The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

9. CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Glenna Lonan

A bright wedge of sunlight beamed onto the pillow where I lay. My eyes squinted open and blinked. The room was blurry in my fuzzy exhaustion.

Our third Heartbreak Show was last night. The revenue was twice that of the previous nights combined—a king’s ransom. The cock boot coins clinked in song the entire walk home. Cian couldn’t stop stealing victory kisses from me, each one growing more and more passionate as we changed back into our normal work clothes.

The eejit then left me panting to chop firewood in the forest with the fellas, smirking as he sauntered off. That up-to-no-good grin of his would flash my way whenever he returned to stack the wood . . . until he tugged me back to our wagon at sunrise.

Dark skies above, that man had way too much energy.

With a tired sigh, my lids slid closed a second later.

I had dreamed of decorating trays of tiny cakes in candied flowers and berries before waking. The warm memory of cinnamon and vanilla still lingered in my nose. Angling my face into my pillow, I begged the gods to return me to that familiar place where I not only had beloved, predictable tasks each day but busyness from a job that fed my magic. Even if just in dreams—

A paw tapped my cheek.

My eyes flew open to find a pair of dark brown ones watching me intently. I groaned, placing a hand up to shield against the late afternoon light. From his position on the pillow beside me, George patted my cheek again.

I yawned. “Does your master demand I attend him?”

George made a cooing chittering sound.

I hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was saying, not without Cian.

Wait . . . where was Cian? I pushed up and studied our small wagon.

He was gone. So was Moira.

In the three weeks we had lived together, Cian had not once awakened before me. The gobshite slept like the dead and needed to be dragged from the bed each day.

George snuggled up to my stomach, then grabbed my nightgown and tugged on me to lie back down. A giggle slipped past my lips. I moved the fluffy lad closer and George sighed. I started to relax again when something coarser moved against me and I pushed away, eyes wide. Sheila rolled to her back and stretched.

“George,” I asked slowly, “why is wee Sheila in my bed?”

The raccoon pulled Sheila to him, like she was a child’s well-loved doll. The hedgehog’s nose snuffled out from where his paw cupped her face and I giggled again.

“Does Filena know you stole her pocket of happiness?” Poor Lena, I hoped she hadn’t been searching for her hedgehog since whenever George ended up in the wagon. “Let’s return her, lad.”

I slipped my feet to the floor and stood. From a drawer beneath the bed, I pulled out my corset, stockings, petticoats, and a threadbare day dress. I promised to help Gran wildcraft medicinal plants for the mortals still recovering from the fever moving between the families. Thankfully, it hadn’t proven to be dire and was finally slowing down.

I quickly dressed, with George handing me each article of clothing in turn when not hugging Sheila to him. The wee lass didn’t seem to mind, licking one of his whiskers.

A knock sounded on the door. I turned just as Filena popped her head inside. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

I arched a brow. “Missing something, darlin’?”

She shut the door behind her. “Cian asked to borrow Sheila.”

“Cian?”

“Aye.” Mischief glimmered in my sister’s gray eyes. “A wee slice of happy magic.”

I twisted to peer at the little hedgehog and . . . burst into laughter. The darling rested on my pillow with my battle ribbon around her neck, as if a ruffled collar.

Filena snatched my hand and yanked me to the bed to lie down across the short side, her back to my pillows. Snuggling closer, we wrapped our arms around each other until we were nose-to-nose, grinning. I missed this. I missed our gossip sessions of all our ridiculous moments during the night before falling asleep each morning. Our witty back-and-forths too.

“Tell me something deliciously scandalous,” Lena whispered. “My soul needs cheering, it does.”

“You do look ghastly,” I teased, a concerned pinch to my brows. “Primal male problems, is it?”

“So growly.”

“The growliest.”

We sputtered a laugh.

George crawled over Filena and plopped Sheila between us, the garter ribbon still around her neck. He pet Lena’s hair while disappearing behind her once more.

“George is taking his job very seriously,” I said.

Filena’s eyes sparkled again and I narrowed mine in reply. “Gossip, pet?” She stroked Sheila’s back. “If I don’t find joy in another’s misery soon, I might create drama to satisfy my dark soul.”

“Niamh Conlan”—a former West Tribe felly in our new tribe—“stole Meira’s love charm—”

“The rusty key?”

“Aye.” My smile was slow. “She drops it in Meira’s path and illusions it into horse shite right before the lass steps on it.”

“Nooooo.” Filena started cackling. “Is this over Fadam?”

“All your fault, darlin’.” I poked her in the side.

Filena wrinkled her nose. “If Rhylen asks me to read apple peels on áine’s Day, I’ll curse all the fruit to—”

“Ah-ah,” I chastised, placing a finger to lips. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

Filena’s grin was equal parts delighted and wicked. “Believing a key will unlock a lad’s heart is horse shite.”

It was but the fae were superstitious to a fault.

A slight furrow appeared between Filena’s brow. “Where did you get this garter?”

“Nicked it from a mortal dalliance up north.”

My sister gently pulled the pink satin off Sheila and turned it in her hand. “This is the Ogham rune húath .”

I propped my head up onto my palm and studied the stitched ancient language of the trees. I could read the mortal common tongue, but not the ancient fae one. Runes here and there I recognized, aye—like húath . All faeries knew this one specifically. Many mortals did too. I just hadn’t noticed the stitching on the garter until now.

“Hawthorn,” I murmured.

The faerie tree. Or what mortals called a Wishing Tree. There were a few dotted around Carran and what inspired the Caravan tradition of Beltane and Samhain ribbons on our Truth Telling Trees. The ribbons represented different desires and mortals believed if they tied one to a hawthorn branch, faeries would grant them the wishes of their hearts.

Faeries didn’t grant wishes.

No, we tricked and bargained and Wishing Trees were a clever trap—

My pulse kicked into a gallop.

Cian . . . he had asked for a mortal to sacrifice a ribbon from a Wishing Tree to break our Love-Talker curse. Did he know my battle ribbon was one? Or was this part of his scheme he believed I didn’t see him spinning?

No, he knew I could scent a trail of Cian-made chaos. There was no hiding much from the lad.

“That mortal lass,” Filena continued, “either nicked the garter herself or took back her Wishing Tree ribbon to craft into a love charm.”

“Well,” I drawled with a wink, “it worked.”

“A memorable night, was it?”

“I might have granted a wish or two.” I plucked my battle ribbon from Filena’s fingers.

She snorted. “Then you broke her heart.”

“Aye, I broke—” I shut my mouth.

I might go feral over this . . .

Did the ribbon call to Cian? As a demi-god, could he feel the wish?

I considered the embroidered rune on my garter. “Can Cian read Ogham?”

Filena considered me a couple of seconds. “We both read Ogham before we could read the common tongue.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I ignored her question and rolled to a stand. “Where’s the eejit?”

George pulled Sheila to him before Filena scooped up the wee hedgie. After a hug, he gently put Sheila into Filena’s skirt pocket and my sister giggled.

“You really do like cuddling,” she cooed to the raccoon who cooed back. “Muffin Moo needs some Georgie snuggles too, aye? Go cheer up that fluffy red raincloud.”

Cian’s familiar climbed down the bed and scampered to the door, and Filena quietly cackled under her breath.

“After you, Mistress of Chaos,” I said to my sister.

She curtsied, “Raven Folk temptress.”

Filena wove her fingers with mine and led me outside. At the bottom of the steps, I looped my arm with hers. We wove through the mossy trees and tumbling fall leaves, a light tune on my lips. My sister glanced my way. The mischief in her gray eyes practically danced in glee.

What was going on?

Why did Cian really borrow Sheila and deliver the little lass through George?

A wee slice of happy magic . . .

Before I could think more on that man’s seemingly nonsensical schemes, we ambled into camp and those cooking meager, watered-down meals, working on chores, caring for children immediately stopped to watch as I moved toward the central fire pit.

A chill prickled down my spine.