Page 159 of War

I lock my jaw to keep myself from telling him what a monster he is all over again. He knows. I can hear it in his voice.

“I don’t kill like that anymore. Despite my battle-lust, there is a part of me—a growing part of me—that takes issue with such tactics.”

So you simply kill us slower,I want to accuse him, but what’s the point? I’d rather not waste breath arguing with War over his method of killing people when what I really take issue with is the fact that heiskilling people.

He falls silent again, and the two of us spend the remainder of the journey brooding.

When we arrive back at camp, it’s still dark, still silent as the grave.

I pinch my eyes shut.Don’t think about graves.

A few soldiers on duty watch us curiously as we ride through.

It feels wrong being back here. Like the entire trip was some dark reverie.

War pulls Deimos to a stop in front of his tent. There the undead wait for us, and Iquakeat the sight of them.

I know what they are truly capable of. I saw it firsthand only hours ago.

War hops off his steed, nearby torchlight making his golden hairpieces glint.

When I don’t follow him down, he reaches up for me and pulls me off the steed himself.

For a second, I think he’s going to bring me into his arms. There’s a look in his eyes, like half an apology, and I almost believe it. But the hug never comes.

He grips my upper arms, his expression fierce. “If you were anyone else, wife,” he says, his voice low, “I would kill you myself for your actions.”

I raise my chin. “Then kill me and let me be free,” I say, my voice hollow.

His hold tightens on me. “Goddamnit, woman,” he says, giving me a shake, “do you not feel a singleshredof what I feel for you? I’m telling you this because Icouldn’t—I couldn’teverkill you. I can destroy an entire civilization, but not you, Miriam. Not for a thousand different slights you might visit upon me. I’d soonercut off my own handthan hurt you.”

I’m blinking back tears all over again, and I’m angry and sad and frustrated and heartbroken all at once.

“Then cut it off,” I snap back at him, feeling the poison of my emotions in my veins. “And while you’re at it, make it your sword arm.”

I know I’m being cruel. Right now I relish it. It feels good to wound the horsemen when nothing and no one else can.

The words find their mark. War releases me, looking shocked, his eyes more naked than they usually are.

Now that he’s let me go, I turn on my heel and stalk away.

I’ve only made it about five steps when one of the undead lurking nearby trots over, making its way to me. I glare at War over my shoulder.

“You are staying with me tonight, just as you do every other night.” His voice is deep, controlled. Right now, he is one hundred percent the horseman, set to destroy my world.

“Like hell I am,” I say.

The zombie comes in close enough for me to recoil at its smell, but it’s War who closes the distance between us, coming so near his chest brushes mine.

He tilts his head down to me.

“I’m giving you your dignity right now.” War leans in. “And something tells me you still have plenty of dignity left in you. Don’t force my dead to sling you over his shoulder. Now, get in our tent.”

I glare at him for a second or two. My body practically shakes with the need to undermine him. But the horseman’s already proven once tonight that I can’t get away.

I bolt anyway.

Defiance—even fatalistic defiance—feels good.