Page 187 of War

“An entire month.” War digests that, looking fascinated and pleased. “My child has been in you that entire time. No wonder you’ve been so bloodthirsty.”

Oh God.

“What else?” the horseman asks, moving the conversation along.

I rack my brain for the few things I do know about the subject. “My sickness and the food aversions—I think that’s part of pregnancy. They say that some women get physically ill during the first few months of pregnancy.”

War frowns. “This issupposedto happen?”

I lift a shoulder. “I mean, I think so.”

The warlord looks massively displeased by that news, and I realize he’s displeased on my behalf.

He doesn’t want to see me suffer.

“How long does it last?” War asks.

“I don’t know.” This was never a topic I looked into with much interest. I hadn’t assumed it would apply to me anytime soon. “Hopefully not too much longer.” It’s a miserable state to be in.

I bite my lower lip. “And then there’s childbirth.” I guess I should probably go over that one too.

Since the horsemen’s Arrival, most advanced medical interventions have become obsolete. There are still doctors, and there are still physical procedures and hospitals and all that knowledge we wrote down in textbooks, but the elaborate technology once used to save wayward pregnancies is mostly gone. Women and babies die during childbirth, just as they have for thousands of years before the modern age.

“What is it?” War says, sensing my mood change.

“Giving birth can be dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” he presses.

I look him in the eye. “I could die. And your child could die.”

“Ourchild,” he amends, his hand still pressing against my belly. For the first time since we began this conversation, he smiles a little. “You forget wife—I can heal all manner of injury. As I said before, you and the baby are safe.”

Me and the baby.

I glance at War, and I almost want to laugh at the idea of domestic bliss with this horseman. It seems so preposterous. And yet, he’s clearly way into it.Wayinto it.

He kisses me. “All will be well. Trust me on that.”

The change inWar starts small. So small I almost think I’m imagining it. He had promised me—no,vowedto me—that he would surrender. And yet I’m not sure I believed him until the proof starts rolling in.

Over the next several weeks, as we travel down the Nile, War stops attacking the small, satellite communities that speckle the land. Even more staggering, the horseman chooses to spare those few humans who manage to survive his raids.

It’s a shock to hear—after all, War takes his undead army into battle with him, and those killing machines leave no one unharmed. I’m having a difficult time believing that there is anyone lefttospare.

But therearein fact survivors, and the proof of it comes the day after we leave Beni Suef.

War and I travel alone on our steeds, the Nile a short distance from us. The rest of the camp—the dead and all—trail far behind us, just as War has always arranged it.

As we come up to the city of Maghaghah, an arrow zings past me, so close I feel the air shift. I glance at War, a bewildered look on my face.

This has never happened before during our travels because people don’t knowWaris coming.

Another arrow zings by. Then another and another.

Or at least, they didn’tused to.

“Miriam, move!” The horseman sounds like a general, and instinctively, I obey him.

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