Page 163 of War

War lingers long enough to realize that I’m not going to give him any sort of happy goodbye. With a final, heavy look at me, he leaves the tent, the canvas rustling behind him.

I never truly got an answer to my burning question: how will War handle today?

I did, however, get an answer to a question Ihadn’tintended to ask.

I glance at the cut on my thumb. A drop of blood still beads there. I smile a little at the sight, then rub the blood away.

Chapter 44

I don’t seeWar again until that evening. By then the raiding celebration is in full swing, the war drums pounding out a hypnotic sound.

It doesn’t matter that today’s raid was pointless. Every person out here tonight looks jubilant.

I move along the edges of the crowd, people shifting out of the way as my undead bodyguards push their way through the throng.

My eyes flick up to War, who sits on his throne, a frown on his face. War spots me from his throne, his eyes narrowing. He stands, and the whole crowd seems to react to that single action.

I stare at him. I can’t not. And my heart, my stubborn, awful heart seems to stutter. It’s always love and war with us.

He won’t stop. He won’t ever stop.

I cut through the crowd, watching as it parts for me and my grotesque entourage.

War leaves his dais, the two of us meeting halfway.

Before I can say or do anything, he kisses me. It’s so, so brazen of him, considering where we left off. And now everything the camp assumed about us has been confirmed. In case it wasn’t already super apparent.

“Where have you been?” War asks, breaking off the kiss. But it’s not really a question. His dead have been guarding me all day; War must’ve had some idea where they were—and thus where I was. Which was in the women’s quarters.

“Do you love me?” I ask him.

War’s brow furrows, his dark eyes moving between mine. He’s so severely handsome.

His hand goes to the juncture where my shoulder meets my neck, and gently, he squeezes.

“Do you?” I echo.

“Can you really not tell?” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

I take in a shuddering breath. “Then stop the killing,” I say. “Please. That’s all I ask of you.”

“You are asking me to give upeverything.” War actually looks pained at the thought of ending the killing.

Heisbattle incarnate. I might be asking him to do more than stop a simple habit. I might be asking him to deny the core part of himself.

“Please—”

His expression hardens. “No.” His tone is absolute, unbending.

I knew he wouldn’t capitulate. I knew it and yet it breaks my heart all over again.

Without another word I leave him, his large hand slipping from my shoulder. I cut through the swarming bodies, my nostrils stinging with the smell of sweat and rot that seem to stifle the area. My guards swarm around me.

I’ve made a lot of consolations with War. So many.

Too many.

Be brave.

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