Page 23 of War

War studies me, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Is this tent really yours though?” he asks.

No. Doesn’t change the fact that I want him out.

“Get out ofthistent,” I correct.

“Or else?” He raises an eyebrow.

Isn’t that obvious enough?

I press the tip of his dagger a little deeper into his flesh. A dark line of blood drips down his throat.

War leans forward. “Brave little warrior, threatening me in my own camp.” His eyes search my face.

“How did you even find me?” I demand. There are thousands of residences in this place.

“I thought you wanted me gone from your tent,” he says. I sense his amusement.

“And yet you’re still here. So.”

“I can’t answer your question if you slit my throat.” He looks pointedly at the dagger.

I hesitate. Waking up to any man in my tent is what I would consider an open threat. Yet I have to admit that if War wanted to harm me in any manner, he probably would’ve done so by now, and no blade of mine would be able to stop him.

Finally, I lower the dagger.

He touches the blood at his throat, and I swear I see a whisper of a smile on his face. “This is my camp. There are no secrets here that can be kept from me.”

I eye him some more, my grip tightening on my dagger. “I’ve heard you can’t die,” I say.

“Is that why you haven’t tried to kill me yet?” That mocking tone is back in his voice.

Yes.

My silence is answer enough.

“Can you?” I press.

“Die?” War clarifies. “Of course I can.”

Damnit. Just when I lowered my blade too.

“I just have a tendency to notstaydead.”

I scrutinize him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs a lit oil lamp I didn’t notice, then stands. “You’ll understand, eventually—along with everything else,aššatu.”Wife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

Casting me one final enigmatic look, War blows out the lamp, and then he’s gone like a phantom in the night.

Even though mycity is gone and I’ve been captured, I’m expected to just go on with my life.

That’s clear enough the next morning when I wake up to the sound of general chatter outside my tent.

I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. The same thing was expected of me the day after the horsemen’s Arrival. By now I’m an old hand at this.

I dress in my stained clothes. They’re still damp from yesterday, but God, it’s a lot more practical than the outfit I was given. Pulling on my boots, I step outside.

People lounge around their tents, chatting, laughing, drinking tea or coffee. This section of camp is filled mostly with women and children, and I’m shocked to see that several of them have their heads covered. I would’ve assumed that War would want us all to forsake our religion for his, but apparently not.