War’s eyes travel back up to me. Now there’s something different about his expression, something that terrifies me in a whole new way.

“Netet wā neterwej.”

You are the one He sent me.

I start at his voice. His words aren’t Hebrew or Arabic or Yiddish or English. He doesn’t speak any language I recognize … and yet I understand him as though he does.

“Netet tayj ḥemet.”

You are my wife.

Chapter 3

You are my wife.

That statement doesn’t process. Nor does the fact that I can actually understand him.

The horseman sheaths his sword, giving me a strange, fierce look.

He’s not going to kill me.

That does process. I lay in place for about two more seconds, and then I scuttle back again.

I force myself to my feet as War prowls after me, and now I do run.

I bolt back the way I came, heading towards an exit out of the Old City. I don’t hear the horseman behind me, and foolishly I think that maybe he’s going to let me go.

My hopes are dashed a minute later when I hear the menacing clack of his horse’s hooves against the stone pavement.

Oh man, step one is some asshole claiming you’re his wife, and step two, shit suddenly gets real.

The hoof beats close in on me just as they had earlier. Only this time I don’t think I can outrun them. My adrenaline is nearly spent.

War’s horse is nearly upon me, and I swear I can feel its hot breath against my skin. Just when I think it’s going to trample me, something slams into my back.

The air leaves my lungs as I pitch forward. But I don’t hit the ground. Instead, I’m scooped up and cleanly deposited onto the horse’s saddle.

For several seconds I lay there, getting my bearings. Then I glance behind me, into the monster’s eyes.

War is staring down at me, that strange expression still on his face. I feel myself quake under his gaze.

This is a man made to be feared.

And for several long moments, I am afraid. I am thoroughly terrified of this grim creature.

But then good ol’ self-preservation kicks in.

I begin struggling against him. “Let me go.”

His response is to tighten the arm he has around my waist, his gaze moving to our surroundings.

“Seriously,” I say, trying and failing to shake his ironclad hold. “I’m not your wife.”

War’s eyes snap back to mine, and for a split second, he appears surprised.

Maybe he doesn’t like the fact that I didn’t agree to this wife business, or maybe he didn’t realize I could understand him.

Whatever it is, he recovers quickly enough, his surprise draining away from his features. He doesn’t respond to me, and he doesn’t release me, instead driving his horse onwards through the city.

I struggle a little more against him, but it’s useless. His arm is like a manacle, shackling me to him.

“What are you going to do with me?” I demand. I sound shockingly calm. I don’t feel calm. I feel frazzled and freaked out.

Again, War doesn’t respond, though his grip tightens just a smidgen. Just enough to know exactly where his mind is.

I pinch my eyes shut, trying to keep out all the horrible images of what happens to women in war.

“Neṯet ṯar,” he says.

You are safe.

I nearly guffaw at that.

“From your blade, maybe.” Not from other things.

Maybe the horseman has eighty wives, each one a war prize he’s plucked from a different conquered city.

Oh God, that actually sounds plausible.

A wave of nausea rolls through me.

War unsheathes his sword as he rides through Jerusalem. The buildings are on fire, and the streets swarm with people—fighting, fleeing, dying.

I’ve seen my share of fights, but my home has never looked like this, like a steaming heap of human savagery.

I stare at it all, dazed. I think shock might be setting in.

I can feel dozens of eyes on me as they take in me and War. Their fear is plain—no one expects to come face to face with one of these mythical, deadly horsemen—but I also sense a deeper terror. No one had realized that War might take prisoners, not until this moment when they see the proof sitting in his saddle. The sight of me must spawn a whole new set of fears.

Around here we know that sometimes a quick death is a better way to go.

The horseman begins to drive his steed forward at a punishing pace. His sword is still brandished and he steers his mount towards fleeing humans. Anytime he closes in on one, he takes a great swing of that mighty sword.

I have to close my eyes against the sight, but even still, I sometimes feel the sick spray of blood.

For a long time, I simply focus on not retching. It’s all I can manage. Escape is impossible with War’s viselike grip on me, and fighting—well, I already exhausted that avenue.

We move west through the city, back towards the hills I so recently visited. The horseman takes the same route out that we both took in.

City gives way to forest, and eventually the sounds of battle fade away. Out here, you’d never know an entire town was getting slaughtered.

The two of us ride past the shell of a house I hid in, moving deeper and deeper into the mountains.

Once we’re well and truly far from civilization, War’s hold on me loosens.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

No answer.

“Why did you leave the fight?” I start again.

I feel War’s terrible eyes on me, and I glance behind me to meet them.

He holds my gaze for several seconds, then moves his attention back to the road.

Okaaaay.

Maybe he doesn’t understand me like I understand him?

The rest of the trip we ride in silence.

At some random point, War veers off the road. The plants here have been pulverized by the horseman’s army. He follows the tracks that his horde left, winding us through the mountains.

Eventually we round a bend, and I suck in a breath.

Nestled in a relatively flat section of land is a camp as big as a small city. Thousands of tents lie nestled among the trees and brush, covering a huge portion of the mountainside.

Who knows how long they’ve been camped out here, completely out of sight from the main road.

War rides past several makeshift horse corrals and rows upon rows of tents. Now that we’re moving through the place, I notice that even right now there are people here. Most of them are women and children, but there are a few muscle-y soldier types as well.

The horseman stops his steed. Dismounting off of the creature, he then turns around and lifts me from his horse.

I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but I really wish I still had my weapons.

The horseman sets me on the ground. He stares at me for several moments, then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

What in the ever-loving hell is going on?

“Odi acheve devechingigive denu vasvovore memsuse. Svusi sveanukenorde vaoge misvodo sveanudovore vani vemdi. Odedu gocheteare sveveri, mamsomeo.” War says.

You will be safe here until I get back. All you must do is swear fealty with the others. Then we will speak again, wife.

“I am not your wife.”

Again, I catch an echo of his earlier surprise.

I don’t think I’m supposed to understand him.

One of the soldier-types comes over, a red sash around his upper arm. War leans in to him and says something so low I can’t hear it. Once he’s finished, the horseman gives me a long look, then remounts his horse.