Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) (35 page)

Supper was a plain affair. It had been a while between towns and supplies were low. Lentils and watery broth, with nondescript meat. Merion had to have two bowls just to placate his murmuring stomach.

Not a complaint was heard from any of the circus folk. Merion expected they had seen worse meals in their time, and gone longer between towns. He kept his mouth shut and spooned it down as fast as any of them.

For a change, Yara had ordered them to gather in the big tent. The stars that normally kept them company during their evening revelry had been obscured by finger-like clouds, creeping in from the east, a sign that rain was on the way. As the final spoons clattered into the last bowls, it had begun to patter on the tent, softly at first, and then rising to a dull roar. There is a certain smugness that comes from being dry and warm when it is pouring down outside. No less so in a tent.

It was strange that however low the circus’s food supplies were, the supply of alcohol never dwindled. As soon as the tables were pushed aside and posteriors met the dust and flattened grass, beers and slim bottles of clear moonshine started to creep through the circles. It was necessary, proof that no matter how tough the road could be, there was always a drink at the end of it, rumbling bellies or no.

Merion passed on the moonshine. Under Aunt Lilain’s watchful eye, he had tried a nip the first night at the fire-pits. It had burnt like acid and left him choking, much to the amusement of Yara and the others. No, beer was more to his liking, bitter and earthy, complete with the occasional speck of grit every now and again. Lilain had allowed him a swig or two, and he liked the way it tickled his head and warmed his belly, intoxicating him like blood.

The chatter of conversation had a nervous buzz to it that night. There was more fidgeting, more laughter, and even more dancing when the moonshine made another pass. Merion watched it all through sleepy and beer-laden eyes. The training had taken its toll. He felt like a bubble floating aimlessly, bouncing back and forth between words.

He sat between his aunt and Sheen, who were busy swapping stories over his head. The two seemed inseparable. They had spent the last few days discussing the finer points of blood. Merion had not seen his aunt quite like this before, not since his first night in Fell Falls. So enthusiastic and cheery. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Or maybe the magic of Cirque Kadabra had sidled under her skin too.

Lurker sat opposite, muttering in Devan’s ear. Occasionally one of the two would roar with laughter. Even in Merion’s sleepy state, he did not miss the prospector’s furtive looks in his aunt’s direction.

Rhin was speaking to Yara and Nelle at the other edge of their circle. The boy could not hear them, but from Rhin’s exaggerated hand movements, and Nelle’s growing smile, he assumed Yara had agreed.

Merion caught her eye as he looked on, nurturing a little jealousy, it had to be said. She was staring at him with flat eyes, no emotion behind them. Merion tried a polite smile and she got up.

‘Sheen,’ Yara called to the letter and then motioned upwards. Sheen obeyed, standing up and moving aside so Yara could sit next to Merion. He wandered off in search of more moonshine, leaving Lilain looking bemused and curious. She leant in to listen to the circus master’s words, eager to know what this was all about.

‘I can see it in your eyes,’ Yara said to the boy.

‘See what, Yara?’ Lilain enquired. She had the glint of liquor in her eyes.

Yara flicked her a look, as if wondering why she was part of the conversation. When she replied she spoke at Merion instead of Lilain. ‘Lust.’

Lilain raised an eyebrow. ‘Pardon me?’ she asked. This time Yara flashed her a smile.

‘A lust for the stage, like your little friend there,’ she explained, nodding to Rhin. The faerie was still in deep conversation with Neams. The odd man was busy drawing shapes in the dust as they talked. ‘I have spent enough time in the Cirque to recognise it when I see it.’

Merion nodded. ‘I was going to ask you, later tonight,’ he admitted.

Lilain was scratching her head, combing her long hair back where it had escaped. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but I think I’m a little lost.’

Yara explained for her. ‘Your small friend there has been invited to appear alongside the rest of the beasts, tomorrow night in Daeven Port. Our new attraction.’ She seemed proud of that.

‘It was Neams’ idea. He wasn’t going to do it, but I convinced him,’ Merion added.

‘And here was I think it had been Nelle,’ Yara mused. A bottle of moonshine was waved in front her, and she passed it on. Yara the Lightning never drank more than a sip.

Merion raised his chin. ‘And I want to do the same. I want a place in your circus, Ms Mizar, like Big Jud said, and sing for my supper as he put it. I already have an idea …’

Lilain cut in. ‘Are you sure about this, Nephew?’

‘Absolutely.’ Merion looked his aunt square in the eyes.

Lilain’s face went through a range of emotions. All the usual ones he had seen before. Doubt. Concern. Worry. All the leashes she had kept him on in Fell Falls. Merion was about to interrupt the refusal he knew was coming when something new flashed across her face.

‘Well, if Ms Mizar can promise you’ll be safe, then I don’t see why not,’ Lilain admitted. Merion was taken aback. He looked surprised.

‘Really?’ he asked.

His aunt shrugged again. ‘I trust you,’ she said. Merion began to smile, and nodded. How long had he waited to hear words like those?

Merion turned back to Yara, who was clearly working on something between a smile and a grimace. ‘However,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’ He felt his heart fall.

‘That is to say,’ Yara continued, ‘not on a stage. Your skills are impressive, Merion, but you are too raw. We heard your scream today. It lacked control. And a stage requires control. From here,’ Yara placed a finger on her heart. ‘And here.’ The finger moved to her temple. ‘It will come in time, but you are not ready.’

Nobody likes a refusal. But nobody likes a spoilt brat, either. Merion fought his urge to complain, to reassure her that he was indeed ready, that he felt ready at least, more so than he had ever been. That she was wrong and he was right. But he recognised from Yara’s firm expression that his claims on control would have fallen on deaf ears. He bowed his head. ‘I understand.’

‘Good,’ Yara said, smiling once more. ‘I hoped you would. You know what they say about Empire types,’ she said, winking at Lilain.

‘And what’s that?’ Merion asked, feeling he already knew the answer.

‘Why, you’re all lords and ladies of something, are you not? A spoilt lot.’

Lilain laughed at that, covering Merion’s very wary and polite chuckle.

Yara clasped her hands together. ‘So it is decided. When you think you are ready, Merion, ask again, and we shall see. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?’

‘Seems fair,’ Merion replied, his voice barely audible over the rain and revelry.

Yara excused herself and went to tour the circles, like a beloved queen appearing for her subjects. Cheers and loud laughter erupted wherever she walked. Merion and Lilain watched her.

‘She’s right, you know,’ his aunt whispered, leaning close to his ear. She sat with her knees up and her arms wrapped around her legs.

‘I know.’ Merion was almost sullen. ‘And that’s why it’s annoying.’

‘Hey, you’re not ready yet, that’s all. People go through life never being ready, never workin’ hard enough to grab those dreams of theirs. She told you to ask again, right? That means something, surely,’ Lilain nudged him.

‘I know,’ repeated the boy. His aunt put a hand on his arm and he met her eyes.

‘As much as the aunt in me wants to wrap you up in cloth and stow you safely in the back of a wagon, you’re not the same boy that stepped off that train, all those months ago. I know I’ve said it before, but you’re growin’ up more and more every day. Either I let it scare me, or I trust you to learn it yourself.’ The alcohol had loosened her tongue, but he was grateful for it.

‘I appreciate that, Aunt Lilain. I really do.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It’s about time.’

‘Cheeky bastard,’ Lilain snorted.

‘Now, in the meantime, what exactly have you done to poor Lurker?’ Merion asked. When she pulled a quizzical face, he pointed to where the prospector sat, still hunched over and deep in conversation with Devan. They each held a flask in their hands, taking liberal sips between sentences.

‘And what about him?’ Lilain asked.

Merion chewed the inside of his lip in thought. ‘He keeps looking at you. And he’s grown moody, don’t you think? Quiter than usual?’
If that was possible.

Lilain scratched her head. ‘I haven’t noticed. I’ve been too busy with Sh—.’ She paused for a moment as Lurker’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, then scuttled away again. Another sip of the flask followed. ‘Ah, I see it now.’

‘Looks like I’m not the only one who’s jealous of somebody in the circus,’ he said, sounding very sage if he didn’t think so himself.

Was his aunt blushing? Surely not. Perhaps it was just the shade of the fire, rosy in her cheeks. He could not image Lilain Rennevie blushing. She took a long moment to huff and grind her teeth in thought. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Lurker couldn’t possibly …’

‘Possibly what?’

‘Well, I mean.’ But words had failed her. His aunt, who could ramble on for hours and pick apart the finer points of history and morality, who could spin a yarn so long Merion could have used it to scale the Bellspire, was wordless. She took a sip from her beer. ‘No, not Lurker. He’s never forgotten his wife.’

Merion found another cup of beer waggling in his face. He smiled and took a swig. ‘Times change, Aunt Lilain. You said so yourself.’

Lilain was already getting to her feet. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Nephew. It’s a grown-up thing,’ she said before muttering an excuse and wandering off to find another circle. Merion just rolled his eyes and laughed to himself. He caught Lurker’s narrowed gaze and held up his cup aloft. Lurker raised his flask and nodded.

‘Trouble in paradise,’ he muttered to himself.

*

The rain stopped at some point in the early hours, just as the morning sky was beginning to grow lighter at the edges. The fires had been left to smoulder. The drunkards had been left to slumber. Cirque Kadabra had finally turned in for the night. Only a handful of lights had been left to pierce the darkness: the lanterns of the sentries, and one tent, on the outskirts of the circus. Yara liked being on the fringes.

Big Jud Jepson languished in the corner of her lavish tent, his gargantuan weight spilling over the creaking arms of the poor chair he had chosen. He had his hands folded over his belly, and was staring at the kaleidoscopic fabric that hung from the tent’s roof.

‘All I’m saying is that you should give him a chance. Been a long time since we had a crackler in the circus. Remember Hosh?’ he mused, picking grit from under his fingernails.

Yara flashed him an irritable look. She was bent over a writing desk, a quill in her hand. Its ink-stained nib hovered over an untouched piece of paper, a powder-blue colour. ‘Of course I remember Hosh, Jud. I remember everyone that comes through my circus,’ she replied sharply.

‘Hmph, well, he could always bring in a crowd, couldn’t he now? Think about it, is all I’m saying.’

Yara knuckled her brow. ‘I have already given it much thought, Jud. It is not the boy’s time yet. But it will be, and soon.’

Big Jud had known Yara long enough to know when she was holding back. He leant forwards and the chair groaned awfully. ‘You’ve had news from our friend in the east, ain’t you?’

There was a rustle as Yara snatched another piece of paper from the desk, blotched with all sorts of official seals and postal marks. ‘We have our invitation,’ she replied, waving it about in the air, a smugness in the curve of her smile. ‘Politics have finally worked in our favour. The Red King has agreed to host us. A political offering, of some sort.’

Big Jud clenched a sweaty fist and punched the air with it. ‘About time.’

‘That it is, Jud.’

‘And by my reckonin’, you want to use the boy, right?’ Jud guessed.

Yara gave him a look over her shoulder. That smug smile did not fade. ‘I have always said you are the smartest one around here.’

‘You might do with sayin’ it a little louder then,’ Jud chuckled, belly shaking. With a great amount of effort, he pushed himself up from the chair. ‘And you’re tellin’ our friend about him. Think that’s wise?’

Her finger rose up to tap her nose. ‘He already knows he is here, Jud. He told me we might run into him, a boy of his description. And by our luck, we did. Now I shall tell him he was right.’ She tapped her quill on the page. ‘Daeven Port has plenty of mailships.’

‘You really think he’s up to it? His aunt said he’s only been rushin’ for a month or so.’

‘I have faith.’

‘You sure ’bout that? He’s a spirited sort.’

Yara spun around from her desk. The quill twirled about her fingers. ‘He will be nothing but a distraction, Jud, and distractions are at their best when they are loud and brash. And if he does not do as he is asked, well, you remember Hosh.’