Page 193 of War

“You really want a child?” It comes out as a whisper. I didn’t even know it was a question on my mind until the words leave my lips.

Being a father seems so completely at odds with everything War is.

“Before I was … a man,” he says, “I would’ve told you no.”

I get a little spooked, just like I always do, at the reminder of what he actually is.

“Back then I was pain and violence and brotherhood and animosity and loss. I feasted on blood and fear. I couldn’t conceive of life when I was so consumed with death.

“But then I was given this form, and suddenly, I existed in an entirely different way. I saw human natureoffthe battlefield for the first time. More than that, I felt what it was like toliveoff the battlefield.”

War’s face is laid bare, and for once, he looks very young.

“It greatly unnerved me, wife. There was so much about human nature that I didn’t know until I lived and walked amongst you all, and I felt stirrings of that nature within myself. I thought giving into those feelings was a weakness only mortals succumbed to.

“However, once I met you, and I beganwantingthings I had never imagined wanting—things I had once rejected. At first I gave into these new feelings I had for you because I believed God had sent you to me. I wassupposedto feel companionship and compassion because He decreed it. I wassupposedto take you as my wife because He delivered you to me. It wasn’t wrong.”

“Somewhere along the way, my reasons for giving into these human emotions changed. I no longer pursued you because I was supposed to. I craved your company, your smiles, your fierce anger and clever tongue because it brought me the same joy battle did. And the world bloomed into color. For the first time, I began to truly feel this body and every emotion within it.”

I had no idea. No idea that somewhere along all those winding weeks, when everything felt so hopeless to me, War was changing. Even before the vow he made to me, he was changing.

“I realize now,” he says, “this is what living, what beinghuman, truly is.”

It’s late,andsomehow I’m hungry and nauseous all at once. Which really isn’t any surprise because this has happened four other times within the last week.

I fucking hate morning sickness. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

I mean, at the very least it could mind its own damn business and just stick to the mornings.

I stumble out of bed. All the lamps are out but one, which is perched on the table. I stumble over to it.

Resting alongside the lamp is a pitcher of water, a glass, and a platter of fruit, cheese, pita bread, and what looks to be hummus.

Caught beneath the platter is a letter that reads,For my ferocious wife and child. I am hoping that if I feed you while I sleep, you won’t try to stab me again. Consider this a peace offering.

My lips twist into a smile at the note. Only War could make light of the fact that I kinda sorta tried to kill him.

I pick up the note, and much to my mortification, I can feel myself getting emotional.

It’s not even like this is a one-off event. For weeks War has been leaving out trays of food for me at night. He’s never commented on it; they’ve just appeared. I hadn’t noticed any notes before, but now I wonder if there were other nights with other midnight notes that went unnoticed. Notes that War cleaned up with the tray in the morning.

I’ve been so consumed by what was happening around me that I hadn’t noticed the single, terrible truth within me.

I love the horseman.

I love his violent eyes and the way he sees me. I love his strength and his humor and his ridiculous body, and that smile. That smile that I wait for. I love his voice and his mind. I love how he leaves me platters of food with little notes and how he stole my dagger all that time ago because it was mine. I love our arguments and our make-up sex and our midnight sex and our morning and afternoon and evening sex. I love War’s growing humanity and his otherness.

I love him.

Fuck.

Ilovehim.

I run a hand down my face. I want to take it back. I want to undo whatever witchcraft he’s set on me.

I glance over at War’s sleeping form. I can barely make out his face in the darkness, but what I can see makes my stomach feel light.

This is a familiar story to me. Loving what you’re not supposed to. It happened to my parents, and now it’s happening to me. At least my parents had the benefit of being decent people. War’s decency is buried somewhere beneath his bloody agenda and his thirst for slaughter.