Page 20 of War

“War let the man drive his blade straight through his torso—right between those tattoos of his. And then he laughed.”

An unbidden chill slides down my spine.

“The horseman pulled the weapon out of himself, and then he snapped the man’s neck like it was tinder. It was awful.” Fatimah doesn’t look all that distressed by the story. She looks eager.

I glance at War again, who’s still watching me.

“He doesn’t die?” What sort of creature is deathless?

Fatimah leans in and gives my hand a squeeze. “Just do as he wants and you’ll be treated well.”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

“What about the others?” I ask her. Someone has come up to the horseman with a platter of food, dragging his attention away from me.

Fatimah’s brow crinkles. “What others?”

“His other wives.” There must be others.

“Wives?” Fatimah’s forehead creases. “War doesn’t marry the women he’s with.” Now she gives me a weird look. “Howdidhe find you?” she asks. “I heard he rode straight out of battle with you on his horse.”

I’m picking my words when War’s attention returns to me. For the second time today, he gestures for me, the scarlet markings on his knuckles glowing menacingly in the gathering darkness.

Guess someone got tired of waiting.

For a moment, I stay rooted in place. My stubborn side kicks in, and I’m having dark fantasies about what the horseman would do if I simply ignored his command.

But then Fatimah notices and nudges me forward, and I begin to walk, feeling the weight of the crowd’s mounting gazes.

I move through the throng of people, only stopping once I’m a short distance away from the horseman.

He rises from his seat, and a ripple goes through the crowd. The drums are still pounding, but it seems as though we have the whole camp’s attention.

War steps forward one, two, three steps, leaving his makeshift throne and closing the distance between us until he’s right in front of me.

He studies my features for several seconds and his gaze is so intense I want look away.

Torchlight burns deep in his eyes. Torchlight—and interest.

He doesn’t say anything for so long that I finally break the silence between us. “What do you want?”

“Meokange vago odi degusove.”

I thought you already knew.

He throws my earlier words back at me.

And yeah, I still think I do.

War’s eyes drink in my face. He’s wearing the same strange expression he gave me back in Jerusalem.

After several seconds, he reaches out and brushes a knuckle over my cheekbone, like he just can’t help himself.

I bat his hand away. “You don’t get to touch me,” I say softly.

His eyes narrow.

“Sonu moamsi, mamsomeo, monuinme zio vavabege odi?”

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