The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cian Lonan-Merrick

“Damn,” Owen whispered beside me.

I had never felt so backwoods as I did while peering over the ledged shoulders of a giant to a sea of similarly sized brick monsters. Caledona Wood had textile factories in the large villages, but they were dollhouse furniture in comparison to the warehouse districts on Seren. The chimney stacks alone were intimidating.

Trash lined the alleys below us. Grimy windows on the lower levels were broken, too. A waxing moon hung in the sky, only half-full. Enough light, however, that I could make out the pea soup tint to the air from the many coal furnaces.

Corbin covered his nose. “What’s that stench?”

“Ye want to dress like a filthy Molly?” Da threw a chair and hit a window. Shattering glass and splinters flew in all directions. I backed into a corner and covered my head. “Then ye can live like one on Seren. Pay fer me lost wages.”

“Despair,” I replied, barely above a whisper.

Caravans had fellys, but Traveler poor was nothing like the decay of living in a trashed, rotting cabin filled with unwashed, starving children and a better-fed drunkard who blacked out in his own piss and, sometimes, vomit.

Like the home of my childhood.

Like the Beggar’s Hole district of Seren.

I . . . I didn’t know if I could do this.

My pulse was starting to tremor in rhythm with the fingers gripping the brick ledge.

Blowing out a slow breath, I faced Corbin and Owen. “Ready?”

It didn’t surprise me that the Raven Folk govs of Seren were obsessed with magical objects. Raven Folk were collectors by nature. But now I knew why Glas Gaibhnenn was specifically desired after Kalen retold Cian’s tale to us.

A Cow of Plenty who appeared during times of famine, whose milk never ran dry.

A good luck charm that brought wealth to its owner.

But her full fertility and prosperity magic was bound to Cian of the Tuatha Dé Danann . . . and I couldn’t stop the chills from prickling down my spine again.

“First mission,” Corbin reminded us, fixing a wayward strand of my hair, “locate the cow.”

Owen unrolled a crude map Kalen drew on a strip of birch bark. “Stellar Winds should be that direction.”

We looked across the night-shadowed rooftops toward the illuminated area in the distance. According to Finn, Crescent Street was a road that wended down a park, dotted with trees and benches, with an open market on one end. On either side of the street and lawn were nightclubs, restaurants, shops, casinos, hotels, and other various establishments.

Corbin pointed to a line on the map. “The market is three blocks from here, aye? Let’s start there to blend into the crowds.”

I was still woozy from flying to Seren in Owen’s arms. Angling down alleys and around buildings only soured my stomach further. But I managed to hold onto my delicate eastern cities constitution, even after we landed in the shadows of a nightclub on the fringe of Crescent Street.

“We’ll follow at a distance,” Corbin said, shifting away his wings.

Traveler Raven Folk didn’t stroll around Seren with wealthy mortal women. But representatives from each tribe visited often enough for trade negotiations with the Syndicate that their presence wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.

Owen cupped my face. “If you need to leave, for any reason, open your parasol.” I nodded my head, not quite meeting his eyes. He kissed my forehead, turned me around, and swatted my arse. “Behave, Mrs. Lonan-Merrick.”

“Tsk, tsk, Mr. Delaney,” I chastised in an attempt to sound well-bred. Feck, it was awful. Outside of occasional visions when meeting eyes, I really knew nothing of eastern city ways save the conversations I had listened to at Night Markets. Still, lifting my chin, I added, “Lady Glenna warned she would rip the wings off anyone on Seren who dared touch me.”

In a swish of silk, I spun on the heel of a cock boot, stepped beneath a flickering gas lamp, and strolled onto the lawn. I kept my head down to save my focus. Familiar sounds warbled in my pounding ears. Hawkers were singing about their wares to the passing shoppers. The cloying scent of perfume mixed with meat pies and ale roiled in my already sickened gut the nearer I approached the crowds.

I took another dainty step—

The flickering shadows across the lawn began spinning—spinning faster when I attempted another step.

My body stiffened.

I gritted my teeth in anticipation of what came next.

Waiting . . . Waiting . . .

There.

A discordant buzz hummed in my head.

Voices. Hundreds of voices, speaking from all directions, from within. Soft whispers that quickly crescendoed into shouts for attention. Dark skies, Seren was a noisy roost of chirping birds.

But how I craved this chaos.

My blood was trilling to frolic alongside the multiple intersecting thought threads.

My magic was rooting . . . rooting . . . hungry for secrets, to know the coerced desires of those nearby. The urge quaked inside of me until I thought I might go mad.

Was there glamoured air on Seren as well? Was the mortal side of me falling prey while the fae side of me was licking its chops? Or was my fight-or-flight just in overdrive?

Pain blossomed behind my eyes.

I sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed my lids shut in a long blink. The buzz in my head was a thousand bees in flight, stinging my concentration over and over.

No .

Not right now.

I peered up to focus my waning cognitive control onto a single star.

One star.

One star.

Only think of one star.

. . . just one star . . .

Not all heroes wear armor, Cillian.

I winced at the rippling, tunneled sound of Mam’s voice.

Imogen Murphy, a mortal at camp, has a hidden shrine of small objects belonging to former felly Brandon—

—Why hadn’t Owen and Corbin shown signs of elder magic yet?—

Cian, the warrior god who fathered Lugh, wore a dress when he left his known world to chase after his birthright.

My fingers curled into my skir—

The Kingdom of Carran would visit Rhylen within the week.

A moonless sky filled with ravens writhed above the Maiden as smoky wisps of purple whipped around h—

—Fae laws might protect me as Glenna’s bonded mate.

He met and married his true love in a dress, too.

People rushed by the train station’s signalman. He’d never felt more alo—

—Did George have a mate? Children?—

As the sister of a chieftain, Glenna was a princ—

My racing thoughts froze.

I blinked.

My gaze caressed the raven mark on my wrist, peeking out from behind my glove.

Awareness trickled back into my galloping bloodstream.

I was on Seren. As a woman. A married woman.

I blinked again.

The Maiden had to know this was my greatest fear. And yet, she asked me to travel by wind to a magic island clouded by mist and fenced in by a tower of glass, dressed as a woman, to slay my enemy and steal back my prosperity.

My birthright.

A low, bitter laugh left me. Of course this was a quest of self-discovery.

To break a generational curse.

To no longer fear the divine parts of who and what I was. To no longer fear my future.

“Miss?” a gent asked beside me. “Are you well, miss?”

Startled, my eyes slammed into his before I could stop myself.

A young man lifts a floor plank in a solarium covered in plants. A tear falls into the hole. He reaches for a small box with trembling hands and lifts the lid. An ornate silver key lays atop an ivory silk cushion. Beside the key is a note. “Take care of your mother and sisters.”

“Miss?”

My mind snapped back to reality. A gent in his late twenties, with earthen brown hair that curled just beneath his top hat and rich dark eyes, placed a supportive hand below my elbow.

“Forgive me, sir,” I said in a lighter, higher registered voice. “I found myself recalling a painful memory and slipped away. I am well now.”

“I’m glad to hear you’ve recovered.” A light crease appeared between his brows. Was it my terrible accent? Could he tell I wasn’t female born? Clearing his throat, he offered his arm. “My sisters are waiting for me by the pastry cart. I fear if I do not return soon, they’ll purchase the whole shop and all of tomorrow’s confections too.” Four girls, festooned in the latest fashions, peered our way.

My eyes started to widen.

One was wearing a Lughnasadh's Day hat!

“The youngest, especially, is not to be trusted around confections.”

I replied with a dainty laugh, placing my hand atop his arm. “I have a younger sister who is much the same.”

“Devilish creatures, younger sisters.” He slid me a kind smile.

“Aye, wee imps,” I replied then mentally kicked myself for slipping back into my native dialect.

His smile faltered a little. “Ethan Phillips.”

Shite . I never considered a female name, for now or for any reason. Everyone just called me the Lady of Man. I opened my mouth to say Eliza, a common name among eastern cities mortals to use today and, instead, croaked out, “Cordelia.” A mocking strand of blonde hair fluttered in front of my face in a breeze, as if that creepy porcelain death mask approved. I fought back a grimace and added, “Mrs. Cordelia Merrick.”

Fecking stars, I needed a cigarette.

But proper ladies of means didn’t smoke. They didn’t swear either.

“There you are!” an early teenage girl said to Ethan with a pout. “Another moment and I would have perished from boredom and temptation. Have you not looked at these confections, brother? It’s criminal to ignore them for so long.”

“Eliza,” the Lady of Lugh sister chastised. “Manners, please.”

Of course, her name was Eliza.

Eliza’s face fell flat. “Brother dearest, please look at these confections and, if you love me, even the tiniest pinch, purchase two dozen and with great haste.”

The oldest cleared her throat.

“Thank you,” Eliza added with a glare at her sister.

The oldest cleared her throat again.

“Nice to meet you, miss,” Eliza practically shoved my direction with an impatient curtsy. She then grabbed her brother’s hand and rounded her eyes, stage whispering, “You shall not ask me to wait one more minute or I will die where I stand. It is truly a dire emergency.”

“My apologies for my sister’s uncouth behavior,” Ethan murmured at me, but he was giving Eliza an indulgent smile. “She’s positively wild, that one.”

“ETHAN!” Eliza pleaded, tugging his arm.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Merrick,” Ethan said with a tip of his hat.

When he and Eliza stepped away, the Lady of Lugh dipped into a small curtsy, followed by her younger two sisters. “Our brother spoils her far too much,” she explained.

“Brothers cannot help themselves,” I offered in reply. “Especially with the wild ones.” I pretended to peer around the market and caught Owen’s eye, who raised a brow at me and mouthed, “Cordelia?”

I wanted to shoot him a rude gesture and settled with a mock-glare, instead.

Falling skies, my hands were still trembling. A sheen of sweat dewed my forehead. I would smoke a dozen cigarettes when I got back to camp. No, two dozen.

George, if you can hear me . . . it is truly a dire emergency.

“You have a brother, then?”

“Aye,” I answered and flinched. “I’m the eldest of four brothers and two sisters.”

“Four brothers!” The middle sister placed a fluttering hand to her chest.

The next youngest tilted her head. “Are you from the North Country?”

What the feck was the North Country?

Was this an eastern term for settlements along The Wilds?

“The accent gave me away, I see.” I attempted a smile. “Miss,” I said to the Lady of Lugh, “may I ask who designed your exquisite Lughnasadh’s Day hat?”

She lowered her eyes in practiced modesty. “Are you a fellow Shaft or part of the Great Seed?”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Emeline, do not bore Mrs. Merrick,” her sister heaved in a way that suggested it was she who would be bored.

“ Elspeth ,” Emeline warned with a tight smile, her cheeks turning a soft pink.

“She did not travel from the North Country to—”

“Actually,” I said and leaned forward on the handle of my parasol, as if sharing a secret. “I traveled to Seren to join your . . . your . . .” Stars, what was the word? Congregation? Religious order? Cult?

“You wish to join our Plowed Fields?”

Sweet, merciful goddess, I wasn’t meant to be a gent or proper lady.

Forcing my face to remain innocent, I hummed a, “Mhmm,” not trusting my words.

“We have our Topping Ceremony tonight.” Emeline took my gloved hands. “Please say you’ll come.”

“If I come,” I began to ask, my eyes sliding to the fellas, “does that make me part of the Great Seed?”

Owen had to turn around, his entire body shaking.

“Indeed, Mrs. Merrick.” She grinned, completely ignorant of these agricultural innuendos or my Raven travel companions. “Your husband approves, then?”

Oh aye, Gent of Fem likes being topped.

“Mr. Merrick is at home,” I said with a conspiratorial smile. The girls grinned wider. “Your hat?” I prodded with a dip of my head toward hers. “How would I procure one with . . . well-endowed decor?”

“Oh yes! Once initiated, a lady will top you.”

Now Corbin was laughing.

Emeline started to glance their direction.

“I’m curious, Miss Emeline,” I rushed out, regaining her fevered-eyed attention, “have you heard of the Cow of Plenty?”

She sucked in an excited, squealing breath and grabbed my hands again with a little jump on the tips of her toes. “We think we located Gloss Gabenonen.”

“Glas Gaibhnenn,” I gently corrected. She attempted to say it again and fumbled once more over the fae tongue. “Gloss, like a shine.” She nodded. “Then Ghav-lyn. Similar to caw—"

"A crow sound?"

"Aye, but gaw ending with a v. Gloss Ghavlyn.”

“Estella, she sounds like the faerie we met earlier today, does she not?” Elspeth said to the youngest of the three.

“North Country,” I replied with a wink. To Emeline, I asked, “Where do the Ladies believe Glas Gaibhnenn is hidden away on Seren? I do love a mystery.”

“Well,” Emeline began, drawing in closer, the brim of her straw hat nearly touching my forehead, “she is believed to be in Ravenna Blackwing’s private chambers at the Palace of Stars, or possibly somewhere in The Crow and Bar, or”—she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper—“a house of ill-repute.”

“How scandalous,” I replied.

Emeline’s eyes darted toward her sisters, then her brother and Eliza, who were still picking out treats. Heat crept up Emeline’s cheeks once more. Blinking back her nerves, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “A brothel of males for males named Beau Fine .”

I stilled.

“Sounds like bovine , yes?” She leaned back. “We always suspected the Cow of the Milky Way was on the City of Stars. Part of why the Ladies visit here each dawning winter.”

Everything inside of me just froze.

My heart. My muscles. The blood in my veins.

“But it wasn’t until Glass Gavanonon was spotted shortly after the fires. Terrible accident, that fire.”

Did the Maiden honestly believe I would willingly enter a Molly house?

Emeline’s lips pinched at the corners. “Do you need a seat, Mrs. Merrick? You look peaked. Mrs. Daniels needed a lie down upon hearing—"

“No, no, I . . . I . . .”

My throat ached. The air in my lungs constricted tighter. My fingers itched to open the parasol and flee this island. But fury was quickly replacing the fear and searing the edges of my clearing thoughts. Hamish’s voice had lived in my head long enough. The lads would never let anything happen to me either.

“Just shocked,” I forced out.

“Indeed.”

“Miss Phillips.” An older lady in a black dress, pearl earrings dangling from her lobes, and pewter gray hair piled high in curls, slowed before our circle.

“Priestess.” Emeline quickly straightened and lowered her head. “I have a Seed for our Plowed Field.”

“Well done.” The older woman considered me. “Your name, miss?”

“Mrs. Cordelia Merrick.” I dipped into a shallow, wobbly curtsy. Thankfully, neither of the women present seemed to notice my lack of practice in the art of etiquette.

“Your husband approves of our society, Mrs. Merrick?”

“Mr. Merrick is a modern man and doesn’t interfere with my choices.”

The woman’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Then, ladies”—she gestured toward a tree at the far end of the lawn—“it is time.”