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I pause when I see blood congealing in the sand around his head.

Dare I?

Before I can think twice about it, I lift his head and probe the back of his skull. I nearly gag as I come into contact with something soft. He makes a plaintive noise at my touch. It’s clearly painful for him.

Of course it’s painful—it’s a head wound you’re poking, you moron.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure why I’m whispering.

I glance around. Trixie Skillz is lingering nearby and, like his owner, the horse is dotted with bullet wounds.

And still the horse carried not one, but two riders across an ocean.

I take a shuddering breath and look down the beach. On either side of me, the shoreline is thick with trees. Far down the beach to my left, a lone house is nestled amongst them.

At least there’s a place to stay if we need it.

I move Pestilence’s head so that it rests in my lap. I don’t know why I do that, or why I remove his crown so that I can stroke his matted hair. Even with blood and seawater tangling it, the blond locks are so soft, softer than hair has any right to be.

My thumb smooths over one of his annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Battered and broken like he is, my stupid heart actually aches for him.

It’s just because he’s stupidly pretty, I tell myself.

I run my knuckles over his brow.

“I’m sorry they did this to you,” I admit. Just as I’m sorry for everythinghehas done tothem. It’s a catch twenty-two.

I continue to stroke his hair, waiting for him to heal himself.

You could escape right now—vanish while he’s recovering. Then you’d never have to answer to him again.

My legs stay folded beneath his head.

I’m slowing Pestilence down, I reason with myself.I’m giving people more time to escape.The world is caught in a hopeless game of cat and mouse, and I know that in the end the horseman will make his rounds and kill us all anyway, but I’m slowing his progress. That counts for something, right?

The shadows have deepened by the time the first of the bullets makes its way out of Pestilence’s body. It wiggles out of his lower leg for a few seconds, then tumbles harmlessly into the sand.

Several minutes later, the horseman shifts for the first time, a pained breath escaping him.

“I’m right here,” I murmur, continuing to run my fingers through his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Pestilence stills.

“… Sara?” He forces his eyes open. They’re unfocused as he gazes up at me.

“Hi.”

He reaches up, his bloody fingers touching my cheek. “You didn’t run.”

I let out a laugh that’s far too shaky for my liking. “I probably should’ve,” I say.

“Probably,” he agrees.

His hand drops, and he closes his eyes again.

“Pestilence?Pestilence.” But he’s unconscious once more.

Chapter 20