I nod, distracted by the warm drip of blood down my arm.

I chance a glance over my shoulder. The city is quickly growing small, but in the distance, I notice several riders coming after us.

“War …”

“I know.”

We ride for a minute more before the horseman pulls Deimos up short. We turn, so that we can see the men riding out for us.

War lets them come close. Not close enough to shoot us, but close enough to see that these men are wearing uniforms.

They’re not just civilians, which means the outside world officially knows the horseman is on the warpath.

War watches them for several seconds. Calmly, he reaches out a hand.

A shiver moves through me at the sight of it. One of his hands is healing me, while the other …

The ground between us and our assailants buckles and shifts. And then the dead rise, just as they always do.

The earth is full of so many bones.

The riders’ horses rear back, and even from here I can hear the men shouting. They fire arrows at the skeletal bodies, but it doesn’t stop the dead. The creatures amble towards them ever so steadily. The men turn their horses around and ride back, the dead trailing along behind them.

Only once they’re gone does the horseman reach for my arrow. Faster than I can follow, he grasps the arrowhead and yanks it out.

I scream, more out of surprise than pain. A warning would’ve been nice.

Immediately, War’s hand covers the wound, his touch warm. It only takes a little longer for my flesh to feel tingly. The two of us sit like that on Deimos in the middle of the road as the horseman heals me.

After what feels like an eternity, the horseman releases my shoulder. “The wound has closed, though it will take a bit longer to fully repair itself.”

I pull my bloody, torn shirtsleeve aside to glance at the freshly stitched skin. “Thank you.”

Behind me, War shakes his head. “You’re my wife. It is the least of what I would do for you.”

I swallow. The two of us are dipping our toes into a real relationship. Well, for War it’s always been real, but for me, this is all new. And I feel those words. The weight of them.

His other hand moves to my stomach.

“The baby?” There’s such concern in his voice.

The baby. Fuck, that’s right.

I lift my shoulders hopelessly. “I’m sure it’s okay,” I say, more to reassure myself than anything else.

War gives a slight nod. Apparently if I think it’s okay, he thinks it’s okay.

With that, the horseman dismounts. As soon as he does so, I see the arrows in his back.

“War!” This whole time he had his own injuries he was ignoring.

I take in the five projectiles buried in his back. My own wound throbs just staring at them all.

When the horseman sees where I’m looking, he glances over his shoulder at the protruding arrows.

“They’re harmless,” he says, shrugging off my concern.

Are they though?

I remember how he walked into Zara’s gunfire when she faced him off. How he cut up his palms fending my attack off. And supposedly he once took a blade to the gut, just for the hell of it. I guess to him, a few arrows might seem harmless.

Still.

“Can you even feel pain?” I ask as he helps me off Deimos.

“Of course I can.”

He says it like it should be obvious.

“Then how are you not hurting?” I ask.

“The arrows hit my armor.”

Oh. I guess that makes sense. I begin to walk around to inspect them when War catches me.

His eyes move to all the blood that’s dripped down my arm, and a deep frown forms.

Here he is, caring about my pain once again. My throat tightens when I remember that only a short while ago I was attempting to do the exact opposite to him.

My eyes go to the sword at his back. “I’m sorry,” I say.

I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to muster the words, but it’s long overdue.

“For what?”

I touch his chest. “For almost killing you with your own sword.”

He laughs and takes my hand. “You couldn’t have hurt me.”

“I did hurt you though,” I say.

Not all wounds leave marks.

War stares at me for a beat longer, then he brings my knuckles to his lips, his kohl-lined eyes fixed on mine as he kisses my hand. “I appreciate the apology, wife. All is forgiven.”

I release my breath, and it feels like a weight has been lifted.

I give him a smile. “My husband …”

He lifts his eyebrows, his own grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “To hear that term on your lips … it is the sweetest music, wife.”

We share a moment. An honest to God moment that isn’t overly complicated. And I let myself enjoy it in all its mushy gloriousness without overthinking it.

A dull sound off in the distance breaks the spell. War glances back towards the city that seems to rise from the desert itself. In the process, I see the arrows that litter his back, some which drip blood.

I hiss in a breath. “You are hurt,” I say, stepping towards the wounds.

War reaches behind his back, and grasping one, he yanks it out and tosses it aside. After he does this for another, I stop him.

“I can do it.”

The horseman stills, eyeing me. After a moment, he nods and lets me go around to his back.

There are three more arrows still embedded in his armor and skin. I start with the one near his shoulder, grabbing it by the base. “This might hurt.”

I think I hear him grunt out a laugh, but maybe that’s just my imagination.

I wrap my hand around the arrowhead, give it a tug, and … nothing happens.

Now War does laugh. “Very painful, wife, I appreciate the warning—”

This time I throw my weight into the action and, with a wet noise, the arrow comes free.

I drop the bloody thing and place my hand over the wound. “I can’t heal it like you can.”

“That’s alright, wife,” War says, his voice disarmingly gentle.

I pull out the next arrow and then the last one, yanking hard on each one. Once I’m finished, the horseman turns around and gives me an odd look.

“What?” I say, wiping my hands off on my jeans.

“No one has ever taken care of me.” His voice sounds strange.

I meet his eyes. He looks like something out of a fairytale in his red armor, his black hair adorned with gold pieces.

“I care about you, War. I don’t want you to hurt. Ever.”

War stares at me for a long time. “That’s an odd sentiment for me to hear when part of what I am is pain. But I cannot tell you how moved I am by your words, nonetheless.

“You have made me mortal in the worst way, Miriam, and I am forever grateful for it.”

After the incident in Maghaghah, War’s zombies begin to precede us on our travels, and so every city I pass through is scattered with dead bodies from the fighting that must’ve ensued. Things look worse, not better, than they did weeks ago.

But.

But the horseman’s dead are not attacking these towns we move through, they’re defending themselves. So there are survivors. It’s still a lot to take in, and as more people are informed of the horseman’s arrival, the attacks on the army become more frequent and brutal, and there are more casualties lost from it.