I glance over my mother’s shoulder and see a young woman approach the door, her brow pinched with concern. My sister, Lia, no longer looks like the round-faced girl I remember. And yet, I could never mistake her for another.

There’s no moment of confusion with her. My sister gasps when she sees me.

“Miri,” she says, falling back on her old nickname for me.

My mom lets me go long enough for me to fall into the embrace of my sister. I pull her close to me. Closing my eyes, I relish the feel of holding her again.

I feared I’d never get this, I want to say. I feared I had lost you forever.

But I didn’t lose either my mother or my sister. Somehow we all survived the Arrival, a civil war, and two horsemen of the apocalypse.

Speaking of horsemen …

Behind me I hear War’s unmistakable stride coming up to the door. Up until now, he’d been waiting a little ways away, letting me have my moment. There’s nothing like a muscled giant of a man to set people’s nerves on edge.

I can tell the instant my family notices him. My sister’s arms tense, and I hear my mother draw in a quick breath.

War comes up next to me, and almost instinctively, my sister releases me, stepping back a little. My mother shrinks back as well. Their earlier friendliness gives way to polite wariness. It takes them both another few seconds to register the small human clinging to him.

I mean, men who hold toddlers always look a pinch less threatening—right?

In War’s case, maybe it’s a very small pinch.

I reach out to him. “This is—” I pause. I still call my horseman by his given name—War—but we’ve bent the rules when interacting with other people. He’s been all sorts of names, none of which really fit him.

“I’m her husband,” he says for me. “War.”

Welp, there went that smooth introduction.

And cue that uncomfortable moment when your family realizes their son-in-law is not normal.

They stare at him with wide eyes.

“Miriam,” my mom says, followed by a long pause, “is this … ?” A horseman of the apocalypse?

Only, she can’t say it. It’s too improbable. Too ridiculous.

I lick my lips. “He doesn’t do that anymore,” I say.

I’m sure that makes her feel real reassured.

My mother worries her lower lip, taking War in. “We heard you disappeared,” she says to him. “We didn’t know what had happened.”

Um, surprise. He knocked up your daughter. And now he’s on your doorstep.

War might’ve relinquished his task, but mortality hasn’t made him any less terrifying. Nor has it made the process of trying to explain his existence—and current virtuousness—an easy task. The tattoos on his knuckles still glow crimson, his stature is still as looming and lethal as it ever was, and his eyes still carry the memory of all that violence.

My mother’s eyes go to the baby. Now, they soften again. “Is this … ?”

“This is your grandchild, Maya,” I say.

“You have a daughter,” my mom says, glancing at me, and now her emotion is choking her up once more.

“Do you want to hold her?” I ask.

She nods, looking like she’s about to cry all over again.

I glance at my husband. War hesitates, his eyes dropping to our daughter. He takes protectiveness to a whole new level with his daughter. To be fair, Maya looks equally unenthusiastic about leaving his arms. But eventually, he hands our daughter over.

My mom takes my daughter in her arms and stares down at her little, brooding face. A tear slips down my mother’s cheek, followed by another. She’s trembling, and I use the moment to put my arm around her. A moment later, my sister joins us.

We’re all reunited and crying like children.

My mother clears her throat and glances at me and War again. “Where are my manners? Come in, both of you. Would either of you like some coffee?”

I nod, caught between happiness and this painful ache in my chest. “That would be wonderful.”

Lia retreats back into the house, heading for what I imagine is the kitchen. Tentatively, I begin to follow her. Looking over my shoulder, I see War handily removing our daughter from my mom’s arms.

My mother grasps War’s forearm and squeezes. “Welcome to the family, my son.”

He gives her one of his unreadable looks, then nods, his eyes looking a little conflicted. War’s never known what it means to have a mother … now he might.

My heart is squeezing, squeezing.

“And—thank you, for bringing my daughter back to us,” my mother adds, her eyes moving to me.

War’s own gaze slides to mine, and he gives me a gentle look, one that makes me forget he was ever anything besides my soul mate. “That’s what you do for those you love,” he says. “You bring them back.”

Epilogue

Year 16 of the Horsemen

It begins with a tremble. The ground quakes from deep within, each second more violent than the last, until it feels as though the very earth itself were trying to shake off its own skin.

Colossal waves crash along coastlines, buildings fall to the earth, and across the world, people take shelter as they wait for the terrible earthquake to pass.

The first horseman staggers as the truth hits him. It’s happening again.

The second horseman wakes from sleep with a sharp inhalation. Ancient words are ripped from his lips. “Ina bubūti imuttu.”

They will die of hunger.

And in a crypt of his own making, an unearthly creature stirs.

His fingers flex around his scythe. His bronze armor rustles as he stirs.

His green eyes open and he draws in his first breath in many long years.

And then he smiles.

Author’s Note

*Gasps for breath*

Wait, the book is finished? I thought this day would never come! This was a book that simply wouldn’t end. War held me by sword point and demanded I make it twice as long and that I work twice as hard as usual before I release it to you all. (He’s a bossy brute!) I hope I did right by him and by you. An extra thank you goes out to all you readers who have been waiting a loooong time for this one. I was supposed to release this book months before I did, so I appreciate your patience!

A word about the gibberish in the book. The dead languages War speaks are mostly made up. The only exceptions to this are the bits of dialogue at the very beginning of the novel, his use of the word wife (“aššatu”), and his final foreign line. The early dialogue is written in ancient Egyptian, though I’m sure my hieroglyphics professor would die at some of the artistic liberties I took with the words and syntax. The other lines in the novel—namely “aššatu” and “Ina bubūti imuttu”—are Akkadian, and they translate to “my wife” and “they will die of hunger,” respectively. A big thank you goes to assyrianlanguages.org, which provided those Akkadian translations.

Every other instance of War speaking in tongues was based off of translations I got from Google Translate … then proceeded to take a hacksaw to. (War is not the only savage here, muahaha!) A huge thank you to Google Translate and the languages that inspired the lines (which include Samoan, Macedonian, Kyrgyz, Sinhala, Basque, Latin, and Shona). And apologies to anyone whose eyes were blighted by my desperate attempts at linguistics (which I nearly failed in college … eep!).