The Four Horsemen 3 - Famine (16 page)

Death didn’t look at Lam. He scanned the horizon, waiting for the emergence of the newest Horseman. Famine had become mortal again, and the void needed to be filled.
“You don’t have to acknowledge me, but aren’t you a little sad?”
Lam wouldn’t leave until Death had spoken to him. He’d dealt with the messenger angel before.
“Why would I be sad?”
“You’re now the oldest of the Horsemen; and those you knew are gone. You can never contact them or talk to them again.” Lam sighed.
Death frowned, and shot Lam a look. “Why would I want to talk to them? Or see them again? They were people I worked with, not friends.”
Lam snorted. “Right. I forgot you don’t have friends or people you like. Were you like this when you were mortal?”
“Friends can hurt you if you let them get too close,” Death said, and then snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to share that titbit.
He could feel Lam looking at him, and he fought the compelling need to spill his guts to the angel. No one needed to know what his mortal life had been like before he’d come to be the Pale Horseman. The only person who did know was dead, and Death had caused it. That death was the only one haunting him every night when he closed his eyes, not that he slept much.
“Really?”
Lam moved closer, and Death could tell the angel was fighting the urge to slap him on the shoulder. Death stiffened, not wanting Lam to touch him.
Death sniffed, and snarled. “You smell like sulphur. I wonder what or who you’ve been hanging out with?”
The angel backed off. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Death. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Do you know what it’s like, knowing someone you loved died, and you weren’t there for them? And the reason you weren’t there was because you were drunk and drugged, in someone else’s bed?” Death snapped his mouth shut. The angel wasn’t his confessor, and could use the information against him.
“Hmmm…”
Lam didn’t say anything else and Death let it go. The past didn’t matter any more, and Death couldn’t change what had happened. Not that he wanted to change all of it. His actions leading up to his death had achieved what he’d wanted, so he had no guilt for that. His guilt came from earlier in his life, and he’d deserved everything that had happened to him.
A man appeared in the distance, and Death sighed. “Here we go again.”
“No rest for the wicked.” Lam coughed. “I’ll let you get to it then.”
Death shot the angel a quick glance. “Go back to wherever you came from, Lam. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Lam shrugged, and pursed his lips, not meeting Death’s gaze. “It’s my game to play.”
“True.”
Whistling for his horse, Death looked at the stranger walking towards them. After swinging astride the grey stallion, Death grimaced, but nudged Lam’s shoulder with his foot. When the angel looked up at him, Death grunted.
“If you need help, come find me. I’ll do what I can, not that it’s a lot.”
The angel looked surprised, but he refrained from saying anything about it. “Take care of your new Horseman. I’ll see you later.”
Lam disappeared, and Death headed out to do as Lam had told him. As he went to meet the new Famine, Death pushed away any thoughts about being next. There wasn’t any way he could become mortal again. His only love had died three centuries ago, and Death wasn’t interested in finding someone to take his place.

The crack of gunfire ripped through the lingering fog of the park. It was early enough in the morning that no one noticed the noise, except for the four men standing in a clearing. A fifth man lay on the ground, blood staining the white shirt he wore. Two of the four crouched down next to the injured man. The other two glanced at each other before the shorter blond man moved towards the threesome. The last man turned his back on the others, and strolled to where a street urchin held two horses.

The dark haired man flipped the urchin a coin before taking the reins of the chestnut stallion. After mounting, he settled into the saddle, and stared out over the emerging city streets. The fog covering them burned off, revealing early morning travellers, mostly heading to their jobs in Paris’s shops. The man waited for the blond to join him.

“St. Lucian will be dead before the day is over,” the blond said softly as he swung astride his own horse.
“Good.”
The speaker sounded neither pleased nor saddened by the news. His dark eyes studied the people moving past him dispassionately. None of them mattered, and they wouldn’t, even if he had known their stories.
“Do you think what you did would help your sister? Is anything going to make her forget what happened to her?”
“This is not for her.” The man waved his hand behind him at the tableau of the two men carrying the other to a waiting carriage.
“Then why do it?”
“Because, Du Luac, it makes me feel better. That slime will never do to another girl what he did to my sister.”
Du Luac looked at his friend. “Almasia, you could be arrested or exiled for shooting the son of a marquis.”
Gatian shrugged, showing no emotion. “It does not matter to me what they choose to do with me. I have avenged the wrong caused my sister. Let us go back to my house. I ordered the cook to have a breakfast laid out for us when we arrive.”
“Breakfast? How can you think about eating at a time like this? You just took a man’s life.” Du Luac looked horrified at Gatian’s calm reaction to the duel.
Gatian twisted in his saddle, and grabbed a hold of Du Luac’s jacket, yanking the man forward. He curled his upper lip in disgust.
“Do you think I give a whit about St. Lucian. He raped my sister, and that is one thing I will not overlook.”
Du Luac froze under Gatian’s cold gaze, yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“You know your sister was not a maiden when St. Lucian had her,” he pointed out, taking his life in his hands by suggesting it.
Gatian shoved him away so hard, Du Lauc almost fell off his horse. After facing forward, Gatian tossed another coin to the urchin.
“Run ahead to Almasia House. Tell the butler his master will be following behind you, and he expects hot food and warm drink to be waiting.”
“Aye, milord.” The boy tucked the coin somewhere safe before sprinting away.
Monsieur Gatian Almasia had no title, and no noble blood running through his veins. Yet he had the one thing people responded to, and that was money. No one knew how Gatian had made his fortune, and the man never said a word about how it had happened.
It seemed he had no interest in currying favours from the nobles or other rich members of society. No one knew anything about the Almasia family. They had simply appeared one day on the second best street in Paris. None of the gossips could find out when they had arrived or where they’d come from, but once the money had started flashing about, the rich people decided he must be some obscure noble family. Yet it quickly became known that if you hurt one of the Almasia family, you hurt them all, and the vengeance was swift, and vicious.
Gatian’s half-sister, Emilia Almasia, was a beautiful young woman, and quite popular with the men. One odd thing about her was, beautiful though she was, Emilia was a nice person, and she was older than most of the girls being introduced to society. Where her brother was cold and distant, Emilia treated everyone well. The girls who were less popular or less beautiful spread rumours about her, yet the ones about her being rather free with her favours seemed to be true.
“I have never held Emilia to the unrealistic standards of society. She may give her favours to whomever she chooses.” Gatian shot Du Lauc a piercing glare. “
Give
is the important word. No man may force her, and expect to live.”
“If she were to say anything to anyone, no one would believe her,” Du Lauc commented as they started down the street.
Gatian grunted, but said nothing as they rode along. He was not interested in what anyone else would believe. Emilia had told him St. Lucian raped her, and she’d never lied to him. Why would she, when he allowed her far more freedom than most older brothers or fathers?
St. Lucian’s death meant nothing to Gatian. It wasn’t like he knew the man or even cared to know him. There was no one Gatian cared about anymore, not since that night three years ago when his entire world died.
Shaking his head, Gatian refused to think about that night. Guilt tore at him like a sore eating away at his soul. So many things he’d done wrong, and only one person who had paid the price for Gatian’s arrogance. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. Gatian managed to blank his mind most days. Only during the darkest part of night did the memories and sorrow cut through him.
“Are you joining me for breakfast, Du Lauc?”
His closest associate hemmed and hawed for a minute or two. Gatian didn’t care one way or the other whether Du Lauc joined him. He was asking merely to be polite, or to appear polite. Honestly, he would rather spend the morning alone or with Emilia, not listening to the mindless chatter of the man next to him.
“I will have to say no, Gatian. My father has demanded my presence at the family house today. Rich cousins or something coming into the city for the season.” Du Lauc snorted.
“Sorry to hear that. I guess I will see you tonight at Count Ramassium’s ball?”
Again, Gatian didn’t care, but he understood he had to ask.
“Yes, I think we will be arriving later in the evening,” Du Lauc informed him.
“I am escorting Emilia tonight, so I am sure we will be arriving rather early. If we do not meet up there, I will see you at the club later on.”
Gatian didn’t wait for Du Lauc to answer him. He lifted a hand, and steered his horse down the street towards his house. As he stopped in front of the large, rather obnoxiously built building, a groom rushed around the side of the house to take a hold of the reins. Gatian dismounted, and nodded at the groom before walking up the front steps. The door opened, and his butler stood there, head bowed, as Gatian walked past.
“Breakfast has been laid out in the back dining room, sir. Lady Emilia has not rung for a tray yet.”
“Leave her be until she does. Have the footmen take some hot water up to my room while I am eating. I would like to bathe before I go out again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gatian tugged off his gloves, and stuffed them in the hat before handing it to one of the footman. He ran a hand through his hair as he strolled down the hallway to the back dining room. After sitting down, he leant back slightly, giving the footman with the plate of food room to set it in front of him. A pot of tea was set to one side by his plate, and he nodded as another footman poured the tea out for him.
He didn’t move until after the footmen left the room. As soon as the door shut behind them, he picked up the cup, and sipped at it. Drinking tea was an odd habit for a Frenchman, but Gatian had picked up many strange habits since leaving home at the age of fourteen. The tea he ordered brewed for him every morning was a special blend he imported from India, brought to him on one of his many ships.
After the tea, he began eating, ignoring the pile of envelopes and newspapers to his left. Gatian had no interest in invitations, and announcements of weddings that seemed to abound during the season of meat markets. Most of the ladies wanted him as their next conquest or as a husband. Little did any of them know he wasn’t interested in women, and the only one he liked was Emilia.
“Did you do it, Gatian?”
Gatian looked up to see his sister standing just inside the room, her dressing gown thrown carelessly over her shoulders. Her blonde hair, so unlike his own black hair, cascaded in curls down her back. Emilia’s blue eyes glistened with tears, yet he could see the bruising on her cheek from St. Lucian’s fist.
“Yes. You knew I would when I made you tell me what had happened to you.” He took a bite of eggs. After chewing, he gestured to the table. “Please, sit and eat something. I know you have not eaten in a day or two. It’s over and done with, Emilia. We must look forward.”
“It was not you he hit and hurt, Gatian. You were not the one helpless against his superior strength.”
Gatian heaved a mental sigh. As much as he loved Emilia, she tended towards the dramatic, and he found it annoying at times. He stood, and moved over to where his sister was. After putting his arm gently around her shoulders, he motioned to the table.
“You are right, Emilia dear. I’m an arse. I do not know what it is like to be helpless. Please eat. Remember, though, I did tell you we would practice some things you can do to keep yourself safe. Things men would not think a lady would know.”
He pulled out a chair, and had her sit. Gatian filled a plate with all her favourites, poured her a cup of tea, and set it all in front of her. He returned to his place, and picked up his fork. His hand shook, and because he didn’t want her to notice, he set his fork back down.
Emilia had no idea Gatian had lied to her. He did know what it was like to be helpless. To see something done, and know there was nothing he could do to stop it or prevent it. Yet that wasn’t true. If he had been there, he could have stopped the death of the only person he truly loved. He’d stood there, knowing he was too late, and the guilt was rising in him until he wanted to crouch and scream.
He clenched his hands into fists, tamping down on the rage and sorrow. Gatian had spent many years fighting the depression from swallowing him whole. Winning the battle ensured he had no feeling for anything else. He’d lost interest in other people and how they were getting on in the world.
Only Emilia still held a place in his heart, and he wished she would find a man to marry, so he could dower her with most of his wealth. Gatian wanted to disappear, and spend the rest of his life wandering the world without having to worry about his sister.
“Du Lauc told me St. Lucian would be dead by the end of the day,” he informed Emilia.
She nodded, giving no sign of distress or disgust. Emilia never questioned how he would handle the problem, because she knew what he would do.
“Are you not afraid his family will retaliate against you?”
Gatian snorted. “What can they do to me? Shun me? Make me
persona non-gratis
amongst society? I am not afraid of them.”
“What if I am? Do you know how hard it is going to be to find a husband if we are shunned by the important people in Paris?” Emilia pushed some of her food around her plate.
“I do not care. They are only people. None of them are important.” Gatian took another sip, secretly wishing he could add spirits to his tea.
Emilia threw her silverware onto the table, and stood up with a scream. “I know you do not care about them or apparently about me. You have no idea how I try to ingratiate myself with those awful harridans.”
He shoved his chair back, and stood as it hit the floor. Gatian braced his hands on the table, and leant towards his sister. He spoke to her with ice freezing his words.
“Do not ever tell me I do not care for you. I killed a man for you this morning. I shot a bullet into his chest, and stood there, watching him die because he raped you. I did not do it to save your reputation. I did not do it because I hated the man. I did it for you, Emilia, and you never get to question my love for you again.”
Emilia took a step back, her hand pressed to her chest, and fear in her eyes. Gatian would never have hurt her, but he had never shown her anything about his true nature. What she saw at that moment wasn’t the usual façade he showed the rest of the world.
“You care for me like you cared for Oliver?”
Gatian pulled himself up straight, and Emilia must have sensed she had asked the wrong question. She whirled and raced from the room, scampering away like the hounds of hell followed her. He didn’t leave his spot in the room. Gatian was frozen while his heart beat so fast, it could possibly explode.
No one had spoken Oliver’s name to him since he’d died three years ago. Of course, the only person in his life who knew about Oliver was Emilia. Gatian growled low in his throat, and swiped his arm over the table, shoving everything to the floor.
He stalked from the room, ignoring the concerned questions from his butler. He would go and wash up before leaving for the day. He didn’t want to lay eyes on anyone, especially his sister.