Page 182 of War

I’m pregnant.

I open my mouth to tell him, when I pause. I don’t know how he’ll react. That alone accounts for approximately half of my fear. We just got back together.

The other half of my fear comes frombeingpregnant. With a horseman’s offspring.

Fuck me and my poor life choices.

I stare at War, then his mouth. He killseveryone. Everyone.

And the last time I even came close to discussing whether he’d had children with any of the women he’d previously been with, he got offended. I assumed at the time I’d wounded his pride, but maybe there’s something else to the conversation, something dark that would frighten me.

I’m being ridiculous. The horsemancaresfor me. He’d care for a baby if it was ours.

I think.

I mean, he reluctantly saved Mamoon, but how many thousands of other children have died in his battles?

Those aren’t good odds.

I shake my head, giving him a wan smile. “I’m just tired, and I hate feeling sick.”

The horseman’s brow is pinched. He looks legitimately concerned. “Spend the day resting. You need it, wife. I will have someone bring you a basin of water to keep yourself cool. No one but me will bother you.”

No one but me.

I nod, biting the inside of my cheeks. Again, he doesn’t mention the doctor he threatened me with earlier, and I’m absurdly grateful for it. They would know in an instant what it’s taken my dense-ass all this time to figure out.

I stare at War for a beat longer.

I could still tell him. It might be alright. He’s promised to keep me from death.

He’s made that promise to no one else.

Would he extend it to our kid?

Maybe—probably, but there’s a part of me that’s not sure, and that’s reason enough to keep my mouth shut. I’m unwilling to lose anyone else to the horseman.

War reaches out and helps me up, and I pretend everything is alright when it’s not. God, it’s not.

I’m motherfuckingpregnant.

I wait forWar to fall asleep that night, just as I always do when I want to deceive him. I’m painfully predictable, and between that and my jumpy state today, I’m sure War can see right through me.

Late that night, however, he slips into bed beside me, his hands moving over my skin like he’s trying to map me out all over again. I squeeze my eyes shut against his touch. It’s been hard enough faking high spirits today. It’s all I can do to act as though I’m asleep.

Eventually his hands still and his breathing deepens. Only then do I allow myself to really think about my situation again.

Pregnant …

What am I supposed to do?

Either I tell War, or I don’t, but if I don’t … I can’t stay here, where he will eventually find out.

What’s the worst that could happen if I tell the horseman?

He could lump our child with the rest of humanity, the part he wants to purge the world of.

The thought of a father killing his own child seems so preposterous that I want to laugh, butisit? Truly? War is way more comfortable killing people than he is sparing them. It’s only my own foolish belief in War’s goodness that makes me think he wouldn’t hurt our child.

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