Page 190 of War

“For what?”

I touch his chest. “For almost killing you with your own sword.”

He laughs and takes my hand. “You couldn’t have hurt me.”

“Ididhurt you though,” I say.

Not all wounds leave marks.

War stares at me for a beat longer, then he brings my knuckles to his lips, his kohl-lined eyes fixed on mine as he kisses my hand. “I appreciate the apology, wife. All is forgiven.”

I release my breath, and it feels like a weight has been lifted.

I give him a smile. “My husband …”

He lifts his eyebrows, his own grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “To hear that term on your lips … it is the sweetest music, wife.”

We share a moment. An honest to God moment that isn’t overly complicated. And I let myself enjoy it in all its mushy gloriousness without overthinking it.

A dull sound off in the distance breaks the spell. War glances back towards the city that seems to rise from the desert itself. In the process, I see the arrows that litter his back, some whichdrip blood.

I hiss in a breath. “Youarehurt,” I say, stepping towards the wounds.

War reaches behind his back, and grasping one, he yanks it out and tosses it aside. After he does this for another, I stop him.

“I can do it.”

The horseman stills, eyeing me. After a moment, he nods and lets me go around to his back.

There are three more arrows still embedded in his armor and skin. I start with the one near his shoulder, grabbing it by the base. “This might hurt.”

I think I hear him grunt out a laugh, but maybe that’s just my imagination.

I wrap my hand around the arrowhead, give it a tug, and … nothing happens.

Now Wardoeslaugh. “Very painful, wife, I appreciate the warning—”

This time I throw my weight into the action and, with a wet noise, the arrow comes free.

I drop the bloody thing and place my hand over the wound. “I can’t heal it like you can.”

“That’s alright, wife,” War says, his voice disarmingly gentle.

I pull out the next arrow and then the last one, yanking hard on each one. Once I’m finished, the horseman turns around and gives me an odd look.

“What?” I say, wiping my hands off on my jeans.

“No one has ever taken care of me.” His voice sounds strange.

I meet his eyes. He looks like something out of a fairytale in his red armor, his black hair adorned with gold pieces.

“I care about you, War. I don’t want you to hurt. Ever.”

War stares at me for a long time. “That’s an odd sentiment for me to hear when part of what I amispain. But I cannot tell you how moved I am by your words, nonetheless.

“You have made me mortal in the worst way, Miriam, and I am forever grateful for it.”

After the incidentin Maghaghah, War’s zombies begin to precede us on our travels, and so every city I pass through is scattered with dead bodies from the fighting that must’ve ensued. Things look worse, not better, than they did weeks ago.

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