The Hunger
“It was dark. Jolting hurt his head. He wanted it to stop, but he knew it never would. At one point his stomach rebelled against the pain in his head and he vomited. Someone cursed him. A woman.Later he woke more surely. He was in a carriage. Lavender water as well as something else, fainter, made his gorge rise again. He controlled it this time. Cinnamon? Beatrix. A glow suffused him. Beatrix.He opened his eyes. Asharti stared at him from the corner of the coach.“If you vomit again, I will puni...sh you,” she said, and turned her head to look out the window. Her profile was bathed in moonlight. He was Asharti’s prisoner. He licked dry lips with a dry tongue. He had shot her dead, but she was not dead and neither was Quintoc. She had subdued him casually, without effort, though she was only a woman. He would say he had dreamed it. But here he was bound in a coach with a broken head, the woman who should be dead staring at him. Her eyes . . . her eyes had gone red. Surely that was a dream.MoreLess
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