Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,60

out that the horseman was hosting some sort of celebration tonight.

I don’t know just how many of the city’s residents were actually foolish enough to come. It looks like a lot, but then again, Registro is a large city; perhaps this is just a small portion of its citizens. I hope the vast majority of the town knew better than to fall for this horseman’s tricks. I hope they’re fleeing now, using this time to pack up their things and run.

Still, a wave of nausea rolls through me at the sight of all of the people who did decide to come here tonight, either out of curiosity or misplaced faith.

Have none of them noticed the burning bonfire at Famine’s new estate, or the fact that the people who went to see the horsemen haven’t been heard from since?

“What are you planning?” I say to the Reaper as he rides us up to the front of the building.

“Always so fearful of me,” he muses, pulling his horse to a stop. “Perhaps I simply want to enjoy myself the way humans do.”

He slips off his steed, his scythe at his back. I stare at the curving blade; it looks so much more threatening here amongst all these people.

Famine turns and reaches up for me.

“What are you going to do to them?” I whisper.

“That is not for you to concern yourself with.”

“Famine,” I say, my eyes pleading with him.

His expression is merciless. “Off.”

“I can’t watch any more bloodshed,” I say. “I won’t.”

The horseman grabs me roughly then, dragging me off his steed. I wince a little as my bad shoulder is jostled.

He sets me down, but rather than letting me go, he steps in close. “I’ll do what I want, flower,” he says softly.

And now my earlier trepidation blooms into full-bodied dread.

Famine steers me towards the building, his hand on my uninjured shoulder. I move forward like a prisoner walking the plank.

We head inside, and the people around us move out of our way.

Someone has tried to make the massive warehouse look less like some old pile of corroded metal and more like a ballroom. Bright cloth has been draped around the room and hung from the rafters. Wood and iron chandeliers hang from metal crossbeams, their candles already dripping wax.

Platters of food lay along tables lining the room, and there are basins of water and huge barrels of what must be wine resting next to a pyramid of cups.

Across the room, a lavish chair has been set up—it’s the only seat in the entire building, so it’s clearly meant for Famine.

The horseman steers us towards it. Nearby, several guards loiter. The horseman gestures for them, and several hustle over.

“Get me another chair,” the Reaper demands.

A couple of the men’s eyes go to me, and I can see their confusion. Why does she get special treatment?

Sorry guys, I wish I knew the answer.

They hurry off to do Famine’s bidding, and within minutes another chair is dragged inside and placed next to Famine’s.

“Sit,” the horseman tells me, releasing my shoulder.

I frown at him but take the seat.

The Reaper moves to his own chair, removing the scythe from his back before he sits. He lays his weapon across his legs, lounging back.

“Why are you doing this?” I say, staring out at the sea of people who are quickly filling the room. They keep to the edges, standing in nervous groups. A few brave souls have dared to serve themselves some food, but most people seem to be of the opinion that it’s better to leave the food alone.

Fools! I want to shout at them. Why did you stay when you could have fled? The horseman won’t take pity on you. He doesn’t know what pity is.

Famine arches an eyebrow at me. “I thought you would want me to do something more human. Don’t you mortals love parties?”

That answer only causes my heart to pound harder.

“Look,” he says, gesturing to the tables laden with hors d’oeuvres and drinks. “I haven’t even destroyed the food.”

Yet.

We both know he will. He always does.

Whatever this is, it’s another one of Famine’s cruel tricks.

A band begins to play sambas, and it’s an awful pairing—this joyful music with the frightened faces of Registro’s citizens.

I sit in my seat, beginning to squirm the longer nothing happens.

People—mothers, fathers, friends, neighbors—all of them are beginning to relax. Slowly, the noise in the room rises as people talk to each other.

Without warning, the Reaper grabs his scythe and rises from his throne, his bronze armor