Page 48 of Famine

“Oh, wait,” he drums his fingers against the armrest, his brows knitted together. “It seems I’ve forgotten something …”

He shifts, and I hear the jangle of metal. Famine’s eyes alight and he snaps his fingers.

“Ah. I remember.”

He unhooks something at his side. It’s only when he lifts it up that I recognize the manacles.

“You can’t be serious,” I whisper.

I pose no threat. If the horseman hadn’t forced me to come out here, I would’ve probably stayed holed up in that room he left me in, coming up with excuse after excuse to explain away my inaction.

“You are clever and brash,” he says, “and I like you better when I can stop your tricks.”

“You could’ve just left me in my room,” I say. I wasn’t going anywhere.

The horseman sets aside his drink and rises, coming over to me with those shackles.

“I could’ve, but then, my mind would’ve dwelled on you.”

I don’t know what to make ofthatunnerving statement.

I don’t fight the horseman when he begins cuffing me. Those earlier screams have already scared all the fight out of me.

At my back I hear the front door open and the sound of footfalls as people enter the house.

Casting me a sly smile, Famine finishes his work, leaving my side to grab his glass of wine and return to his seat.

Stupid, evil horseman.

I begin to walk back to my room, passing what looks to be an older man and a young woman, both who loiter uncertainly in the entryway. At the sight of them, my throat tightens. This is a story I already know the ending to.

“Did I say you could leave my side, Ana?” Famine calls out, his voice grating.

I pause in my tracks, my body tensing.At his asshole-ish comment, a little of my fire returns.

I glanceover my shoulder at the horseman. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Ican’t be cruel?” he says, his voice rising. “You don’t knowwhatcruelty is. Not until you have endured what I have. Your kind taught meoh so intimatelyhow to be this way.” The horseman says this right in front of the pair who wait in the foyer, their expressions uneasy.

“Now,” he says to me, his eyes hardening, “getbackto—my—side.”

I square my jaw as I stare at him, fear and anger all churning inside me. Reluctantly I return to him, glaring the entire time. He glares right back at me.

During our exchange, the older man and young woman have hung back, watching my exchange with Famine, but now as the Reaper slouches in his chair, he gives them a haughty look.

“Well?” he says. “If you have something to say to me,say it.”

Tentatively the pair creep forward.

“My lord,” the man says, nodding to the horseman.

Famine scowls. “I see no gifts in your hands. Why then are you here?”

Of course the prick next to me would think a human should only approach him if they have something to offer.

I take in the horseman again, studying his bright, narrowed eyes and the way he sits in this chair like a king. He’s intoxicated on wine and power and vengeance.

The older man seems to shrink on himself before gathering his courage. He places a hand on the shoulder of the young woman he’s with and steers her forward.