Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,92

says. “Much, much better.”

I stare down at the Reaper. Of its own accord, my thumb strokes his temple. “So do you Famine. So do you.”

Chapter 31

“Alright,” the horseman says much later, just as the sky begins to lighten. He sits up. “I’m ready.”

The Reaper reaches out, and in the dim light, I see the outline of his scythe. It’s a shock to see that enormous weapon. At some point, it reappeared.

My gaze moves to the horseman’s chest, and sure enough, I can just make out the shine of his armor. I imagine that somewhere near us are his scales as well.

Famine grabs his weapon, and I suck in a breath. I hadn’t realized that his hand had grown back.

My gaze goes to his other arm. That one hasn’t finished healing, though his forearm and hand technically are there. Still, they look a little leaner and meatier than they should.

“Ready?” I echo confused. “Ready for what?”

It takes the Reaper two tries, but he eventually pulls himself to his feet.

He glances down at me, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “Why, for revenge. What else?”

Famine limps a little, but when I try to help him, he waves me off. With his bad arm. It’s still—cringe—growing back. I can’t tell what state his legs are in, but his neck wound seems mostly healed.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” I say, bending down to grab the horseman’s scales—which are in fact sitting nearby. I don’t know why I’m bothering to grab these. Famine himself seems happy enough to leave them behind.

He makes an indignant noise. “Of course I do. I can sense the entire world through my plants.”

That’s … unsettling.

But as odd as the statement is, it must be true because, not ten minutes later, we end up on the road.

The strip of land appears completely abandoned, though I know several men have ridden up and down this road over the last several hours. Famine walks towards the estate’s main entrance.

“This feels familiar,” I say. It’s a different city and a different year, but the same brutal horseman who needs to exact revenge on the people who hurt him.

Famine stops, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I know you think I am all anger,” he says as though he read my mind, “and much of the time, I am—but …”

It’s still too dark to see clearly, but I swear he’s giving me another one of those hungry looks.

“I’m not going to leave you. I never meant to leave you the first time we met. My mind was a mess, Ana. Let me punish the people who need to be punished, so that I can think about something other than this pressing need to kill.”

In the distance I hear the steady clop of horses’ hooves. Unlike the earlier, pounding hoof beats, these are slow and steady. Famine turns forward again, towards the noise, which is coming in the direction of the estate.

He begins walking again, the mangled archway coming into view. I follow him, fear blooming inside me at the confrontation ahead.

The hoof beats get louder, and I hear the creak of wheels over rocks and the murmur of men’s voices. The sound of those voices sends another wave of fear through me. I fight the pressing instinct telling me to run.

Famine only stops walking once we pass under the archway and re-enter the estate. He stands still under the deep blue sky, watching what appears to be a horsedrawn wagon as it approaches. He glances over his shoulder at me, then beckons me to his side.

“Why are we doing this again?” I ask.

“Calm your tits, Ana,” the horseman says, using my words against me. “This is the fun part.”

My stomach flips at that. Famine’s idea of fun inevitably involves blood and pain.

In the dark light of morning, I can just make out that there are two men driving the cart, though by the sounds of it, more are sitting in the cart’s bed.

“What is that?” I hear one of the men say.

“Get ready,” Famine says as the cart closes in on us.

He doesn’t give any other indication that something’s about to happen. But then I feel it—the barest tremble beneath my feet.

A split second later, the ground splits open with a groan. Ahead of us, the wooden cart creaks as the horseman’s plants grow beneath it, forcing it to tilt, then topple on its side. The men shout as they’re thrown over. Only the horse manages to somehow stay on its