War’s upper lip is twitching in anger and distaste. Probably not the best moment to ask him this kind of question. I think right now, he’d like nothing more than to annul our fake little marriage.

I squeeze his hand. “This is how you get everything,” I say softly.

His concessions, his kindness, his altruism and mercy—those are the things that will win me over.

“I will get what I want from you either way.”

“You won’t,” I say, steel in my voice.

The horseman’s gaze thins.

“You want me to stop hating you?” I say. “You want me to love you absolutely?”

At the word love, War straightens, like I’m finally speaking his language.

“This is how you get me to love you,” I say. It feels wrong promising the horseman things I don’t intend to give. And maybe he knows that because he looks at me for a long time.

He judges men’s hearts. What’s he finding inside mine?

The warlord turns from me and looks at the child. He grimaces.

His gaze flicks back to mine, and he gives me a final, long look, his upper lip still twitching with anger. “For your soft heart,” he says bitterly.

Dear God, did that actually … work?

War leaves my side, heading for Zara and her nephew. As he gets closer, Zara clutches the boy tight to her chest.

“No,” she begs.

“It’s alright, Zara. Truly,” I say. At least I hope it’s alright.

The horseman kneels down next to her, studying the boy’s injury. Reaching out, he rips the toddler’s shirt apart, causing Zara to jolt.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

Ignoring her, War reaches out, his hand hovering right above the wound. I can see his fierce frown. After a long moment, he presses his hand to the boy’s skin, and I see the toddler’s body shudder.

I move towards them, drawn in by War.

The horseman’s other hand moves to the arrow shaft.

“Brace him,” War instructs Zara as he fits his fingers around the weapon. “I’m going to take this out, and he’s not going to like it.”

Nodding, Zara wraps her arms more tightly around her nephew.

With a single, deft jerk, War rips the arrow from the toddler’s body.

The boy wakes with a shrill scream, beginning to kick and thrash. In a very real sense he’s fighting for his life.

Just as soon as the arrow is out, War’s hand is back on the injury, despite the boy’s bucking. The horseman stays there for a long time, even as the toddler continues to thrash and wail against his hold. War’s grip is unyielding, and eventually, the little boy loses his fight. He whimpers, then falls to exhausted silence.

Silent tears track down Zara’s face, and I can see her body visibly shaking. This is tearing her apart.

After what feels like an unending amount of time, War pulls his hand away from the wound.

“It’s not completely healed,” War says, “but it’s beyond the risk of serious infection now.”

He levels his eyes on Zara. “Twice I have helped you now. I expect some loyalty in return for it.”

My friend frowns but gives War a slight nod.

The horseman stands, turning from the two of them. His violent eyes lock on mine.

He steps in close to me. “Don’t ask this of me again, wife,” he says darkly. “You will be denied.”

With that, War brushes past me. He mounts Deimos, and then he’s gone.

Chapter 31

I kneel down next to Zara, who’s holding her nephew tightly to her, tears tracking down her face.

Her hands go to the wound. There’s still blood covering the area, but once she smears it away, it’s clear there’s nothing beneath the blood except a fresh scab. At the sight of it, a choked sob slips out of Zara.

“He saved Mamoon’s life.” She glances up at me. “How did he do that? And how did you know he could do that?”

I sit down heavily next to her. “He saved my life once before.”

He’s saved your life more than once.

Zara takes my hand and squeezes it. “I can’t repay you, Miriam. Thank you. I am forever in your debt.”

“You are not in my debt. Besides,” I reach over and pull Zara’s headscarf back over her hair. “You and your nephew are not safe yet.” I glance out at the ocean, where people paw at several of the capsized boats. Our earlier plan—to have Zara’s family escape to sea—has vanished like smoke in the wind. “Let me find you a horse so the two of you can return to camp safely—and remember, if anyone comes at you, kill them.”

There’s so much ferocity in Zara’s eyes. “Gladly.”

I leave them there, scanning the streets for any riderless horses. Inevitably, there’s always some spooked steed riding about. They don’t make for great transportation, but at least it will lessen the odds of Zara and her nephew getting attacked. War’s army doesn’t tend to target mounted men and women.

A block away, I see a horse tethered to a lamppost. I jog down the street towards it. It’s definitely some soldier’s ride, judging by the weapons and kitsch shoved into its saddle bags—the items clearly lifted from some poor soul’s house.

Too bad for that soldier, his stolen goods are about to get stolen from him.

As soon as I get to the horse, I begin to untie the creature’s reins.

“Hey!” a man shouts from above me.

Three stories up a soldier leans out the window. Apparently, this is the horse’s rider, busy pillaging another house.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells at me.

Ignoring him, I finish untying the reins and haul myself onto the steed.

There’s something undeniably satisfying about stealing from a thief.

Tapping the horse’s sides, I take off, smiling at the string of colorful curses the soldier shouts at my back.

It takes barely any time at all to ride back to Zara and her nephew.

I swing off the horse, dust billowing in my wake. “Alright, you get on first, then I’ll lift your nephew—”

“Mamoon,” she interjects. She gives me a small smile. “His name is Mamoon.”

“—I’ll lift Mamoon to you.”

She hesitates, not wanting to be away from him for even a moment. But eventually she stands, lifting her exhausted nephew in her arms. She hands him to me, then pulls herself onto the steed.

I look down at the toddler in my arms, and my heart swells.

He’s alive when he might’ve died. War spared him.

War spared him.

Zara reaches out and I lift her nephew up and into her arms. Together the two of us settle him onto the saddle in front of Zara.

The moment Mamoon realizes he’s on a horse, he begins to cry. It’s not the burning houses or the screaming people, or even my weapons that ends up terrifying him. It’s the horse.

“Sssh. Mamoon,” my friend says. “Zaza’s got you.”

“Hey!” That same male voice from earlier shouts. I glance over, and I see the soldier stalking towards us.

I turn back to Zara. “Time to go.”

Zara glances over at the man.

“Will you be—?”

“I’ll be fine.” I’m already sliding my bow off my shoulder. “Go. I’ll see you later.”