Page 129 of War

“Why do you keep letting me ride into battle?” I ask him as I finish securing my quiver.

From his perspective, I can’t see any reason to let me keep joining the fight.

The horseman glances over at me from where he’s lacing up one of his leather greaves. “Why indeed?” he muses. “Would you prefer I chain you to our bed like the doting husband I am?”

“Only if you stayed with me,” I say, not missing a beat. I’m being half serious. If I could keep War from battle … but no, his army and his dead would just do the killing for him.

His eyes heat at that.

“You were made to tempt me, wife,” he says.

The horseman finishes lacing one greave and moves to the other. “You told me we’re to respect one another in a marriage.”

I … did. I’m surprised he remembers.

“You want to fight. This is me respecting your wishes.”

This is War’s version of respect? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. He’s forced me to sleep in his tent—I mean, fuck respect right there—but he’s still going to allow me to fight in a battle that could get me killed because that’s the husbandly thing to do?

To be honest, it sounds very much like horseman logic.

“Besides,” War adds, unaware of my own thoughts, “you’re killing humans.”

“Not the ones you want dead,” I argue, securing my dagger to my side.

“I want themalldead,” he says. “You’re making my job easier.”

I stare at him for several seconds, and it’s like a grenade explodes in my mind.

I’m helping his cause.

Every single person I kill is one less person living on earth.

All thoughts of respect dissolve away as an acute sort of devastation sinks in. I sway a little on my feet, and for a moment, I think I’m going to be sick.

I assumed I was actually doing something useful.

War finishes putting on his armor and comes towards me. Outside the tent I can hear a few muffled footsteps as soldiers quietly leave their homes, readying themselves for a day of fighting.

“Ready?” he asks.

I almost say no. I’m still reeling from that revelation. The last thing I want right now is to play into the horseman’s hand by killing more people.

But then I remember those soldiers who liked to use raids as an opportunity to rape women or commit other atrocities. Someone still needs to keep them in line—War’s words be damned.

I nod to the horseman, and together we leave the tent.

This time,ridingwith War doesn’t feel comforting in the least. The horseman holds me close, but he feels remote. I have a horrible suspicion he’s taking his mind to that place where he kills.

The city comes into existence in stages—first with a few decrepit buildings, then several more, then rapidly the city fills itself out. Port Said butts right up against the Mediterranean Sea, every square kilometer of it tightly packed with building after building. At this early hour, the city is quiet, so terribly quiet.

My chest constricts. Only now am I beginning to realize what it truly means to be at the front of War’s army. I’ve only seen battle once it’s been raging for a time. I’ve never seen what ignites it. And now I’m having visions of War storming into homes and killing people right in their own beds.

“I need to get off,” I whisper.

If anything, War’s arm tightens on me.

“I need to get off,” I say louder.

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