The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cian Merrick

Until this evening, I hadn’t felt territorial . . . about anything .

Tearing my gaze from Glenna, I focused on the mainlander coin purses captivated by our Heartbreak Show. Particularly one young gent who watched me sashay toward him to the melody of Owen’s banjo and with an intensity that flushed his neck.

“Beware, darlin’,” I simpered loud enough for all to hear. “He’ll make you fall in love with him.” Squeezing the man’s bicep, I bit my bottom lip and . . . moved on to the next lad, tossing over my shoulder, “Then he’ll leave you.”

Until three weeks ago, I owned nothing. Not even my life, which was always on the line to be beaten to death, traded away, or sold. My only possessions were moments I could claim to their fullest.

Friends. Music. Drink. Sex.

A man locked onto Glenna’s seductive movements beneath lowered lashes while pretending to check his pocket watch. The pulse fluttering in his throat accelerated. He licked his lips. A woman at his side leaned in to speak. The man snapped shut his watch and smiled politely at her.

The breath in my lungs flamed hot. Mortals were easily elf struck. Aye, Glenna could take care of herself and didn’t need me growling at every person who lusted after her while putting on a coin beggar’s show to make people do just that . Still . . . the Raven Folk feminine urge to peck a man’s mind to insanity was a new feeling to me.

For the past two years, I had refused to feel a single drop of jealousy over her dalliances. That was unfair to her and me. She could never be mine. I could never be hers. And my sister had to remain my entire world.

If I knew the details of Glenna’s trysts?

Or paid much attention to the ones in front of me?

It would have eaten me alive. I would have obsessed to the point of self-destruction. Aye, hypocritical considering all the lovers I’d indulged in—far more than her. Yet, the very moment my weak, desperate soul learned she only kissed blond-haired, blue-eyed mortal lads, I caved and looked her right in the eyes.

Feck, I knew what I would see and still I wasn’t prepared.

Hidden behind the folds of her skirt, a young woman inched her hand closer to a girl of similar age beside her. Their fingers touched. Both blinked back shyness. The initiator blushed. The pursued bit back an excited smile. Their concealed fingers wove together as they continued to watch our show, eyes straight ahead.

She was obsessed with me, like I was her. Loved me, pined for me, fantasized about me. Gods above, the force of her emotions mirrored my own.

And I panicked.

And started losing all my self-control.

And began drinking more to drown out the pain bleating in my chest.

The fear that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself and risk my sister’s safety consumed me. The terror that I would cause Glenna’s banishment if I pursued her—destroying Rhylen in the process—haunted every beat of my breaking heart. West Tribe would have sold me to Seren, if her banishment happened, and I would have been forever separated from Filena.

A tree spirit around my age slid into the lower-lit shadows on the fringe of the gathering. His fingers moved like a lover’s whisper. In a matter of seconds, he had unclasped a bracelet from a woman’s wrist. He winked at George, who was gaping at him, before disappearing into the thicker crowd.

“Beware,” I purred to a hazel-eyed lad in a flat cap. “He’ll squeeze every drop of fevered blood from your lovesick body.” I caressed his cheek with a single finger and twirled away to find my next sacrifice.

I should have reveled with abandon in being able to openly love Glenna in Rhylen’s new tribe. But the self-hate over being Hamish’s son painted my life in the deepest shame.

My new family, my friends saw that fecking piece of shite. They witnessed the food matted on his clothing, his greasy, unkempt hair and beard. His drunken rages. They were there when I brought Mam to my wagon, covered in bruises and dressed in warm clothing George found for her to wear over the thin scrap of fabric barely covering her body.

After all Mam had endured, knowing Moira Merrick didn’t fear me when I was slurring and stumbling on whiskey . . . changed everything .

Knowing that I could provide for the girl I wanted to make my life partner . . . was transcendent .

I plucked a cigarette from a young man’s fingers and placed it between my red-stained lips. Winking at him, I sucked on the smoke in a suggestive draw. He and his friends laughed at my lascivious joke.

“Beware,” I said while blowing out smoke—

“She’ll pet more than your ego,” Glenna quipped, “and leave you forever unsatisfied.”

I gasped, then leaned toward a gent in a newly tailored black suit and stage-whispered, “I always finish what I start, sir.”

He cracked a smile. “I would hope so, miss .”

I blew him a kiss and dragged on the cigarette again.

Damn, his suit was a finely cut masterpiece.

I had never bought a brand new anything in my entire life.

But I bought, with coin I earned, factory new cake and loaf tins for Glenna. Mixing bowls, spoons, and cups she was the first to use too.

Stars above, I bought food . And chickens! Why was buying chickens empowering? It wasn’t the first time Rhylen found me with two girls on my arms. But when he met me at the train station, I had swallowed my pride and disembarked in the gods-awful cock boots, strutting toward him with a hen cradled in each arm. My brother laughed to tears.

Making Rhylen laugh was a full-time job I took very, very seriously.

Making Glenna laugh too.

Two days had passed since that day, but the unfettered joy on my heart’s face, the magic thrumming in my love’s veins still danced wildly in my aching pulse. A humbling feeling.

An older man opened a locket dangling in his fingers and stared wistfully at a faded image of a woman. Tears reddened his eyes. With a tiny, trembling smile, he kissed the illustration and tucked the necklace into an inner pocket of his suit vest.

Maybe I was the metaphorical Cow of Plenty and the quest for three items was an annoying adventure of self-discovery. That would be my shite luck.

If true, that muffin hag would call me a brassy cow or . . . brazen heifer.

Feck, brazen heifer was fantastic. I needed to call myself that first.

“Beware of halfling faerie girl smiles,” Glenna said from the other end of our makeshift stage. The word halfling always made the mortals look at me with hyper-curiosity.

Round and round we went, flinging challenges and insults while flirting with the crowd. When the boarding call was announced, we pointed to the red eyesores with our usual tale about sacrificing to the Love-Talkers to prevent a broken heart in our separation.

I glanced at Glenna to smile and—

Feck.

Me.

A woman strolled by in a dainty fruit-patterned dress and . . . wearing a Lughnasadh’s Day straw hat tied in a stylish bow beneath her chin.

Why was she wearing that hat to Seren? In winter? Lughnasadh’s Day was a summer festival for first harvests our sun god created to memorialize his foster mother.

My son.

Wait.

Where did that thought come from?—

Holy Mother of Stars! If I were a re-souled Cian, then the sun god was my fecking son.

No, I’d unknot that mind-blowing mess of weirdness later.

First, I needed this hat—

My mouth fell open. Three more ladies in fruit decorated straw hats and orchard-themed dresses skirted around the dispersing crowd toward the ferry docks.

“Gent of Fem!” I pointed, eyes wide, a goofy smile pulling at my lips. “Go!”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “And do what?”

“Whatever is necessary,” I said low so others couldn’t hear. “Play up your natural compelling allure. Trade a kiss for a hat. Coerce one of them.”

Glenna placed a fist on the hip she popped out, her head tilting the opposite direction. “Coercion is against the rules and against the law.”

Shite. I forgot the hat had to be gifted too.

“Fine, no coercion. But—”

“I’m not seducing an ugly hat from a woman to rival those hideous pair of boots. Not without telling me why.”

I pouted.

“No.”

I pouted some more.

“Cian Merrick”—an accusatory brow arched—“kissing is also against our rules.”

A corner of my mouth tipped up. “I’m only allowed to flirt with males, Gent of Fem.”

“Why do you need this hat?”

I heaved a frustrated sigh. “To get a cow.”

“A . . . cow ? You need a tacky arse hat, a Wishing Tree ribbon, and repulsive boots cobbled by leprechauns for a cow ?”

I shrugged.

“Full-blooded gods save me.” Glenna rolled her eyes.

“And sexy demi-god before you, but your arse in my pants distracts me to—”

She shooed her hands at me. “Go get your hideous fruit bowl hat, eejit.”

“How dare you insult my son’s fashion tastes.” Grinning, I kissed her forehead, the one wrinkling in confusion over my next nonsensical comment, then dashed off toward the group of ladies, who now numbered a dozen.

And skidded to a halt halfway to my mark.

The tree spirit, the one I saw sliding between shadows, stepped into my path. His dark forest green hair was shaved close on the sides and around the back of his head with longer strands tied up into a messy knot. Loose tresses fell over pale green eyes. The rascally tilt to the elf’s lips grew wider.

“Cian Merrick,” the familiar voice said. “Been awhile, yeah?”

The thumping organ in my chest stopped.

“Finn Brannon?”