The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cian Lonan-Merrick

The threat of being sold into prostitution was a living fear I carried most of my life. Three weeks ago, that was almost my reality, too. I had willingly traded myself in a bargain with Bram Fiachna to pay for reparations in Glenna’s stead.

My fingers curled into fists.

I would have agreed to anything to spare her.

Glenna didn’t know of my bargain, though. I made Rhylen, Filena, and the lads promise to keep silent. I never wanted Glenna to feel she owed me a favor simply for loving her. Plus, she had her own wounds to bury and I . . . I had mine.

An ache squeezed inside of me until it hurt to breathe. I needed my Glenna. I needed her sharp wit to calm my chaos and her physical touch to comfort the ghost pains still bruising my body. Gods how I loved that sassy hen to distraction, and I felt her absence keenly.

Drew grabbed a loose linen shirt from a pile on the floor and threw it over his head.

I blinked. “South Tribe sold you?”

“I only had a ten-year contract. Moved to Seren over the summer.”

I took Drew in again, from the rings gracing his long fingers to the antiquated style of breeches he wore. We were Autumn Night Market dalliances since the age of nineteen, though I had known him since we were sixteen. Both runaways taken in by the Caravan fae. Both attracted to all genders, sexes, and races. But I hadn’t seen him this past year and figured he had either been sold or he had moved on from our annual affairs.

“Farris Leith.” A corner of his mouth kicked up. “My new name.”

I snorted. That was a bloody brilliant name. One that translated to “vigorous, wet, dripping male” . . . my smile started to slip as my thoughts caught up to me. It was a consort’s name.

Farris moved toward me, each step sensual and calculated. “Why is a poor Caravan indentured being chased by the Ladies of Lugh while wearing”—he pointed to my one glove, the drawers still tied around my waist, the cocks boots, then said—"a silk bodice from this year’s Vanderbilt Leeson catalogue?”

I was wearing what ?! I could almost hear George chuffing, the wee bastard.

What was this stars damned Vanderbilt Leeson catalogue? Were they a dress designer on Seren?

No, not important. Not right now.

My heart rate was a hummingbird’s wings. My breath trembled in short, uneven pants. “You’re now a—”

“A Molly. Mary-Ann. Rent boy, aye.”

I lowered my voice. “Were you forced?”

He chuckled low, a bitter, humorless sound. “Poor village slum lads like you and me have few options outside of the Caravans.”

Farris leaned his shoulder on the brick wall adjacent to the door I rested against.

“The consorts . . .” He pointed behind him and said more softly, “We’re a family.”

And poor village slum lads like us didn’t have families or communities who wanted us. The fae saw us as their pets, too. Not their equals.

His eyes dipped to my mouth. “Why are you in Seren, Cian?”

I sighed. I looked unhinged; I might as well sound mad too. “I’m looking for my faerie cow.”

Farris moved closer to me, his eyes still fixed on my lips. “You lost a crodh sìdh on Seren?”

I forgot that Farris was part fae himself, the bastard son of a backwoods mortal woman and a wild fae male from the Greenwood. His mam was thrown out of the village for her affair with a tree spirit. Farris was raised in a brothel until he ran away when he aged out of the brothel’s protection.

“Aye,” I confirmed. “The cash cow Ren Cormac hid in Stellar Winds Casino is my birthright.”

His gaze flicked back up to mine, but I focused on the space between his brows.

“That’s your cow?” He started softly laughing, like I was a few marbles short of a sound mind and he found that adorable.

Loud banging shook the back-alley door I leaned against and I startled, jumping away.

“Do not harbor a daughter of Lugh!” a woman shouted from the other side.

Farris’s autumn leaf eyes flew wide.

Muffled shouts sounded from the front before he could ask me what they meant.

“Mrs. Cordelia Merrick entered your debased establishment,” a stern voice declared and I swore under my breath. The priestess.

“Your kind are not welcome here,” a man with a strong brogue answered.

Farris grabbed my arm and yanked me down the hallway. “Mortal women still have few rights on Seren.”

“Mrs. Merrick belongs to us,” the priestess snapped back.

He tugged me up a narrow flight of stairs toward the loud piano music.

“If she invokes Mr. Merrick’s name, Seren will have no choice but to comply since you are legally his property.” He paused on the stairs. “Is there a Mr. Merrick?”

“I’m married to the Caravan princess beneath Seren,” I rushed out. “Chieftain Rhylen Lonan’s sister.”

His jaw slackened. “You’re mate bonded to a Raven Folk gov?”

“Aye—”

“Mr. Merrick will not take kindly to his wife being coerced into debauchery by one of your harlots.”

“Fecking Ladies of Lugh,” I muttered.

Farris tugged me up the stairs and down another low-lit hallway. The lively piano music, jeers, and laughter muffled the sounds of pleasure and creaking beds coming from behind the doors we passed.

Nausea gripped my middle.

I enjoyed sex. No—I loved sex, but . . . I would have been trafficked into prostitution, by my own da, by the Caravan fae.

“Please tell me you consented to this,” I whispered to Farris, on the verge of retching again. He was right, there were few options for poor village lads like us. But this wasn’t the only one. “Please tell me this work is what you wanted.”

He peered over his shoulder. “Aye, I wanted this.”

My muscles relaxed.

"Mainlanders think a Molly house is a brothel." He glanced at me over his shoulder once more. "Aye, there is sex work but it's far more than that. Men also want a safe space to find companionship. They spend an evening with other men talking, laughing, lifting drinks. Nothing more. Some men hire a consort to just hold them, fully clothed. That is their greatest fantasy, to be held."

Tears pricked my eyes. I knew that heartache intimately. Until Rhylen, I hadn't experienced the kind touch of another male. Only cruelty. My brother embraced me often and had since we were young teens. Told me he loved me too.

“Decent pay," Farris continued, "a warm, soft bed, my own room, three meals a day, a family.”

Honestly, those amenities sounded dreamy after the village slums and indentured Caravan life.

“The dom is a decent fella?”

“A good male.” Farris pulled me into a room and quickly closed the door. “He takes care of us lads.”

I brushed away a tear. “Then I’m happy for you.”

Farris dipped his head at a half-dressed man wearing heavy cosmetics who angled past us. Another man followed quickly behind him, throwing me a faint smile before disappearing into the hallway.

Why were there men in . . .

Feck. Me.

The room pulled into sharp focus and a giggle bubbled in my chest. George would swoon. Hell, I was swooning.

An entire room of dresses and suits and costumes and cosmetics and—WINGS!

I would rob a blind old lady and her husband’s grave for those shimmering black wings.

Shite. No. I needed to focus.

My cow. I was here to break a generational curse, not do shady things for my own black feathers.

I released Farris’s hand, gaining his attention. My gaze swept around the large room. Confirming we were alone, I whispered, “Where’s the cash cow?”

“I’ll tell you,” Farris whispered back, “if you’ll deliver a letter with wages to me mam in Ballycarraig.”

“Aye, I accept your bargain.”

“She’s ill,” he continued. “I don’t trust the post leaving Seren.”

My stomach sank. Seren was a greedy nest. “I’ll find her a healer too and ensure she’s warm and fed.”

Farris swallowed thickly and nodded his head. “I’ll find a few lads to sneak your cow out of Bó Finne without the Syndicate catching wind.”

I sucked in a quiet breath. “Why would they help me?”

“Pissing off the Seren govs is what we lads live for.”

I nearly searched his eyes, but I was still feeling a wee dizzy from magic loss. The slight shudder following his words said it all, though. Delight danced in my thrumming pulse. I hoped my creepy arse cow made Glenna shiver, too. The sadistic cake witch enjoyed my reactions to Cordelia far too much.

“Two Traveler Folk are with me.” His brows bent low. I was clearly alone in the alley when he found me. “They’re returning here.”

“We need a distraction.” He cocked his head while studying me again and more strands of auburn hair fell from his loose tie. “A show for the dance hall.”

Goosebumps fleshed across my skin. “What if the dom decides I can’t leave—”

“Guests put on shows from time-to-time.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and peered around the room.

“And,” Farris continued, “the dom is at the Palace of Stars. Dinner with our new Corvus Rook. Only a couple of boss underlings in charge tonight.”

Cosmetics cluttered the lamplit vanities. Jewelry hung from pegs on the wall and spilled out of cases. Wigs rested on solid stands, not creepy death masks. My gaze rested on a familiar object and I drew in a trembling breath—a gancanagh’s dudeen.

At the sight, multiple thought strands hit me all at once.

The room tilted. Whispers tickled my mind. The voices were growing louder and louder with each tight breath too.

No.

I gritted my teeth.

I didn’t have energy to spare for this. Still, in the strange upside-down clarity defogging my head, the magic’s message faded into bright visibility. My Sight was trying to tell me this was the right path. All the other times it acted up like this too.

And I knew the perfect distraction.

“Can you ask two men to make ‘fire’ behind me with those scarves?” I pointed to the yellow and red chiffon hanging from pegs on the far wall. Farris dipped his head. Walking farther into the room, I murmured, “I’ll need tobacco. A pair of men’s trousers with lady’s drawer’s underneath. No wig." I strode toward one of the closets and rummaged through the garments until my fingers touched ribbed boning and ivory damask. “This lacy corset for a top.”

I was already salivating just thinking of the delicious curves of Glenna’s waist and breasts in this gorgeous piece. The color, the style . . . it was perfect for her. And now to claim a souvenir for me. A grin lighted across my face as I spun on my heel and pointed to the wall, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“And those wings.”