Page 122 of War

“At least he’ll be better company,” I say.

War frowns at me, looking frustrated and bothered all at the same time. “So be it. Enjoy the walk, wife.”

And then he rides off.

Bastard.

It takes nearly an hour to make it back to camp, and the entire way the dead man has a grip on my upper arm. The stench of him is too much, and I vomit four separate times. Eventually I simply plug my nose and breathe in and out of my mouth.

In spite of this, I don’t regret my decision to walk back. Not even a little.

Right now the dead man is still better company than War.

I don’t seethe horseman again for days. He doesn’t call on me, and I stay the hell away from his tent, spending my time reading, making weapons, and visiting with Zara and her frightened nephew.

So I’m surprised when, on the day we pack up camp, I’m given a horse and instructed to wait for War.

I almost don’t.

I’m no longer upset about the revelation that War’s dead haunt all the fallen cities of the world. It’s terrible and shocking and it makes the horseman even more barbaric than I already imagined him to be, but it is what it is, and now I know.

I’m not even upset about the nauseating walk back to camp—though I had been for a while after I returned.

At this point I’m just pissed off because I’vebeenpissed off, and I don’t know, the emotion has developed some inertia of its own.

But then War comes riding through camp, looking like a red sun rising on the horizon, and I feel eager to see him—eager to be angry with him, eager to hear his deep voice and to gaze at that face. And maybe to even touch him. I may not like the guy, but I think I’m addicted to him.

The horseman stops when he gets to my side. His stares at me for several seconds.

“Wife,” he says. I cannot tell what he’s thinking.

“War.”

He gives me a slight nod and takes off again. I follow him to the front of the procession, feeling the eyes of the entire army on us. And then they’re behind us and it’s just me and War and the endless road ahead of us.

The horseman is the first one to speak.

“If we’re to be married, we have to get along.”

“We’renotmarried,” I say for the five billionth time.

“We are.”

Exasperating man!

“You had a dead man tackle me!” Okay, maybe I am still a little ticked about my walk back to camp. I have a fucking right to be. I smelled like a corpse for two entiredays.

“You wouldn’t listen,” he says.

“No, it wasyouwho wouldn’t listen!” I say, my voice rising. Oh yeah, I am so ready to jump back into the arena and fight this man. “You’re so used to commanding people that you think you can command me too.”

“Of course I can.”

I’d throttle War if I could get away with it.

“That’snothow marriage works,” I say, trying to simmer my emotions back down. “At least, not a good marriage—and you want this to be a good marriage, don’t you?”

Why am I even trying to reason with him?