Page 152 of War

“So that’s who was making her find God while the rest of us were trying to sleep.”

“Poor Ayesha next door has a child. Try explaining that one!”

Shocked laughter rolls through the group.

I listen to them, strangely fascinated. All around us, people are dying by the thousands, and yet here these women are, gossiping about someone getting laid.

“How’s War?” asks a woman, her curious gaze falling on me.

At first the question doesn’t even register. It’s not until the other women turn their gazes on me that I realize they all want to know about my sex life and oh my God I did not sign up for this when I decided to visit Zara this morning.

“What do you mean?” I say, faking ignorance.

The woman’s mouth curves into a smile. “Has he made you find God?”

Someone else chimes in. “Of course he has. Otherwise there wouldn’t be dead men guarding her.”

It’s painful how accurate that statement is.

“What I want to know,” another woman says, “is how good the horseman was at giving you a religious experience.”

Several of the women laugh; even Zara cracks a smile.

They’re trying to include me, I realize. This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition, this is how these women connect, despite all their differences. They’re all relatively new friends, after all.

“Do you really want to know?” I say.

This is so embarrassing.

A few women nod.

I gather together my confidence. “The horseman isdefinitelybetter at love than war.”

It’s not entirely true, but it causes the women around me to titter with good natured laughter.

“That man wasmadeto please a woman,” someone else adds. More chuckles.

The conversation moves on, and everyone seems to breathe a little easier.

My heart lifts when I realize that I passed whatever test they threw at me. I might’ve come as War’s wife, but I’ll be leaving as one of them.

I while away the day there, listening to their gossip and adding in a few tidbits about my own experiences. For the first time in a long while, life feels normal—or at least normal enough.

That all ends when someone mentions the invasion tomorrow. I could pretend away the horrors of this place for a bit, but eventually they push their way back in.

The collective mood of the group dips, the laughter dying away. When I first came to camp, I was so certain I was the only one fighting to stop the horseman. But now it’s clear that other people care too. They’re just not in a position to do anything about it.

I am.

I’ve secured the aviaries—and that’s something—but I saw firsthand during our last invasion just how little that actually amounts to. Only a handful of birds flew away with my message, and who knows how many of them were shot down by archers.

But the key to surviving the horseman’s attackisto be forewarned about it. If people have enough time to flee their homes, and if they run in the right direction, then maybe they can cheat death.

Unfortunately, I won’t have another chance to send off warnings, not if War is prohibiting me from joining the fight. If I want to do something to help the world, I’ll have to work around my violent husband.

The key to surviving his attack is being forewarned about it.

The answer is right there, staring me down.