Page 101 of War

I wince. “Thanks for your honesty.”

“Never mind about that.” She clasps my hand between hers. “Are you riding out tomorrow?” she asks, a note of urgency in her voice.

Oh God, the invasion. A wave of nausea rolls through me at the prospect.

“Yeah, I think so,” I say.

Just because I’ve gotten used to this place doesn’t mean I won’t try to stop these soldiers at every opportunity I get.

“Miriam,” she squeezes my hand fiercely, “They put me on cooking duty for tomorrow, but I need to ride out with the rest of you.”

“Why?” I ask her quizzically. Being a soldier means you have to kill your own kind … and it means that you yourself might be killed. Neither are desirable options.

“Mysister.” Her voice breaks. “She lives in Arish with her husband and son. I need to get them out.”

My stomach bottoms out.

“You’re sure they live there?” It’s a dumb question; of course she’s sure.

Zara nods anyway. “My brother-in-law, Aazim, is a fisherman.”

A fisherman …

The ocean blocks the city from the north.

I squeeze her hand. “Does he have a boat?”

“He shares one with some other men, I think …”

Behind Zara, a phobos rider heads towards us.

I glance back at my friend, my mind racing.

“Please,” she says, “if there’s any way you can help—

The phobos rider steps up to us, his eyes moving between me and Zara.

“The warlord wants to see you,” he says to me.

My focus is still on Zara. I squeeze her hand again and make a decision.

“I’ll help,” I say, nodding. I pull her in for a hug, and whisper into her ear. “I’ll meet you at your tent first thing tomorrow. Be ready—and bring whatever weapons you can with you.”

She nods as she pulls away. “Thank you,” she says softly, even as the phobos rider ushers me away.

I wave to Zara, then follow the rider. After a long stretch of silence, I take the man in. It’s the same soldier who handed me the sword the day I was to kill my attackers.

“What’s your name?” I ask. He has gentle eyes, and the few other times I’ve interacted with him, he hasn’t been as hostile as some of the other phobos riders.

“Hussain,” he says.

War’s tent looms ahead. The sight of it causes me to flush.

“I’m Miriam,” I say distractedly.

The horseman wants more. I can sense it.

My body thrums at the thought.

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