War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(66)

Deimos, I’ve learned, doesn’t stay with the other horses. He’s far too temperamental for that. He’s either stabled separately, or he roams freely.

The horseman glances up, and the moment his eyes lock on mine, he seems to relax. He leaves his horse, closing the distance between us and taking my mouth in his.

I raise my eyebrows, even as I return the kiss. This is what we agreed to—intimacy—I just hadn’t expected it to move to public displays, but of course it does. The horseman is fine with people knowing what I mean to him. It’s me that takes issue.

After he breaks away, he touches my bow. “I see you found my gift.”

Gifts and kisses. What the fuck am I doing with this man?

“And your horse?” he asks, glancing over my shoulder.

“I’m going to enter the city on foot.”

War narrows his eyes, and for one nerve-wracking moment, I’m sure he knows I claimed a horse earlier.

Instead, he clasps the back of my neck. “Stay safe, wife—and try not to be too meddlesome.”

He gives me another quick kiss, and then he’s striding back to his blood-red horse.

I watch him mount, the horseman looking like some savage conqueror from a bygone era, his giant sword strapped to his back, his leather armor groaning with his movements.

Giving me a final, long look, he kicks Deimos’s sides and rides away, towards the waiting procession of soldiers. I follow slower, and by the time I get to the group, they’re already starting to move.

And so begins my second invasion.

I head into Arish with the foot soldiers, so I’m one of the last to arrive. As I enter, I can already see the great plumes of smoke billowing into the sky. The fighting has moved inward, the streets I pass through already littered with bodies.

Farther in, I see the first aviary. The buildings surrounding it are on fire, but this one remains untouched. War made good on his word.

Out of curiosity, I peer inside. There’s a man lying dead on the ground, but the cages themselves are empty. No dead birds. No living ones either.

Maybe they were set free—and maybe they flew away with warnings attached to their bodies.

I stare at those empty cages, and for a second I feel a breath of pride. But then I step away from the building, back onto the street, and the whole city seems to be burning and people are screaming or lying dead in the road. In an instant, my trade with the horseman feels like foolishness. Like too little too late.

I move inward, passing a burning mosque and a café whose outdoor tables have all been overturned. I run past shops and apartment buildings, past the dead who will be cruelly re-animated before the day is done.

Three blocks up the battle is raging. Many of the soldiers around me rush forward, heading directly into the fray. I move a little slower, trying to remember the directions Zara gave me. I need to eventually find my way to the west end of the city, in case she needs some help.

I’m not even halfway there when I hit the thick of the fighting. Soldiers on horses are cutting down everyone. People are screaming, fleeing—it’s all becoming horribly repetitive.

I notice a soldier grab a woman in a burka, a knife at her throat. He fumbles at her clothing, trying to lift it up. All that modest clothing, all her piety—it hasn’t saved her from this. War made it forbidden to rape in his camp, but he hasn’t forbidden this.

In the next instant, my bow is in my hand. I reach behind me, pulling an arrow from my quiver, nocking it in place.

I remember those demanding hands on me. I remember what it felt like to get pawed at. To feel my clothing ripped open. The fear and humiliation that this was happening to me and that I was helpless to stop it.

I don’t even realize I’ve aimed and fired until the arrow cleaves through the soldier’s back, the tip of it bursting through his chest. The woman, who’d been sobbing and begging, now screams at the sight. The soldier stumbles to the ground, and the woman manages to get away.

I lower my bow, my breathing hoarse. Sweat is beginning to bead on my face. For a moment, I can’t seem to remember myself.

Find Zara.

I blink several times. Right. I sling my bow over my shoulder and run.





Chapter 30


It takes far longer to cross the city than I anticipated. The streets are utterly congested with fighting—if you can call it that. It’s more like seek and destroy; Arish’s civilians run, and War’s army chases them down.

I make it to the ocean, and my heart stops at the sight of it. All that crystalline blue water looks like something from a dream.

Or a memory.

My lungs pound. The sunlight above me grows dim even as I struggle.

I open my mouth to cry for help.

The water rushes in—

I shake the memory off and continue on, following a street that runs alongside the beach. As I move, I see people swimming in the sea … and I see that some soldiers have headed out after them. There are a few boats that speckle the water, a disappointing number of them capsized, likely by the very people who are currently bobbing out there with the waves. Everyone wants to be saved.

“Miriam! Miriam!”

I turn at the panicked sound of my name, and there’s Zara.

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.