The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

30. EPILOGUE

11 years, 6 months, and 9 days later

I gazed up at the stars, enjoying the warmer night air. Behind me, Blackwing Tribe’s Night Market had been open for a couple of hours now. The murmuring sound of crowds moved through this side of Caledona Wood. Hawkers sang about their wares, drowned out by the distant whistle of the occasional train.

Normally, Glenna and I would have a Heartbreak Show performance . . . but not these past couple of months. Not for a few months more either.

My three-week-old daughter made a tiny mewling sound while adjusting her head. Pressed to the bare skin of my chest, to the steady thump of my heart, she settled back to sleep. I wrapped my partially unbuttoned shirt tighter around her and nuzzled my cheek against her downy head.

Ferelith Lonan-Merrick owned me heart and soul.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, with wispy black hair, tiny, pointed ears, and the most adorable trembling cry. I was so in love with her, with parenthood, life before my daughter seemed almost a hazy dream . . .

My eyes jumped to the forest, my brows pushed together.

A strange clomping noise was coming from the woods.

Were those boots?

George chittered not too far away. I glanced over at the fluffy lad—and my mouth dropped open.

The wee imp was riding on the back of ol’ Ghavie Mer down the forest trail toward me. Lloyd was behind him. Of course, Lloyd was involved. I didn’t expect to see Edna also riding on the back of my faerie cow, though. She chirped at me and I snorted.

“George,” I drawled, “you can’t steal my cow.”

He met my eyes and I sighed.

“There are other ways to deliver Ferelie Mer a sock—”

Edna alighted into the air, the small pink wool sock in her beak. Cheeky lad. Mam’s cardinal laid the sock on my shoulder and returned to the back of Glas Gaibhnenn as the cow slowed before me.

Ghavie licked my fingers as I was making slow, caressing circles on Ferelith’s back. She had taken quickly to our daughter and was, at times, protective of her.

“Thank you, darlin’,” I said to Ghavie, trying not to grimace at the feel of her sticky saliva on the back of my hand. “Come, lass. You know the rules. No roaming when the market is open.”

Holding Ferelith to me with one hand, I took the lead rope and turned Ghavie around.

She made a huffing sound.

“Aye, even if George promises you earrings.”

The vain heifer was as shameless as me.

A few minutes later, I handed my faerie cow to Farren, who was on mucking duty. He rolled his eyes at George, who had handed the eleven-year-old lad a lady’s glove before scampering off. Moons above, Farren Lonan looked so much like Rhylen at that age.

Farren was just a year younger than Rhylen when I met my brother. My first friend. The first person around my age to stick up for me. The first male to touch me with affection, not cruelty.

I tucked my daughter closer to my heart. I couldn’t imagine how a parent could hate their own child. Beat them. Say heartbreaking things to them.

Four years ago, Hamish was released from jail. Two weeks later, he was found dead in an alley, stabbed in the gut. The constable didn’t investigate long. It was concluded Hamish MacCullough of Kilkerry had gambled with the wrong house of cards and dice.

I kissed my daughter’s head and began wandering back home.

Glenna was waiting for us, sitting on our wagon steps in her chemise, her long, black hair spilling down her back. Gods, she was gorgeous. She had been napping after being up most of the day with our wee one.

She ambled over and reached for our daughter. “Here, let me—”

I twisted away with a scandalized gasp. “Get your own baby.”

“Oh aye?” She plopped a fist onto her hip.

“Aye,” I confirmed. “Grab one of Rhylen’s and Filena’s million children.”

Glenna spurted a laugh.

“Is that a . . . pink sock on your shoulder?”

“Pink is a perfect color for Ferelie’s complexion, obviously.”

“Naturally.” Glenna lifted a black, elegant brow. Then yawned. The skin around her starless night eyes was still far too puffy.

Taking her hand, I kissed her fingers, then tugged her back into the wagon. She had just woken from a nap, but she needed to rest longer. She missed our daughter as much as I did when she wasn’t in my arms.

With an encouraging nudge, Glenna crawled back beneath the covers. Ferelith let out a little sleepy cry when I moved her away from the warmth of my chest to the much cooler bed linens beside her mam. Glenna began quietly singing an old lullaby and I could swoon. The vision they made together was too much for one heart to take in.

Deciding to join them, I began unbuttoning my shirt. Glenna’s gaze drifted down my torso. I smirked, making her roll her eyes. I continued undressing down to my drawers, then dipped onto the bed and settled beside my lasses.

Flashing my mate a mischievous smile, I slowly scooped an arm around Ferelith and scooted her closer to me. “My baby.”

Glenna adjusted her head closer to mine on our pillow. “Ferelith’s complexion clearly looks best in emerald green.”

“How dare you insult George’s fashion expertise,” I said in feigned outrage. “Take it back.”

“Maybe cornflower blue too.”

“May Georgie Dirty Paws never bring you mismatched shoes again.”

Glenna quietly laughed and I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

I kissed Ferelith’s next, before rolling to my back and placing our daughter on my chest again, where she belonged.

“Stars above, you’re a cuddle strumpet like George.”

“Get. Your. Own. Baby.”

I expected a witty reply, but she was oddly quiet. And . . . blushing. Her eyes traveled down my arms, my chest, my stomach, before settling on our daughter.

A slow, flirty smile played across my lips.

Glenna loosed a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a scoff. But the heat in her gaze was unmistakable.

I rolled my head to be closer to hers and a lock of blond hair fell across my eyes. Glenna pressed her lips together. That sassy hen was addicted to preening me, but she didn’t want to pet my ego either.

“Glenna, darlin’,” I lilted, “you either get to stare at my bare chest or preen my hair, but not both.”

“Our daughter is on your chest, eejit.”

“Mhmm,” I playfully agreed. “And you’re swooning over my he-vage.”

“Full-blooded gods save me—”

“Get over here, Gent of Fem.”

I opened my arm. Glenna Lonan-Merrick could never resist me. It was cute how she tried to be strong. But it only took a couple seconds before she was scooting over to rest her head on my chest beside our little love. Once my mate was settled, I wrapped my arm around her back and held her close.

“Ready?” she murmured.

“One,” I whispered back. “Two. Three.”

We both kissed Ferelith’s head at the same time, a ritual we started the very day she was born. Glenna softly giggled, trailing a finger down our daughter’s arm to her small hand. The wee lass wrapped her tiny fingers around a single one of her mam’s and I drew in a tight breath.

That act of trust was small, but it broke my heart. From the moment she drew breath, she trusted us to care for her every need.

My da failed me. But I wouldn’t fail her.

My little girl would always know she was loved . . . and accepted.

She was perfectly made.

I caressed her other hand with my finger and grinned when she curled her tiny ones around mine as well.

Aye, the gods don’t make mistakes.