Page 111 of War

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 downnext 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 hecoulddo 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 arenotin 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.”

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