Page 61 of War

Zara’s silent, undoubtedly because I’m making no sense. One should either be married or not married, having sex or not having sex. Anything else deserves a larger explanation.

One that I’m not really ready to give, partially because I don’t understand the situation much myself.

“So you have some sway over him,” Zara eventually says.

Sway?

I mull that over. “Maybe for isolated incidents—like sparing your life—but no, he’s pretty unbending when it comes to killing us all off.”

“Have you tried to convince him to stop?”

I give Zara a look that I’m sure she can’t see in the darkness. “Of course I’ve tried.”

It’s not good enough, that annoying little voice says in my head.Try again. And again. And try harder.

Zara exhales. “Why is he doing this?”

“Because his god told him to, or some bullshit like that.”

“You don’t believe in his God?” she asks, sounding surprised.

My eyes move to Zara’s headscarf. “Do you?” I ask.

We’re both quiet.

Like I said, it’s all soverycomplicated.

Chapter 17

That night ittakes longer than usual to fall asleep. Between the battle today, the revelation that War can raise the dead, and the exciting possibility that I might’ve actually made a friend in Zara, my brain won’t shut off.

It doesn’t help that following the camp’s festivities this evening, people are loud and obnoxious andthey won’t go to sleep. I can hear several groups of women talking about this or that.

Just go the fuck to bed and put us all out of our misery.

Eventually, the voices do quiet down and I slip off to sleep.

I feel like I’ve only been asleep for an instant when I wake to a tingling sensation on the back of my neck that something isn’t right.

Rule Four of my survival guide:listen to your instincts. I’ve lived on the edge long enough to know they’re rarely wrong.

Reaching under my pallet, I grab War’s dagger. My eyes scour the darkness, searching for the horseman, sure that he’s the one responsible for waking me. But my little home is horseman-free.

I’m almost disappointed at the thought.

Outside my tent, I hear several male voices whispering.

This late at night, men shouldn’t be in this section of camp, especially after a day fighting and an evening drinking.

For a split second I think that maybe some woman brought them here, or they made plans to meet up with someone here.

I hear those voices again—there’s at least three of them—and they don’t sound confused, they sound devious.

Listen to your instincts.

I move to the back of the tent. The canvas wall is too taut to slip under, so I lift War’s dagger, pressing the tip to the sturdy material.

If I’m wrong about this, and I cut a hole in my tent for no reason, I’m going to feel like a fool.

---