We’re nowhere near the westernmost end of the city. That in and of itself is enough for my unease to grow. But it’s the sight of her slumped against a beachside building, her headscarf in tatters around her shoulders, that truly has me concerned.

I sprint over to her.

It’s only as I get close that I see the limp little boy cradled in her arms, an arrow jutting from his chest.

Oh no.

I slide on my knees to her side.

“I couldn’t save them,” she weeps, bowing her head over the toddler’s body. “I couldn’t save any of them.”

My stomach turns at the sight of the wounded toddler in her arms; he must be her nephew. Someone did this to a little boy. They shot him in the chest like his life meant nothing.

“They’d already come through by the time I arrived,” she sobs.

We’re coming from the east, leaving civilians only true escape to the west, one of War’s soldiers said when they were strategizing their attack It might be best to split the army and come at it from both ends.

War’s soldiers must’ve done exactly that.

“I’m so sorry, Zara.” I hadn’t even thought to warn her of this—not that it would’ve done much good. I’m sure she rode as fast as she could to get to her family. If she was too late, there was never a chance for them to begin with.

I feel tears well in my eyes as I glance down at the toddler. I slept with the horseman, and for what gain? It didn’t save Zara’s sister, or her brother-in-law, or her nephew.

I place a hand on the boy. I almost jolt at the warmth of his skin. I stare down at him, and I see his chest rise and fall just the slightest.

“He’s still alive,” I say, shocked.

She’s openly weeping as she shakes her head. “He’s not going to make it—how can he possibly make it?”

I glance down at where the arrow is embedded in his chest. Already, the clothing around it is coated in slick blood. It surely is a mortal wound, and yet …

Maybe there still is something to gain from this.

“There’s a chance—a small chance …”

What am I even thinking, saying these words and giving Zara hope? It’s such a doomed idea.

Zara blinks up at me, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me—that she has been disappointed too many times to believe me.

I glance around. Where would the horseman be right about now?

“War!” I shout uselessly. “War!”

“What are you doing?” my friend says, looking aghast that I’d call for the horseman.

“He can help.”

Zara stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “He’s the one responsible for this,” she snaps.

“Do you want his help or not?” I snap back.

She presses her lips together.

I stand. “I need to find him. It’s a longshot …” I say, backing away.

It’s more than a long shot, Miriam.

I don’t let the insidious thought creep any deeper than that.

“I’ll be back.” I run the way I came, feeling the futility of the situation. I’m not possibly going to find him in time. And even if I do, convincing him to help another human is even less likely. That doesn’t stop me from tearing down street after street, shouting War’s name, asking anyone I can if they’ve seen him.

I run up two blocks then hook a right, then a left, and there he is, charging down the road, his sword brandished, his body strewn with blood.

He’s not going to help.

It’s so laughably obvious. I mean, why would he?

And just when I managed the first impossible task too—finding him.

“War!” I shout.

His head whips to me. This far away, I can’t tell what expression the horseman wears, only that after a moment, he sheathes his sword behind his back and gallops towards me.

War closes the distance in less than a minute, pulling up to my side.

“Wife,” he says, grinning, his eyes a little mad. “Enjoying that gift?” He nods at my bow.

“I need your help,” I rush out.

This isn’t going to work.

His expression changes in an instant from crazed to serious. “And you shall have it.”

We’ll see about that …

He reaches out for my hand. I grasp his palm and let him pull me onto his saddle.

“What is it?” he asks, once I’m settled in front of him.

I wet my lips, turning my head half towards him. Now the tricky part.

“I’ll tell you, but first, we need to get there,” I say.

It’s a testament to War’s own belief in me that he goes along with this, letting me direct him back to the beachside building without protest.

Zara is where I left her, her nephew still cradled in her arms. Even from here I can see that she’s murmuring soft things to him.

I know the instant War sees Zara. Behind me, his body stiffens.

The horseman pulls back on Deimos. “What is this?” he demands. All gentleness has drained from his voice.

I turn to him in the saddle and place a hand on his cheek. “Please,” I say.

Beneath my touch I feel a muscle in his jaw jump.

For a moment, the two of us simply stare at one another. I’m hoping against hope that he feels enough for me to help. But I’m not positive he does.

Before he responds one way or another, I hop off his steed and head back to Zara’s side.

War is slower to join us, though to give him credit, he does dismount his horse and follow me. I wasn’t sure he would.

“You pull me from battle to save one of them?” he says behind me. “Is that what this is?” His voice is rising with his anger.

I crouch next to Zara. She’s shaking, either from fear or grief or both. Her nephew has gone even paler, though his eyes flutter a little.

“If you don’t do anything, he will die.”

“Have you gone mad, wife?” he all but bellows. “That is the exact point! And you tear me from battle for this?” His eyes are inflamed with his fury.

This is the first time I’ve ever truly seen War in a rage. Even when he kills, he isn’t like this.

I think he might actually be experiencing regret for the first time, right here, right now. All at the hands of his human wife.

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore how my own body has begun to quake with fear. He’s terrifying enough when his emotions are under control. But seeing him angry makes me feel like my insides have liquefied.

War takes a step closer. “Have I not sacrificed enough for you already?”

I rise to my full height, despite my terror. I’ve seen another side of this man. I just have to coax it out. So, going against my instincts, I walk back towards him.

God is he angry, the violence isn’t just in his eyes anymore. It’s spilling all over his face, from his tight jaw to his flared nostrils. But he stares at me as I come closer as though he’s never encountered someone like me—and he might be willing to hear me out.

I take War’s hand. “What do you want from me?” I ask.

He grimaces. “I will not make another bargain with you.”

“I’m not talking about bargains,” I say. “Back in your tent you told me that you wanted more than just my body. Do you still want that?”