Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  Contents

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Acknowledgements

  This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Published in the United States by Lavabrook Publishing, LLC.

  famine. Copyright © 2020 by Laura Thalassa

  www.laurathalassa.com

  Cover by Regina Wamba

  www.maeidesign.com

  All rights reserved.

  For Jude,

  I love you endlessly.

  When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand.

  —Revelation 6:5 NASB

  Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

  —William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

  Chapter 1

  Year 24 of the Horsemen

  Laguna, Brazil

  I always knew I would see Famine again. Call it intuition, but I knew that fucker would come back.

  The coastal breeze blows against my skirt and ruffles my dark hair. Nearby, a woman gives me a dirty look.

  I stand with what’s left of my town, our bodies lining the road. I don’t know why the rest of Laguna is still here; they don’t have the same excuse that I do.

  I glance at Elvita. The aging madam’s face is resolute. If she’s frightened, she doesn’t show it. She should be frightened, but I don’t tell her that.

  I follow her gaze to the empty road that curves out of sight around one of the hills Laguna is nestled against.

  It’s ominously silent.

  Most of the seaside town where I spent the last five years is abandoned. Our neighbors have locked up their homes, packed up whatever valuable possessions they own, and retreated. Even most of the bordello’s inhabitants have slipped out when no one was looking. I don’t know if they’ll come back. I don’t know if anything will go back to the way it once was.

  I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.

  An older woman bumps my shoulder as she passes by.

  “Slut,” she says under her breath.

  I turn, catching her icy gaze.

  “Last night your son called me something a little different,” I say, giving her a wink.

  The woman gasps, looking thoroughly scandalized, but bustles on.

  “Stop picking fights,” Elvita chastises me.

  “What?” I say, giving her an innocent look. “I’m defending my honor.”

  She huffs out a laugh, but her eyes are back on the road, the weathered skin around them pinched.

  Alongside me, people hold jugs of wine, sacks of coffee beans, buckets of freshly caught fish, baskets of flower petals to shower the ground with, purses filled with jewelry, stacks of the finest fabrics—and everything in between. All of it tribute fit for a ruler.

  I’m not sure the horseman is going to give a shit.

  In fact, I’m pretty sure sticking around was a supremely bad idea, and this is coming from the queen of bad ideas.

  At least I have my own excuse. Elvita and the rest of these people have none.

  The minutes turn to hours, all of us silent and somber.

  Maybe he’s not coming after all. Laguna is a slip of a town, hardly worth a horseman’s notice.

  Anitápolis was hardly worth his notice either, but that didn’t stop him from wiping it clear away.

  A murmur rises through the line of people, interrupting my thoughts. My pulse quickens.

  He’s here.

  Even if the crowd hadn’t reacted, I’d sense the change in the air itself.

  At the thought of Famine, I feel a cocktail of emotions. Curiosity, old pain—anticipation most of all.

  And then I see him, the Reaper.

  He sits astride his coal black horse, his bronze armor shining so bright that it nearly obscures the huge scythe strapped to his back. He comes to a stop in the middle of the battered highway that bridges the two sides of my city.

  Even this far away, my breath catches, and my eyes actually sting. I can’t say what I’m feeling, only that my professional façade is slipping away at the sight of Famine.

  He’s more otherworldly than I remembered. Even after revisiting the memory of him over and over again, the sight of him in the flesh is startling.

  Next to me, Elvita sucks in a shocked breath.

  The Reaper—so named for the scythe he carries—and his horse are still as statues. He’s too far away for me to make out those piercing green eyes of his or his curling hair. But I can tell he’s taking us all in. I can’t imagine he’s much impressed.

  After several long minutes, Famine nudges his steed into action, and his horse begins to trot down the bridge. People toss flowers into the road, littering the path with brightly colored blooms.

  Ever so slowly he gets closer and closer to me.

  My heart is thundering.

  And then he’s passing me by, looking like a god. His hair is the color of melted caramel, his sun-kissed skin only a shade or two lighter. There’s the sharp, chiseled line of his jaw, the high brow and cheekbones, and the haughty curve of his lips. Most striking of all are those moss green eyes of his. Devilish eyes.

  His shoulders are broad, and that bronze armor, embossed with spiraling floral designs, fits snugly against his powerful, sculpted physique.

  Up close, his beauty is a shock to my system.

  Far, far more otherworldly than I remembered.

  Despite Famine’s handsome features and my own breathless excitement, the first true tendrils of fear take root.

  Should’ve left with the others, reunion be damned.

  Famine doesn’t see me as he passes; his gaze never wavers from the street ahead of him. I feel a wave of relief, followed, quizzically, by a hint of disappointment.

  I stare after him and his horse as the rest of my town cheers, acting like this isn’t the end of our world when it so obviously is.

>   I stare until he’s far out of sight.

  Elvita grabs my arm. “Time to go, Ana.”

  Chapter 2

  Long before Famine and his black steed ever set foot in Laguna, we knew he was coming. It would’ve been impossible not to.

  In the weeks prior to his arrival, dozens—then hundreds, then thousands—of people made their way up the highway and through our city. The women I worked with at The Painted Angel joked about walking bow-legged for weeks after the influx of new clients. At the time.

  But then some of these newcomers began to talk. They mentioned fruit withering on the vine and strange plants that could crush full grown men, and the very air itself seeming to change.

  “Fucking crazy-ass bastards,” Izabel, one of my closest friends, had muttered after hearing the rumors.

  But I knew better.

  And then Famine had sent an envoy ahead of himself to make demands of our town. The horseman wanted casks of rum. Jugs of oil. Garments and gold and food and a grand house to stay in.

  I shouldn’t even know this much. I probably wouldn’t either, had Antonio Oliveira, the town’s mayor, not been a regular customer of mine.

  Elvita and I walk in silence. I’m not sure what’s running through her head, but the closer we get to the mayor’s house—the home Famine will be staying in during his visit—the more unease settles low into my belly.

  I should be packing up and fleeing, just like I made my friends at the bordello vow to do.

  Elvita finally breaks the silence. She clears her throat. “I hadn’t expected him to be so …”

  “Fuckable?” I finish for her.

  “I was going to say well-fed,” she says drily, “but fuckable works too.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “You were hoping to throw me at some emaciated bag of bones?” I say. “I’m offended.”

  She snorts, daintily. Everything she does is dainty and feminine, all of it meant to lure men in, even though these days, she rarely beds clients herself. That, she saves for the rest of her girls.

  Like me.

  “You screwed Joao,” she says, “and he was the closest thing to a skeleton I’ve ever seen.”

  An unbidden memory of the old man comes to mind. He was little more than a bag of bones, and his plumbing was next to useless.

  “Yeah, but he sent me flowers every day for a week and told me I looked like a goddess,” I say. Most customers couldn’t give a shit about my feelings. “I’d screw him until Kingdom Come for that alone.”

  She swats me, stifling a grin.

  “Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t gobble up every cent that man was willing to throw at you,” I say.

  “God rest his soul, I would.”

  At the mention of God, I sober up. I crack my knuckles nervously.

  It’s going to be alright. Famine doesn’t hate you. This might work.

  This will work.

  The rest of the walk is spent mostly in silence. We wind through the streets of Laguna, passing sagging homes and faded storefronts, the plaster chipped in most places.

  Other residents are walking the same way we are, many of them carrying offerings.

  I didn’t realize so many people knew where the horseman was staying …

  Assuming, of course, that they’re headed his way. That’s where we’re going. And here I’d hoped that simply showing up at the Reaper’s doorstep would be enough to grab his attention.

  Eventually, the worn, weathered homes and broken cement streets of Laguna end. There’s empty space, and then in the distance, a hill rises, and on it rests the mayor’s house, overlooking the glittering water.

  We approach the old Oliveira mansion, with its red tile roof and blown glass windows. For as long as I can remember, the mayor and his family have lived here, amassing a fortune on the ships that move goods up and down the coast.

  Up close, the home’s opulence is even more striking—there’s a cobblestone drive and a manicured yard and …

  There’s already a line of people congregating near the door.

  Motherfucker.

  There goes my edge.

  Just as we head up the front drive, the home’s double doors bang open. Two men drag Antonio out, his face bloody. He shouts obscenities over his shoulder as he struggles against the men.

  I stop walking altogether, my lips parting in shock.

  The men holding Antonio cart him around the building. Not even a minute later, Antonio’s wife and two daughters are hauled out after him. His wife wails, and it’s like nothing I’ve heard. Their children are sobbing and crying out for their mother.

  No one does anything. Not the people in line, not even me and Elvita. I don’t think anyone knows what to do. That would require understanding what’s going on, and that’s anyone’s fucking guess at this point.

  I meet Elvita’s startled gaze.

  I’m not sure the madam’s plan is going to work after all. My eyes return to where I last saw Antonio and his family.

  But if her plan doesn’t work …

  I’m afraid what failure will look like.

  Reluctantly Elvita and I step up to the back of the waiting line of visitors. A few of them have broken away from the line and are hustling off the property.

  I stare after them, thinking they’re the most sensible ones out of the lot of us. But even as they flee back the way they came, more people are heading towards us from the city.

  We might still have time to pack up and leave. I could forget about having my moment with Famine. Maybe it’s not too late for me and Elvita …

  The sentiment only deepens when I hear several screams come from the back of the property. The hairs on my arms stand on end.

  I turn to Elvita, opening my mouth.

  She stares straight ahead. “It’ll be fine,” she says resolutely.

  Years of listening to this woman have me shutting my mouth, even as a hard knot of dread grows within me.

  The men who dragged the Oliveira family away a moment ago now return empty-handed, the Oliveiras nowhere in sight. Most of these men re-enter the house, but two of them move to stand in front of the doors, their faces grim. My eyes scour their dark clothing and the exposed skin I can see. There are wet patches that I swear are blood splatter …

  A knock comes from the inside of the door. One of the guards opens it, stepping aside.

  One of the people in line ahead of us is ushered inside. Then the door closes once more.

  Over the next twenty minutes, the people ahead of us in line enter the house one by one. None of them leave out the front doors—if they leave at all.

  What is going on in there? The damnable, curious part of me wants to know. The rational, spooked side of me wants to get the hell out of here. I still haven’t seen Antonio or the rest of his family, and I’m legitimately worried—not just for them, but for the rest of us as well.

  Elvita must have realized I was a flight risk because she took my hand ten minutes ago, and she’s held it tight ever since.

  Eventually, we’re the next in line.

  My pulse races as I wait. I dart a glance at one of the guard’s forearms. What looked like a line of moles from far away now looks alarmingly like blood.

  Oh God—

  A knock comes from inside the house, and a moment later the door opens. Both guards step aside, allowing Elvita and me to enter.

  I … just can’t get my feet to move.

  My boss gives my hand a tug. “Let’s go inside, Ana.” She says it sweetly enough, but her eyes are sharp and her eyebrows are arched just so. I’ve received enough orders from her to know this is yet another one.

  I wet my lips, then force myself to step over the threshold.

  This is the reunion you’ve spent years imagining, I reassure myself.

  It’ll be okay.

  Chapter 3

  I’ve never been inside the mayor’s house, which is a weird thought, considering he’s been inside me many, many times.

  My eyes sweep over ev
erything, taking in delicate porcelain vases full of withered blooms to the cut glass chandelier. There’s a huge painting of Antonio and his family hanging in the living room. It was clearly commissioned a few years ago because his children are younger versions of themselves.

  Sitting right beneath that painting, his scythe draped across his lap, is the horseman.

  My breath catches. Once again I’m overtaken by the sight of him, with his wavy hair and glittering green eyes. He looks cut from stone, distant and untouchable.

  I try to resolve this hardened thing with the very first memory I have of him.

  His neck is a mess of blood and sinew. His face and head are covered in mud and blood, his hair matted to his cheeks—

  “And what have we here?” His voice is like honeyed-wine, and it snaps me back to the present.

  I stare and stare and stare. My whip-sharp tongue fails me now.

  When neither Elvita nor I speaks, Famine’s gaze rakes over me. He pauses a little when he gets to my eyes, but there’s no recognition there.

  There’s no recognition there.

  All that guilt and shame I pent up for years and Famine doesn’t even recognize me.

  I hide the crushing disappointment I feel. Not once in the last five years that I worked for Elvita had I mentioned that I’d met the Reaper before. I only agreed to this stupid plan of hers because I had unfinished business with the horseman.

  Unfortunately, that business hinged on the horseman remembering me.

  Elvita steps forward. “I brought you a gift,” the madam says smoothly.

  The horseman looks between the two of us, his expression bored. “And where is it? Your hands are empty.”

  Elvita looks over at me, willing me to speak. Normally, I have a decent amount of confidence, and what I lack in confidence, I make up for in posturing. But right now, all I want to do is sink into the ground.

  Do you remember me?

  I nearly ask it. The two of us are like an unfinished conversation hanging in the air.

  “I’m the gift,” I say instead, falling back to Plan B.

  “You?” He raises his eyebrows, his mouth curving into a mocking smile. His gaze flicks over me again. “What could I possibly want with you?”

  “Maybe I could warm that cold, cold heart of yours.” There’s my cutting mouth.