I while away the day there, listening to their gossip and adding in a few tidbits about my own experiences. For the first time in a long while, life feels normal—or at least normal enough.

That all ends when someone mentions the invasion tomorrow. I could pretend away the horrors of this place for a bit, but eventually they push their way back in.

The collective mood of the group dips, the laughter dying away. When I first came to camp, I was so certain I was the only one fighting to stop the horseman. But now it’s clear that other people care too. They’re just not in a position to do anything about it.

I am.

I’ve secured the aviaries—and that’s something—but I saw firsthand during our last invasion just how little that actually amounts to. Only a handful of birds flew away with my message, and who knows how many of them were shot down by archers.

But the key to surviving the horseman’s attack is to be forewarned about it. If people have enough time to flee their homes, and if they run in the right direction, then maybe they can cheat death.

Unfortunately, I won’t have another chance to send off warnings, not if War is prohibiting me from joining the fight. If I want to do something to help the world, I’ll have to work around my violent husband.

The key to surviving his attack is being forewarned about it.

The answer is right there, staring me down.

“Miriam—Miriam,” Zara says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Where did you go?”

My gaze locks with hers. “I just had a thought.”

Chapter 42

In the dead of night, I slip out of War’s bed, careful not to wake him. He’s deep asleep, his breath hissing steadily out of him.

The lamps in the tent are all snuffed out, and I have to feel my way around to the clothes I set out nearby. As quietly as I can, I tug them on, then pull on my boots. Lastly, I strap on my weapons and head outside.

My undead guards are still on duty, their sightless eyes staring out at nothing. But as soon as they sense me, they creep close.

I begin to walk, heading around War’s tent, and the zombies fall into formation around me just as they did earlier.

Need to shake them.

At least there are no living soldiers in this area anymore. That’s one obstacle I managed to avert.

A short distance away from War’s tent, there’s a private corral. Inside it is a massive horse with fur the color of spilled blood.

Deimos.

Sometimes War lets his horse wander untethered, and sometimes, like tonight, he corrals him—separate from the other horses, of course.

At night and without War’s comforting presence, Deimos looks a shit-ton scarier than I remember. He stands at the edge of the corral, his head turned in my direction. He looks as though he’s been waiting for me.

Before I lose my nerve, I go up to the unearthly steed. He bumps my chin with his muzzle.

“Hey there,” I whisper, trying to act brave. I reach out a hand and gently rub the horse up his snout and between his eyes.

He nips at my hair, the action causing me to jolt, but the gesture seems affectionate.

Maybe I’m just imagining things, but I think War’s horse might actually like me.

I take a deep breath. I don’t know much about horses, only that they can be finicky creatures. And since I’ve been traveling with War, I’ve seen my fair share of horse kicks and bites. If these little ol’ ponies don’t like something, they make their displeasure known.

We’ll discover how much this one truly likes me in the next few minutes …

I hop the fence, and now I’m caged in with him. Several seconds later, the corpses that surround me amble over the wall of the corral as well.

Dang it. I was kind of hoping the fence would deter the dead.

Only now do I realize that one human girl, six undead creatures, and a savage steed all crammed into a tiny corral is a recipe for disaster.

However, the aggressive reaction I anticipate from War’s horse never comes.

He utterly ignores the dead surrounding us, ambling over to me instead.

I pet the side of Deimos’s face. “Will you let me ride you?” I whisper.

When Deimos doesn’t stampede me, I decide that I might just be able to do exactly that.

His saddle hangs nearby. I have very little experience saddling a horse, and a lot of trepidation saddling this one.

Definitely going to get kicked. Deimos is a mean bastard. I’ve seen him kick and bite and nearly trample a good dozen men since I joined this camp.

But as I lift the saddle pad and then the saddle, hefting them onto his back, he doesn’t try to hurt me. I lean under him to secure the straps, and this is the moment of truth. I hold my breath, waiting for some sort of horsie retaliation. Instead, he tosses his head about impatiently, as though to say, hurry up.

Meanwhile, my guards stand passively by. I glance at them, wondering if they’re able to communicate with War. My stomach drops at the thought.

He’s fast asleep, I reassure myself. That doesn’t stop me from throwing a spooked glance in the direction of his tent.

Once I’m done securing the saddle, I open the gate, grab the reins and try to lead Deimos out.

The horse tosses his head about until I release his reins. Then he begins to make his own exit, picking up speed with every footfall.

I end up having to rush to his side and hastily hoist myself onto his back before he outpaces me.

For a split-second Deimos tries to shake me off, and I’m sure this is the end of my half-baked plan. But I cling to the horse, and after a few seconds, he seems to accept the fact that I’m going to be riding him tonight.

His trot increases in speed as we head away from camp. Around us, my undead guards begin to run, trying in vain to keep up. But the human body can only move so fast—even a magically animated one. The corpses begin to fall away from us, and I desperately hope they’re not going to immediately report to War.

I’ve barely shaken my guards when I hear the hiss of an arrow as it whizzes by.

Fuck. I’d forgotten about the soldiers who patrol the perimeter of War’s camp. Foolishly I’d assumed that they’d been replaced by the dead. But no, they still stand guard.

Another arrow whizzes by, and I lower my body so that I’m plastered against Deimos.

I hear their distant shouts, but at some point, we travel outside the range of their weapons.

I escaped my guards and camp itself.

I release a ragged breath.

Step one complete.

Now onto step two.

It takes over an hour to get to Mansoura. The city grows like a weed from the ground, the outskirts nothing more than rubble being reclaimed by nature.

The few gas lamps that are lit reveal more broken shells of homes. The small buildings look like gravestones, their walls riddled with bullet holes.

Clearly there was fighting here, just as there had been in Jerusalem. Maybe religion was at the root of it, like it was for my country, or maybe it was something else. Desperate people are often angry people. And since the Arrival, so many of us have been desperate. That’s really all it takes to start a war—anger and desperation.

Once I enter the city proper, I quickly realize two things: One, Mansoura is huge—much larger than some of the cities we’ve raided so far. And two, in spite of its size, it might already be abandoned. Window panes are missing, buildings are crumbling, and the streets are littered with debris.