“When the world was first spoken into creation, Ma’at was created with it. She was justice, harmony, peace and order given form—”

“So she was a person,” I say.

“A goddess,” Famine corrects, sounding a little miffed. “And only in Egyptian religion. She was a winged woman who wore an ostrich feather in her hair, which represented the straight and true path.

“To live a life in alignment with Ma’at meant to follow the spirit and flow of the universe.”

Famine has a rich voice, one that pulls you in, and I listen, rapt, to the strange story he’s telling.

“On the day you died, ancient Egyptians believed that your heart would be weighed against the feather of Ma’at. If you had lived a good, righteous life, your heart would be found to be lighter than her feather, and you would go on to an afterlife of eternal peace.

“But if you committed great evil, your heart would reveal its wicked deeds on the scale, and it would weigh more than the feather. Rather than moving on to a blissful afterlife, your heart would be fed to Ammut, the devourer, a hideous beast, and your soul would be forced to wander the earth, restless and lost, forever.” The horseman falls silent, and I realize that’s the end of his tale.

Of course Famine would enjoy that sort of story.

“Does it really work like that?” I ask. “The afterlife?”

The Reaper pauses.

“No,” he finally says. “Not at all. Being human is all the pain and punishment a soul will ever endure. The rest … the rest is much better. But only you fool humans would somehow think otherwise.”

I let that soak in.

“That was a weird story. Why do you like it?”

Another pause, this one a bit longer. “I believe, if you think about it long enough, you’ll figure it out.”

Well, that sounds way too hard. Pass.

Chapter 25

The horseman must not move the entire night because when I wake up in the morning, I’m still asleep on his legs.

I blink, trying to focus my eyes.

“Fucking finally.” Famine’s voice drifts in, and blearily, I focus on him.

He stares down at me, looking very awake and very grumpy.

I sit up, shaking off the last of my sleep, then promptly groan, reaching a hand to my aching neck.

“Why didn’t you push me off of you?” I complain. I’m going to have a kink in my neck all day.

“Oh, trust me, I fantasized about it, flower.”

Now that I’m off of him, the horseman rises quickly, crossing the room like he’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

My eyes sweep over our surroundings, and it might not be me he’s fleeing. In the sobering light of day, this place is far worse than it was at night. The walls are covered in rings of mold and the corners of them are home to what I hope are abandoned wasp nests. The ceiling caves in precariously, and the ground is covered in droppings.

Famine saw all this and still he didn’t shove me off his lap? I would’ve. I stare after where I last saw the horseman. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Famine was a gentleman.

What a disturbing thought.

I meet the Reaper outside, where he’s checking his horse’s straps.

“Where does your horse go?” I ask as I walk over.

Famine turns to me, his expression turbulent.

“You mean when I leave him alone?” he says. “Wherever he pleases, I imagine.”

“And he just comes back to you when you need him?” I ask, rolling my injured shoulder absently; my injury feels much, much better. I guess a good night’s sleep on the Reaper was all I needed. “You don’t have to worry about him running off?”

“He may be a horse,” Famine says, “but he wasn’t born of horses. He was formed from the ether with one purpose and one purpose alone: to assist me in all ways.”

That’s all he says on the subject—it’s all he says at all. He still wears that same, stormy expression when he lifts me onto his horse. Wordlessly, he gets on behind me and steers his horse back to the road.

Overhead, dark clouds gather on themselves, but it’s not just the weather that feels ominous.

I can practically feel Famine’s oppressive mood bearing down on me.

“So …” I start.

Last night plays out in my mind. I still want to know about Famine’s dirty little sex life—because I’m a snoop.

“I don’t want to talk.” As he speaks, the sky seems to visibly darken.

“But—”

“Don’t push me,” he cuts me off. As if to punctuate his thought, I hear a distant rumble, and one fat raindrop lands on my nose.

I glance up at the sky.

Wait. Is it possible that he has power over … ?

“You’re not a virgin,” I say, staring up at the grey clouds.

“Do you suddenly not understand your own language? I don’t want to talk.”

“Well, I do,” I insist. “And I really want to discuss the fact that you’ve boned a woman before—or was it a man?” I gasp at the titillating thought. “Please tell me it was a man!”

Famine doesn’t respond, and if anything, the sky seems to clear a bit.

Hmmm …

“Or maybe we should talk about the fact that you let me sleep on your lap for an entire night.”

A fat drop of water lands on my cheek.

There we go.

At my back, the horseman goes rigid.

“One would almost think you cared about me …” I say, baiting him.

Another raindrop hits my face—then another and another.

“Enough.”

The raindrops come faster and faster.

Wonder of wonders, this is working. And now I have not one, but two revelations to ponder over—the most obvious one being the fact that the horseman clearly has some power over the weather, which, holy shit is that spooky.

But then there’s another revelation, which is somehow even more mind-blowing than Famine’s ability to affect the weather.

“You do care about me, don’t you?” I say, shocked.

Abruptly, the Reaper pulls on the reins, jerking his horse to a stop.

Without a word, he swings himself off his horse and walks away.

“Where are you going?” I call, fumbling to get myself out of the saddle. Awkwardly I do so, grimacing when the action tugs at my shoulder.

Overhead, the sky is turning worrisomely dark and the rain is coming down harder and harder, the raindrops stinging as they hit my skin.

“Wait!” I call after Famine, hurrying after him.

All at once he swivels around, facing me. “One of these days, your inability to listen is going to get you killed.”

I step in so close to the horseman that our chests nearly brush. He’s giving me an angry look.

I reach out and touch his cheek, for once not restraining my baser impulses. Just as he’s beginning to rear back, surprised and a little horrified, my hand goes around his neck and I pull his head towards me.

Lifting to my tiptoes, I press my lips to his and kiss him.

Chapter 26

I don’t know what I’m doing. I mean, I do—I’ve done this so many times I can kiss better than I can write my own name—but I don’t know why I’m doing this now, with the horseman of all people.