The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(74)

“The king ordered us to stand in front of that door,” she spat. “We thought… We knew what he wanted, and we gave it freely. But… when he came out of hiding…” She looked away, her hand tightening on her son’s hand for a moment. “I won’t fight for him,” she declared, ratcheting her chin up a notch. “Not for that bastard—he doesn’t deserve it. But for you? We’d… we’d be honored if you let us join you.”

It was hard to imagine just how surreal it must be for this woman to stand in front of her husband and ask us if she could join our cause. She was a Patrian woman—at least, I assumed she was—which meant she had been raised never to speak her mind. She had never been expected to fight, or to be more than a mother and a wife. Now she wanted to be a soldier.

I looked at Viggo, and noted the way he grated his teeth, the vein in his jaw ticking away rapidly. “It’s we who would be honored,” I said, snapping my gaze back to her.

The woman’s eyes widened in alarm—probably because I had spoken before Viggo had—but then a little flicker of a smile passed over her face, and she inclined her head gracefully. “Thank you,” she offered sincerely, taking a step back.

I watched the family depart and turned to Jeff. “Thank you for that,” I said. “Can you please take their names for Ms. Dale and Hen—” I cut myself off, remembering that Henrik might not make it through the next hour, the thought curdling my excitement.

Jeff, ever full of grace, inclined his head. “Of course, madam. As an aside… you asked about Mr. Solomon? We managed to return him to the truck while he was still unconscious, along with several days’ worth of food. The truck appears to be secure—no damage from the Matrians’ attack. As for Mr. Solomon himself… as the doctor couldn’t be spared from Mr. Henrik’s side, we removed the bullets and cleaned and dressed his wounds as best we could. We’ll try to have the doctor look at him as soon as he is able.”

I thanked Jeff for taking care of a difficult job with efficiency and care. He left as silently as he had approached, and I turned back to Viggo, who by now was positively seething.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, his eyes blazing with anger. “Why would you accept their offer to join our cause?”

I blinked at him. “You and I both know we need people to help us fight. They came to us, remember?”

Viggo hissed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter—she has a child, Violet! A child! What are we supposed to tell that child when he gets older?”

I stared at him, knowing this was also part of his way of dealing with the death we had witnessed today, but that it didn’t help. “We’ll tell him that when their country was in danger, his parents stood up to help take it back.”

When he didn’t respond, but clenched his teeth and looked away, I continued. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, Viggo, except this one: mothers are the ones who lose the worst in war. Especially when they aren’t allowed to fight!”

Viggo stared at me, his eyes whirling. Then he took a step back and turned to the window, resting his hands against it and taking several deep breaths, in and out. I left him alone for a few moments before wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chest against his back, just like I had last night.

He didn’t pull away, which was a good sign. After a moment, he sighed and drew me around to face him, pulling me tight against him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed into my hair. “I-I’m losing it, huh?”

“No,” I whispered softly, reaching up to push a lock of his hair out of his eyes. “You’re not losing it. This… We never could have anticipated this. It’s awful. Beyond awful. But we have to take those twenty deaths and use the victory they gave us, Viggo. Or else we’re never going to come out on the other side of this in one piece.”

He nodded, pressing his cheek against the palm of my hand and staring at me. “I love you,” he said, and I smiled as a trill of unexpected pleasure coursed through me, making my breath catch in my throat.

“I love you too,” I replied.

His head dropped lower, and I tilted my chin up to him, my lips already parted in anticipation of his kiss. This one was different than the ones that had come before. It was so sweet and tender. Viggo kissed me as if he were afraid I would evaporate in his arms, with a gentle teasing that made me feel like he was savoring me—savoring us. I kissed him back, clinging tight against him, and savored him in return. We clung to each other, desperately needing an affirmation that we were still alive.

When the kiss ended, I remained holding him as he pressed us into the window. I knew he was gazing out of it, so I turned my head, curious as to what he was looking at.

“What?” I asked, snuggling in tighter to him.

His hands stroked my hair as he sighed. “It’s messed up, but at least we got something out of this horrible disaster.”

I looked up at him, my brows drawing together in confusion. Then I followed his gaze out onto the lawn, realization dawning as I took in the heloship that was still parked there. He was right—it was messed up—and I knew that both he and I would have returned the damn thing immediately if it meant we would get back the people who’d died. But that would never be an option.

We were growing desperate, and the heloship might represent a major advantage for us.