25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cian Lonan-Merrick
Owen and Corbin ambled into the dance hall on the second floor of Bó Finne , frantically peering around the room for me. I poked my head farther around the velvet stage curtain and discreetly wiggled my fingers. Corbin spotted me first and mouthed, “What are you doing?”
“Farris,” I whispered, twisting to face my old lover. “Those Traveler lads in the audience are with me.”
“Want them to watch you or participate in other White Cow activities?”
I bit back a snort despite my dizzying fear. The wrong ears were everywhere, though, so I played along. “Those fellas need to lift their skirts and ride a Bó Finne into the night.” The Lughnasadh’s Day hat was bundled in a dark sheet in Farris’s hands. “Give this to the looker with the longer hair. He likes roleplay.”
Winking at me, Farris disappeared behind the stage to move toward Owen and Corbin without drawing attention. A moment later, the curtain ties were released and the stage plunged into darkness. Two shirtless, muscled men knelt opposite each other, holding an end to the red and yellow scarves. Taking their cue, I ambled onto center stage and positioned with my back to the dance hall.
I was so lightheaded, I had to focus on breathing.
This felt wrong without Glenna. The patrons here, however, were no different than those who attended the annual mating ritual at the Autumn Night Market explicitly to appreciate the male form and for the high of arousal—myself included.
But gods, when I told Rhylen I would show my ankles and shake my arse as much as it took to not eat termite flour bread, I didn’t think it would come to this .
My cursed cow better bring prosperity to Rhylen’s tribe or—
I blinked.
That didn’t make sense.
How could something that will bring me prosperity . . . also be my curse?
Kalen's words faded back into memory.
You carry the soul of Cian’s magic. A generational curse or blessing, as it’s called in the Greenwood.
I blinked again.
“Sir,” I said to one of the shirtless men. A dark brow jumped up in reply. “Is a magical cow birthright a curse or a blessing?”
“Uh . . .” He exchanged a nervous look with his friend. “A blessing?”
“Godsdammit,” I hissed under my breath. “All this fecking time.” I pointed at the other man. “She’s giving me an opportunity.” Both men slowly nodded.
The fear knotting in my chest loosed to a breathy laugh.
This fecking faerie cow wasn’t a curse .
I . . . I wasn’t a curse.
The Maiden’s quest to reclaim my birthright began at the train station, when I created a coin beggar’s show to reverse our tribe’s destitution and protect Rhylen from spiraling in his grief. I had declared that I would do anything for my brother, one of the great loves of my life.
And Glas Gaibhnenn, according to Kalen, was a faerie cow that appeared in times of famine.
Lifting my chin, I gritted my teeth. Gods, I was terrified. My entire body was shaking, my heart pumping so fast I thought it might rip past my ribs. But I had to believe the Maiden had protections in place. I was her favorite re-souling, after all.
A smile trembled on my lips.
“Gents,” the dance hall host shouted from the other side of the stage. “We have an impromptu boylesque After Midnight Act for you.” A round of applause echoed in the small space.
Boylesque?
“A gancanagh to wet your desire and break your hard , throbbing hearts.” I bounced on the tips of the cock boots as men whistled and cheered. “Music! Lights!”
From behind the velvet drapes, shadows darkened as oil lamps were turned down. The piano started up, a sultry song.
“Glenna,” I whispered, “I dance for you.”
The curtain started to slowly open and, after inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, I began pulsing my hips to the melody. Wings covered most of my backside. But not my trouser-clad arse. More whistles, jeers, and cheers went up. The shirtless men in front of me waved the scarves in an up and down motion.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I formed an image of Glenna in my mind. The spill of her black, rag-curled hair across our pillow. Her crowing smiles and laughs—feck, how I loved her taunts. I swooned over the glee in her eyes when winning our verbal foreplay and humorous bets, too. The softness of her gorgeous breasts made me weak in the knees . . .
I shut off that image.
If I didn’t rein in my thoughts, the lads here would get the wrong idea.
“Beware,” I projected, needing the distraction. “For he will break your heart.”
Sinking my fingers into my hair, to flex my bicep, I peered over the black feathers fastened to my shoulders and flashed my ash-rimmed eyes at the room—promptly locking onto Owen and Corbin, who gaped at me. But not in horror. The humor cracking across their wide-eyed faces at me in a pair of wings while performing a Fire Dance doused my racing nerves. I puckered a flirty kiss at Owen who rolled his bottom lip in to hold back a laugh.
“One touch,” I sang out, “and he’ll own your body.”
I turned to face the audience, arcing my hips to the carnal beat as the fingers once in my hair slid down my chest, and across the front of the corset I wore. But when reaching just below my navel, I halted my descent with a dramatic wink at everyone and drawled, “Hello, boys.”
The room thundered with cheers.
A door slammed open in the back of the room. Heads turned as the priestess charged in, barely sparing me a glance. I was in tight-fitting breeches, my disheveled hair reaching the elven-prosthetic jewelry tips of my ears, with my male figure on display. I was speaking my native dialect in a lower registered voice too.
Farris tapped on Owen’s shoulder, handing him my covered-up hat while whispering in his ear. Nodding, Owen tugged on Corbin’s sleeve then followed Farris out of the dance hall.
A doorman angled past the fellas into the room and skidded to a stop before the priestess. Fecking stars above, that woman was bolder than brass. What on the Mother’s green earth gave that Lady the notion that she could boss around a goddess? What would she do to me, if caught? I shuddered at the thought.
“Debauchers,” the priestess shouted over the audience. The piano faltered. “Hand over Cordelia Merrick. She must be delivered to her husband.”
Men booed but she didn’t back down.
I snapped and pointed for more light. The only person allowed to upstage me was my mate. But I’d also lean into this disruption for our needed distraction. A couple men moved along the edge of the stage, turning up oil lamps. As I had hoped, the room turned their attention back onto the flirty swing of my hips and flex of my muscles.
“His honeyed tongue”—I suggestively licked my lips—“will ruin you for anyone else.”
The burly doorman took the priestess by the elbow and the crazed older woman yanked herself out of his reach.
“If the goddess is sullied by—"
“Lads,” I called out and lifted the gancanagh’s pipe to my mouth. “Who has a match?”
The men twisted on their seats to face me, several jumping to their feet with match books in hand. I slinked toward a younger man, biting my lower lip at those who brushed the feathers of my large wings as I preened by them. Unlike the Heartbreak Show, however, I wouldn’t touch anyone, not without Glenna here, not without her permission.
A part of me was grateful she wasn’t here, though. An epiphany was blooming in the dark corners of my most vulnerable memories. The Ladies of Lugh aside, performing a boylesque in a Molly house was strangely . . . healing.
My whole life, people had judged me, abused me, spit on me for having more than one gender, for being attracted to more than one sex. But in this room? In all my exchanges with the consorts? I was embraced. Aye, the patrons here were lusting after me too—that was the point of this little side-show. Still, I had never felt so safe and free to openly be . . . me .
And so did others in this room, like Farris had shared.
A delighted, vindicative laugh was building inside my chest.
Feck you, Hamish!
The chosen audience member struck a match. I rested my foot on the edge of the table to display the large cock boot, earning a laugh from those around me. Glenna would be rolling her eyes so hard at me right now, especially as I stroked the hideous phallic footwear while leaning in for the lucky lad to light the tobacco. The men roared in approval.
I puffed on the pipe and . . . dying suns . . .
A surge of magic moved down my body, different than my goddess form. A power that flexed my muscles and sharpened my senses. The fast flutter of heart rates filled my ears. Across from me, the young man’s pupils dilated; a soft breath passed his parting lips.
Oh feck.
W—what just happened?
Was . . . I actually a Love-Talker?
I lowered my leg and pivoted away from the young man, careful not to meet eyes as I made my way back to the stage, internally swearing.
Just grand.
Fecking brilliant.
It was a Topping Ceremony all over again and just when I was starting to have fun.
My stomach sank as another bolt of magic pulsed through me. I could hear the continued acceleration of heartbeats, the quickening of breaths. Blood pumped hard in the veins bulging down my arms. My muscles were more defined and noticeably rippled with each step.
I handed the pipe to a random gent before climbing the steps back onto the stage. More magic equaled a larger drain and I was already teetering on the cusp of that dangerous line. Still, the show must go on. Farris would return for me when it was time to pull the curtain.
The silky piano melody glided over my flushing skin. I ran a hand down my arm and across my chest in a provocative touch the crowd devoured.
Feck it.
“If he speaks,” I sang out in sultry tones, “he talks only of love.”
I would champion them in a social and political war that left bruises soul deep.
“And when he desires you . . .”
I met the eyes of a man near the front. Information, secrets, fears rapidly flooded my spinning head.
A heart that craves romance and companionship over sex.
“He will watch the stars with you and share your dreams.”
Another pair of eyes.
Dread that the one he loves is embarrassed by him.
“There’ll be no shame in your relationship.”
More eyes and more reassurances spoken directly to their fears and longings.
The room soaked up my Love-Talker infused words. The piano music had stopped a few minutes earlier, stripping the room vulnerable in the deafening silence. Heart rates around me beat even faster, louder.
I could feel a growing desperation lapping against my waning energy.
Like the Ladies of Lugh, they fevered to capture a piece of me.
Power crept over me at that realization. A knowing that I could harm every person in this room. It was sickening in its building intensity. Seductive in its dominance. But I would not abuse my magic to break the hearts now beating in the palms of my hands.
I would not become . . . him .
Farris crept into the dance hall the exact moment the magic tethering me to the audience snapped. Men blinked in confusion. I stumbled back a step. The hall tilted, then rolled the other direction.
A charged stillness settled on the room.
An uncomfortable kind of quiet that skittered across my skin and burrowed into my heightened animal awareness.
Two Seren Raven Folk moved into the room and locked onto me. The boss underlings? They didn’t move, though. Almost as if they were too stunned to . . . do what exactly? No one was misbehaving.
The moment that thought scrolled across my mind, the room erupted.