Page 195 of War

I don’t know when that changed—maybe it was whenWarchanged. Which is ironic, considering I’m derailing him from the holy commands he’s supposed to carry out.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

I prop my head on my fist. “Everything.”

War laughs, setting his blade and whetstone aside. “Why don’t we start with your most pressing questions?”

“Only if you get in bed.”

The horseman’s eyes deepen with interest. He stands, removing his shirt. A minute later he slips into bed next to me, scooping my body over to his.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.” My stomach is finally starting to swell, making it hard for the two of us to line up flush against each other.

“What are your questions?”

I reach out and trace the glowing words on his chest. “What does this say?” I’ve never asked.

The horseman stares at me for a long time, and he seems like he’s deciding on something.

His lips part and he begins speaking in tongues. “Ejo auwep ag hettup ewiap ir eov sui wania ge Eziel. Vud pajivawatani datafakiup, ew kopiriv varitiwuv, wargep gegiwiorep vuap ag pe. Ew teggew kopirup fotagiduv yevawativ vifuw ew nideta eov, ew geirferav.”

The divine words wash over me like a wave, and I feel them as though they are living, breathing things.Holythings. My eyes prick because hearing them, I feel like I’ve just touched God, whatever and whoever God is.

I will be the blade of God and His judgment too. Under my guiding arm, mankind shall surrender their last breaths to me. I shall weigh men’s hearts even as I deliver them onward.

I can’t doubt that War is anything other than holy. Not after hearing that.

I’m still breathing shallowly when War reaches out, tracing my own crude marking at the base of my throat.

“I have something for you,” War says, interrupting my thoughts. He gets up from the bed and crosses the room, grabbing a small item from his trousers.

“You have something else for me?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

Two gifts in one day? That’s a dangerous precedent to set.

He comes back over. “I meant to give it to you earlier, but after I proposed …”

After he proposed, any additional gift would’ve gotten lost in the moment.

War gets into bed and opens his fist.

All I see at first is red thread, but that’s enough for me to know exactly what this is. A split second later, I notice the silver hand, a tiny turquoise stone embedded at its center.

The Hand of Miriam. A hamsa.

“These were on display in Edfu, and I remembered the one you wear on your wrist.”

I touch the one he’s speaking of.

“I’m not your father,” War continues, “but I thought I might do right by him.” By giving me another hamsa bracelet and continuing on my father’s tradition.

I take the delicate piece of jewelry from him and hold it in my hand.

I close it in my fist. It’s been a decade since my father wrapped my last bracelet around my wrist. Receiving this gift from War … it feels less like my father’s gone.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “I love it.”