He backs away. “You saved me once, so I’ll spare you for that reason alone,” he says, “but do not ever test me again.”
With that, he exits the room, slamming the door behind him.
I stand still for a beat, waiting for something else to happen—for Famine to come back or this cage to wither up and die.
Neither thing does.
“How the fuck am I supposed to get out?” I finally mutter to myself.
The answer, I find out several hours and many cuts later, is painfully—that’s how I’m supposed to get out.
Chapter 15
I wake to screams.
I sit up too fast, swaying a little. I put a hand to my head, blinking away sleep. The screams continue, punctuated by low, agonized moans. My heart is beginning to thunder before I can truly process what I’m hearing.
I stare at the window for several seconds, thick grey clouds obscuring the morning light. The screams are coming from outside, only now they’re beginning to die off. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I don’t know how I get the courage to throw off my covers—covers still stained by the blood from Famine’s scythe—and I slide out of bed. I haven’t seen the horseman since he left me here last night, but from the sounds of it, he’s been busy.
I pad around the thorny bush that caged me in yesterday and creep towards the window, dread pooling in my stomach. Outside, two people are dumping a body in what must be the home’s backyard. There are already other bodies lying on the ground, some of them still moving.
I stumble back, tripping on my own heel and falling hard to the floor.
I have to breathe through my nose just to keep the bile down.
My own memories replay themselves—how Elvita was stabbed, how I was stabbed. How crassly Famine’s men discarded my body.
I wrap my arms around myself. As the screams rise, I pinch my eyes shut, my body shaking.
This is where I’m supposed to go storming out like some brave heroine and stop Famine. Instead, I’m paralyzed by fear, my mind replaying my own horrific encounter with the horseman.
That’s why I’ve allowed myself to go along with being the horseman’s prisoner—so I can hurt him again. Only now, when fighting him would make a difference … I can’t do it. I don’t have a weapon, but even if I did, I don’t think I could make myself walk over to him. I don’t want to move at all.
Famine was right. I do lack courage—courage to do anything in the face of his atrocities.
My heart is in my throat and my breath is coming much too fast when the door to my room opens. A man comes in, one I don’t recognize. My breath stills.
“Famine wants to see you,” he says.
I’m still shaking, and I still can’t move. When the man sees this, he comes over to me and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet.
I wobble, and then I’m tripping forward, following the man out of the room and towards the living room, where all the furniture has been pushed aside, save for the wingback chair Famine sits in.
He lounges on it like it’s a throne, his legs kicked up over one of the arm rests and crossed at the ankles. Despite the fact that it’s the middle of the morning, a wine glass dangles out of one of his hands.
He looks drunk. Very drunk.
“Where have you been?” he demands when he sees me, his tone surly.
“Hiding,” I reply as the man who led me here finally lets my arm go.
“Hiding is for cowards,” the horseman says, kicking his feet off the armrest and straightening in his seat.
I flinch, his words echoing my own earlier thoughts.
“Besides,” he continues, “I want you to get a good look at how your world dies.”
I stare at Famine for several seconds.
I hate you so very, very much.
“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 of that unnerving 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 glance over my shoulder at the horseman. “Don’t be cruel.”
“I can’t be cruel?” he says, his voice rising. “You don’t know what cruelty is. Not until you have endured what I have. Your kind taught me oh so intimately how 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, “get back to—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.
My eyes catch on that hand.
The man clears his throat. “I thought that maybe … a horseman like you might want …” He clears his throat again, like he can’t get the words out.