War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(10)

His upper lip curls just the slightest, and it makes me think that he’s disgusted at the sight of me.

The feeling’s mutual.

All of a sudden, he gets up. I swallow delicately as I crane my neck to look up at him.

He’s not human.

There’s no mistaking it now. His shoulders are too wide, his muscles are too thick; his limbs are too long, his torso too massive. His features too … complicated.

He pulls the needle-thin dagger from the holster encircling his bicep. At the sight of it, a bolt of adrenaline rushes through me, which is ridiculous considering that I asked for death moments ago.

“San suni ?tümd?n satnap tulgun, virot ez?r un? itdep? Sanin ?rav?m t?lgun san mugu uyuk muzutnaga tunnip, mun u? tu?un vulgilüü,” he says, circling me.

I spared you from death, and yet now you seek it out? How you insult me wife, I who have never been known for my mercy.

Each word is gravelly, resonate.

Under his scrutiny my throat bobs. “I’m not going to keep my life just so that you can make me kill others,” I say, my voice hoarse with fear.

At my back, I sense the horseman stop.

Is he once again surprised I can understand him?

Before I can turn around, he takes one of my hands. It’s only now, when he’s touching me, his calloused hands swallowing mine up, that I realize I’m trembling.

I take a few deep breaths to settle my mounting anxiety.

War leans in close, his mouth brushing my ear. “San suni sunen teken dup esne dup uyn?kut? Uger dug? vir sakdun ü?üt?”

Is that what you think I want with you? To make you another soldier?

He laughs against my hair, the sound making my skin prick. I flush, unnerved at his words.

I feel the cool metal of War’s blade as he inserts it between the bound hands at my back. There’s a brief pressure as his dagger presses against my bindings. A second later I hear a rip as, in one clean stroke, War cuts the twine and frees my wrists.

My arms sting as blood flows back into them.

“I know what you want from me,” I say quietly, beginning to rub out my wrists.

“Uger uz?r vurv?? San vakdum tunduy u??t-uyt?n.”

Do you now? How transparent I have become.

War comes back to my front. He’s still grimacing at me, like I’ve offended his delicate sensibilities.

“A hafa neu a nuhue inu io upuho eu ha ia a fu nuhueu a fu Ihe,” he says. His tone and the language he speaks seem to change and soften.

There are many things I can give you that Death cannot.

“I don’t want your things,” I say.

The corner of War’s mouth lifts. I can’t tell if his smile is mocking or amused. “Ua i fu ua nuou peu e fuhio.”

And yet you’ll still get them.

He eyes me over. “Huununu ia lupu, upu. I fu ua fu ipe huy.”

Clean yourself off, wife. You will not die today.

He throws his dagger at my feet, the thin blade sinking into the earth, and then he walks away.

After War leaves, no one seems to know what to do.

I react first. Kneeling down, I grab the hilt of War’s discarded weapon and yank it out of the earth. On the horseman’s arm, it had looked more like a hairpin than a dagger, but in my hand, it’s heavy and big. Quite big.

Spinning, I point the blade at anyone and everyone. Someone laughs.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

Clutching the blade, I stride out of the clearing, elbowing my way through the crowd. I expect someone to attack me, but it never comes.

I only manage to walk a short distance before a woman grabs my arm.

“This way,” she says, beginning to direct me through the maze of the camp.

I glance down at her. “What are you doing?”

“Leading you to your new accommodations,” she says, not missing a beat. “I’m Tamar.”

Tamar is a petite thing, with greying hair, tan skin, and olive green eyes.

“I’m not planning on staying.”

She sighs. “You know, most people I greet here say that to me. I’m tired of having to tell you all the brutal truth.”

“And what’s that,” I say as she winds us through rows of tents.

“Everyone who leaves, dies.”

Tamar leads me to a dust-stained tent that looks identical to the dozens of tents erected to either side of it.

“Here we are,” she says, gazing up at it. “Your new h—wait.” She calls out to another woman four tents down. “This is one of the one’s we’re giving out, right?”

The other woman nods.

Tamar turns back to me. “This is where you’ll be staying from now on.”

“I already told you, I’m not staying.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, shrugging off my words. “You’ve had a harrowing day. Tomorrow will be better.”

I bite back a response. I don’t need to convince her of my intentions.

She pulls the tent flaps back and gestures for me to peer inside. Reluctantly, I do so.

It’s a small space, hardly big enough for the rumpled pallet that lays the length of it. In one corner rests a dog-eared book and a Turkish coffee set. In another corner rests a comb and some costume jewelry.

It’s clearly someone else’s home.

“What happened to the last person who stayed here?” I ask.