Page 18

I’m free. Holy freaking shitballs, I’mfree!

Behind me I hear a faint, slick hiss, a sound I mistake for the wind until what feels like a knife slams into my back, just below my right shoulder blade.

I choke against the pain, my feet stumbling as warmth spreads out from the wound.

Blood, my mind puts together.You’re bleeding because there’s anarrowheadembedded in your back.

I should’ve known better, but when I saw that empty bedroom, I couldn’tnotact.

Hope is a damnable thing.

And now—Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, the burn of the wound seizes up my windpipe.

I don’t bother to glance behind me as I force my feet to continue moving. I know what I’ll see. Proud Pestilence, bow in hand, sighting me like a hunter.

If I stop now, he’s got me.

I fuckingsprint, snow crunching under my boots as I make for the tree line ahead of me. If I make it to the forest, I might still be able to escape him.

With every pump of my arms and sway of my torso, the arrowhead cuts deeper into muscle.

You’ve endured worse, Burns. You’ve walked through fire, felt the flames sear your skin and cook your body. You will live through this.

I will live through it … so long as this arrowhead wasn’t tipped with poison … or plague. I try not to think about that latter one. I try not to imagine what will happen if I get away. How I might escape him only to die of the Fever.

I’m almost to the woods when the next arrow hits me, the tip of it driving into my lower back.

Again I stumble, nearly going to my knees. This one, this one feels like it hit more than just muscle. There’s a sick, tugging sensation that feels wrong every time I move.

Behind me I hear the gallop of hoof beats.

Move!I scream at myself as snow flurries swirl around me.

I stagger to my feet, forcing myself to keep going.

My energy is quickly flagging, and I can feel more blood soaking into my ripped clothes, the fabric quickly turning icy.

It takes the horseman less than a minute to reach me, his mount’s breath steaming in the night air.

I can feel Pestilence’s burning gaze on me, even though I don’t dare look at him. Escape is now futile, but I still won’t force myself to stop.

I hear the heavy clink of his armor as he dismounts, his boots crunching into the snow and dead underbrush.

In two long strides he’s upon me. His hand wraps around an arrow shaft.

“No—”

Mercilessly, he yanks it out. I scream as the blade of it cuts into more muscle and sinew as it’s removed.

He tosses it aside, never saying a word. I feel another sickening pull as he grabs the other arrow lodged into my back.

Please. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him, but I have a feeling that is exactly what he wants—for me to plead for my life the way he did his. I grind my teeth together. Damn him, I won’t give him what he wants.

When he yanks the second arrowhead out, the pain has my legs folding out from under me. I can feel rivulets of my blood dripping down my back, the sickening sensation setting my teeth on edge.

“Because you’ve proven yourself to be every bit as conniving as the rest of your brethren,” he says, his tone just as cutting as his weapons, “you will no longer sleep. It’s a luxury you can no longer afford.”

Roughly, he grabs my hands, pulling a rope loose from where it’s been secured at his hip.