Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,52
of boots on—scuffed, mud-covered boots that are certainly not mine. I took them anyway, despite the knot of guilt I felt. They fit surprisingly well.
I also happened to take a leather belt, which I used to cinch the billowy white garment I wear, which, in the light of day, is nothing more than a nightgown.
I look ridiculous, but at least I’m alive. That’s more than I can say for most other people around these parts.
“The day we first reunited,” Famine says, interrupting my thoughts. “Why did you seek me out?”
Here I am thinking about belts and nightgowns; meanwhile, the horseman’s going all existential on me.
“I didn’t seek anything out,” I say. “You came to my town.”
“You could’ve fled,” he says.
“You would’ve eventually caught up with me.”
“Mmm.” One of his hands rests on my hips, and now it idly strokes the material there. He leans in close. “You thought I’d recognize you.” His voice and the nearness of his mouth give me chills.
Yes. Of course I thought that.
After a moment, the horseman speaks again.
“I remember exactly what you looked like the day you saved me,” he admits. “If I was truly looking for it, I would’ve recognized you, but I have spent the last five years not truly seeing anyone.”
I remember how angry Famine was right before he destroyed my childhood home. I don’t know the specifics of what happened to him while he was imprisoned—those secrets died with the people who hurt him—but it’s obvious that whatever happened to Famine, it made an already cruel man much, much crueler.
“Why did you save me at all?” the Reaper asks.
It’s not the first time he’s asked me this, but apparently, he wants to hear my answer again. Or maybe he wants a different answer; I don’t think human altruism sits well with him.
“Because I was young and foolish.” A touch of bitterness enters my voice.
I can feel those intense eyes boring into the back of my head. I shift under his scrutiny, and I feel the need to explain myself further.
“I lost my mom when I was an infant and my father when I was twelve. After my dad’s death, his sister took over raising me. She … wasn’t kind. She already had five children, and she didn’t want another. She made it clear I was a burden.”
I take a deep breath. “When I saw you lying there, covered in mud and blood and rain, your body …” I can’t even find the words to describe the state he was in. “It was awful.” It truly was. It didn’t matter who he was or what he did. No one deserved to be treated like that.
“Even once I figured out you were the horseman, I couldn’t leave you.” I swallow, glancing down at my nails. “I knew what it was like to be unwanted. I spent my teenage years feeling as though my family didn’t care whether I lived or died. If it were me laying on the side of the road, I would want someone to care. So I helped you.”
I feel the burn of Famine’s gaze. For a moment, his grip on my hip tightens.
“So you saw yourself in me,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “I should’ve known at the very heart of it, you’d have selfish motives.
I glance heavenward. Lord give me strength. “It’s called empathy.”
“I’m aware of what you humans consider kindness.”
“Oh, and like you’re some shining example of compassion,” I snap.
“I never said I was—though I should point out that I did spare you all those years ago.”
“Me and no one else,” I respond. “You killed the last of my family when you destroyed my hometown.”
“Was I supposed to save your aunt?” He sounds remorseless. “You said it yourself—she wasn’t kind.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, giving him a look like he’s mad. Maybe he is. “What’s the point of sparing me if there’s no life for me to return to?”
Famine gazes back at me curiously, and I think he might legitimately believe that people don’t need each other the way we so obviously do. “They didn’t save me, when they could’ve,” he says. “You did.”
“You didn’t have to kill all of them.”
I feel him stiffen behind me in the saddle, his already unforgiving armor all the more uncomfortable against my back.
“Did I ever tell you how I came to be a prisoner?” he asks far too calmly.