But now Elvita is gone.

I pick up the liquor bottle and tip its final remnants into my mouth, enjoying the harsh burn of it.

Another thing I’m going to read into: the fact that at some point, Famine managed to find better alcohol to clean my wound with, and he packed it. That’s a level of consideration I can’t even imagine the horseman having.

“Ana.”

I drop the bottle and head back over to Famine, letting him help me back onto his steed. When he joins me in the saddle a moment later, I jolt a little at the press of his body against mine. And when his hand drapes itself over my leg, I feel awfully happy about it.

Please, God, tell me that’s just the alcohol’s doing.

It’s quiet for one tense, long minute.

“So,” I finally say, “are we going to talk about what just—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Damn you, Ana—no.”

Someone’s uncomfortable about tending to me.

I smile a little. “Awww, I think you don’t half mind my company.”

“You’re making me reconsider.”

“Nonsense.” I lean back against the horseman, letting myself enjoy the feel of him around me. “And guess what? I don’t half mind your company either.”

This really had better be the alcohol’s doing.

Chapter 21

In Registro, the next big city we ride into, people line the roads of the old, crumbling highway, waiting for Famine. They cheer when they see him, their faces jubilant.

My stomach curdles at the sight, and for a moment my horror is so strong I feel like I’m choking on my breath.

What have they been told? That the horseman is going to spare them? Or did they just make that assumption like our town did? That maybe if they throw enough valuable items in his direction, he’ll forget his purpose and skip them over.

Either way, Famine has too much hate inside him to do anything but kill, kill, kill.

Most of our audience’s eyes are fixed on Famine, who is a head taller than me in the saddle. However, I get plenty of looks too. I can tell they’re trying to figure out how I factor in. One or two of them meet my gaze, and they tentatively smile at me.

Don’t be so reassured, I want to shout at them. I can’t stop him either. My shoulder throbs then, echoing my thoughts.

“Do the people in these cities ever turn on you?” I ask, taking the crowd in.

“More often than you can imagine,” Famine murmurs.

And now I’m vividly picturing an arrow spearing me through the heart. It could happen so easily. But it never comes. Just like my city, this one believes that they can win this monster over.

We wind our way through the streets, and everywhere I look, I see pre-apocalyptic buildings that’ve been repurposed into something else. Stables, taverns, produce markets, butcher shops, homespun clothing stores, bicycle shops, tanneries, smitheries, and on and on.

By the looks of it, Registro has done well for itself. Up until today, at least.

At some point, another man on horseback separates himself from crowd, entering the street to wave at the horseman.

I lean back against Famine. Once again, I’m vividly imagining an arrow slicing through me.

“Relax, flower,” the Reaper says, reading my body language, “that’s one of my men.” Famine steers us towards him.

“Good to see you again, Famine,” the man calls out. “We have a house on the edge of the city that we’ve prepared for you.”

“Good,” Famine says. “Take us there now.”

The man’s gaze moves from the horseman to me, then he turns his horse forward and begins moving.

Up until now, I hadn’t thought about being seen with the horseman. Famine had me shackled and locked away like a real prisoner. But now the cuffs are gone and the Reaper has that arm draped over my thigh.

I know what it looks like. Even if I had never been in the business of sex and intimacy, I would know what this looked like.

Like Famine and I were together.

I glance over my shoulder at the Reaper, but his eyes are on the rider ahead of us. A sinister smile tugs at his lips.

Shit.

Excitement from this guy means that we’re all probably fucked.

We follow the rider down several side streets. People still stand by and cheer, but the crowds are a little thinner here, now that we’re off the main thoroughfare.

Soon the buildings that were once clustered together now spread farther and farther apart until it seems as though we’ve left the city altogether.

I’ve traveled farther in the last month than I ever have before, and most of what I’ve seen are ruins—not just of people, but of old towns and buildings too. We live in a secondhand world, one that clings to the last vestiges of that time before true hardship.

But then, alongside repurposed buildings and dilapidated houses, there are the homes like the one ahead of us. Homes that are more like palaces.

Whoever lives here, they’ve done well for themselves.

We ride up to the circular driveway. I see a handful of the Reaper’s men loitering about the property, but it’s the older couple and two sullen teenage boys that stand in front of the house that snag my attention. Next to the four of them is an ancient woman. I’m presumably staring at three generations of family, all waiting for us.

Famine rides right up to them, so close I can see the wavering smile on the middle-aged woman’s face, and I can see her husband’s shaking hands. They’re dressed in their finest, and even though most of my life I’ve envied families like this—families whose privilege has shielded them from most of life’s discomforts—I feel a deep sense of dread for them now. Their good fortune has gotten them noticed by the worst sort of man.

The Reaper pulls his steed up short, and I can practically sense his giddiness. Just as he’s about to swing off his horse, I grab his thigh, my fingers digging into the muscle.

“Please, whatever you’re about to do—don’t,” I say quietly.

Famine leans in close to my ear. “This is the fun part, flower. Now, let go.”

He jerks out of my hold, hopping off his steed, and I’m left sitting there alone.

Famine takes a moment to grab his scythe and then he approaches the family, his boots crunching ominously against the gravel driveway. He’s a terrifying sight. You can’t look at him for more than a few seconds without realizing that this is no earthly man.

As the Reaper steps forward, his men close in on the family.

Oh God.

The previously sullen boys now appear intimidated, and the middle-aged couple look downright terrified. Only the old woman isn’t caught in the grips of fear; she looks more resigned, like she’s seen this all before.

Famine steps in close to the family, his scythe looming over them. His back is to me, but I’m still tense with nerves.

“W-welcome to our house,” the woman stammers out.

“Your house?” the Reaper says, incredulous. He cocks his head. “I’m afraid my men have lied to you if they made it seem like I was the guest.”

I close my eyes. I can’t watch this.

“Perhaps we should give you an honest reception,” he continues. “Men?”