wing whip you this time.”

“That whiskey was my happy cake.” Possibly the best bottle I’d ever had.

Rhylen climbed to his feet with a groan, then offered me his hand. “Let’s see what other happy trouble we can find.”

I grabbed his hand and he yanked me up into an embrace.

“I love you, brother,” he said softly.

I rested my head on his shoulder and he tightened his hold. “You’re nothing like those govs, Rhy.”

“Hungry bellies don’t care.”

“Your flock knows the difference.”

He was quiet for several seconds. “Aye, maybe.”

I pulled away and cupped his face. “They do, chieftain.” Our eyes met and . . . for once, my mind didn’t spin with information. Did I now know everything he tried to hide? Warmth bloomed in my chest and I leaned my forehead against his. “Love you too, brother.”

We walked into camp a few minutes later, Bryok cradled in one arm, my other looped through Rhylen’s until he broke away to sit beside Filena. The girls, including Braelin, were passing the whiskey back and forth, and I cracked a smile. My sister didn’t let herself drink often enough.

Glenna glanced at me over her shoulder and my heart stuttered a beat. Firelight kissed her skin and flickered along her midnight hair. She won tonight. There were more women in the audience than men. Or men willing to laugh off their buttoned-up, mortal notions of masculinity to sacrifice coin to someone like me.

Others around camp eyed Bryok in my arms. But only for a second.

Lugging around a cursed taxidermized Raven prince was still not the weirdest thing I’d brought to a gathering.

I set said skunk down to remove the aster flower crown from my head and walked a few unsteady steps to Mam. “For you,” I murmured and placed the droopy wreath atop her wavy blonde hair, then kissed her cheek. “Our Faerie Queen this night.”

Edna, her red cardinal, chirped from her shoulder in approval and gently tugged at a tiny petal.

She smiled sweetly at me. “Yer too kind, love bug.”

Love . . .

My mind snagged on that one word. I twirled to Gran. “How many Love-Talker pipes have you seen in your young life?”

Gran laughed. “My fair share.” She ended with a wink and I grinned. Dirty old hen.

Lifting my skirts, I lowered onto the stump beside her and Mam, picked up the skunk, and started to pet his cute, disgusting head when George appeared at my side. “Aye, you too.” The lad climbed up into my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck first before cuddling up against Bryok. May the smothering snuggles of Georgie Dirty Paws cause him eternal suffering.

Returning my attention onto Gran, I asked, “The gancanagh were real, then? Not a faerie tale?”

“Oh aye, they’re real,” she said and patted my knee.

A scowl pinched between my brows. They are real, not were. Well, feck. She and Mam exchanged a quick look, one my fluthered head didn’t miss, and my stomach dropped. “And they always smoke . . . a pipe?”

“Smoking adds to his dangerous, reckless beauty, aye. Cigarettes are new, lad. A mortal invention.”

Mam was staring at me so intensely, the hairs on my arms lifted. “Not all gancanagh are predatory, love bug. Or cause death by breaking hearts. Some speak love and light to those they touch.”

The scowl between my brows deepened. “Came across the pipe in the woods.”

Gran patted my leg again. “A perfect prop fer yer coin beggar’s show, it is.”

Mam’s eyes remained riveted on me. She knew I wasn’t telling the entire truth. Or maybe being around a drunk man, especially one with Hamish’s blood in his veins, kept her on high alert. Beneath lowered lashes, I studied the scrape on Glenna’s beautiful face and bit the inside of my cheek.

Should I leave and give Mam space?

Would she feel safer if I weren’t around?

I could use my seer’s ability to find out but if I saw her disgust, her terror . . .

Nausea fisted in my gut.

George nuzzled into my chest with a soft, comforting sigh. I leaned my cheek on his head and loosed a shaky breath of my own.

“Asters are me favorite,” Mam spoke quietly, knotting her fingers with mine.

I lifted my head and whispered, “I remembered.”

Our cottage had little, but she brightened the space with the asters she had dried from autumn bouquets she picked each year. When Hamish would disappear for a couple of days, she’d weave the flowers into her long, golden braid and tie off both her hair and flowers with an old, ratty blue satin ribbon. The ribbon she had packed into Filena’s runaway sack.

“Asters,” Mam said, handing one to me and another to Filena, “grow where wishing stars fall. The blooms hold one last wish, they do.”

“What do ye wish fer?” Filena asked, twirling the flower in her little fingers.

“Fer me bairns to find the truest love.” Tears glossed her eyes. “Fer ye both to capture happiness and to dance with shiny ribbons in yer hair and new shoes on yer feet.”

“I wish fer three bowls of berries,” Filena shared with a grin. “And a dragonfly friend.” My sister turned to me. “Cillian?”

The pad of my thumb brushed over the soft, pointy purple petals. “To never be him.”

Mam set her bouquet on the table and cupped my face. “Asters are the flowers of wisdom, valor, and . . . love. And ye, me son, have a strong, wise heart made to speak only love .” She leaned in close and whispered, “Ye’ll never be him.”

The memory ended and I drew in a shaky breath.

Beside me, Mam plucked a flower from the crown. Edna alighted from her shoulder with the movement, to peck for bugs and seeds on the ground. Leaning forward, Mam gently tucked the purple blossom behind my ear, then kissed my cheek. “I wish fer ye to stay with me awhile.”

My eyes flicked to hers and stilled.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who could divine what others tried to hide.

Apparently, I needed to follow my own advice too.

Your flock knows the difference . . .

The tribe didn’t see corrupted govs when they looked at Rhylen.

My mother didn’t see Hamish when she looked at her drunk son.

A corner of my mouth tipped up. “I wish for you to dance with shiny ribbons in your hair and new shoes on your feet.”

I tugged on the black satin ribbon around my neck. Seeing this, George climbed off my lap and into Gran’s so I could slip the ribbon beneath Mam’s long, beautiful tresses. Tears warmed her green eyes, her lips trembling into a smile while I looped the satin into a bow. No one deserved a battle ribbon more than Moira Merrick.

No one.

Taking Mam’s hand, I pulled her to stand while simultaneously setting the skunk onto my stump.

“Music!” I shouted, hoping someone had an instrument nearby. “The Faerie Queen wants to dance!” A few seconds later, a fiddle started up. Then a bodhrán drum. I wrapped an arm around my mam’s waist and held her hand in the air. “Ready to capture happiness?”

The camp spun and tilted as we stepped to the beat.

Our smiles wide, our singing loud.

Perhaps it was my fae blood, perhaps it was a toast to all the broken hearts who survived to beat another day, but I craved dancing around a bonfire with my friends and family until the rising sun brightened the sky.

I reeled with Mam. Jigged with Rhylen. Then Sean. Drank more with Filena. Stole kisses from Glenna whenever I passed her while draped on Owen’s and Corbin’s arms.

And when the sky feathered into light, I fell into bed beside my heart’s obsession, the one I would no longer be afraid to call mine, laughing until it hurt to smile.