Page 81 of Famine

“Do you not believe me?” Famine’s voice rises with his outrage, and it is music to my ears.Thisis what I’d been missing with the Reaper. I can play a man like a hand of cards, but a horseman … I thought I was out of my element, but it seems as though they too can behave like men.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists.

“Sure,” I say, tucking a lock of dark hair behind my ear.

“Damn you, Ana. Stop toying with your voice. I’mnotjealous.”

“I’m not the one getting worked up,” I say, swinging my feet back and forth. God but I’m enjoying this.

Famine lets out a frustrated growl, but doesn’t respond.

I smile for the rest of the ride.

Chapter 23

Eventually, we come to an enormous warehouse, something made of corrugated iron sheeting and small, smudged windows. It’s clearly a structure frombefore, when large quantities of goods needed to be stored and processed.

Now, however, soft candlelight glows from within, and dozens and dozens of people are streaming into the building. By the looks of their formal attire, Famine’s men didn’t round them up so much as they got the word 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 andrun.

Still, a wave of nausea rolls through me at the sight of all of the people whodiddecide 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. “Iwon’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.