Uzair, the man who caught me spying on War and who caught me killing another phobos rider.

“You,” he says. He stalks towards me.

My bow is resting over my shoulder and my dagger is still holstered. Before I can reach for either, Uzair grabs me by the hair and yanks me forward. I stumble, yelping when a clump of hair rips free. My hands go to my head, my eyes pricking at the blinding pressure on my scalp.

“What are you doing?” I demand. But I already know.

This is about the phobos rider I killed back in Arish. It might also be about the second rider that War killed, the one who challenged the horseman when he removed me from the lineup of traitors.

Without answering me, Uzair drags me outside, where smoke from several burning buildings now obscures the morning light.

I knew I had a rocky relationship with War’s phobos riders, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. They are, after all, relentlessly devoted to their leader.

I guess that devotion doesn’t extend to me.

Hussain had warned me to watch my back. I just hadn’t listened carefully enough.

Uzair throws me into the street. As I hit the ground, I hear an ominous wooden crack come from one of my weapons.

Please let that be one of my arrows. Anything but the bow.

“Get up, you filthy bitch,” Uzair demands.

Gritting my teeth, I push myself to my feet.

“Eating our food, sleeping in our camp,” he says, prowling towards me. “Sucking the warlord’s cock.”

He closes in on me and, pulling a fist back, he swings. I stumble out of the way, just barely managing to avoid the hit.

“Just because War won’t let you suck it himself doesn’t mean you have to get jealous.” I’m goading him. I don’t care.

The phobos rider comes at me again. Swinging once, twice, three times. I evade the hits—each by a hair’s breadth.

“I was hoping I’d come across you,” he says. “I thought you’d be smart enough to stay away from the fighting. It’s so easy to die out here.”

His meaning is clear: it’s so easy to make you disappear.

And it really is. People don’t pay that much attention. Everyone else is busy killing or saving themselves. It was sheer bad luck that this man caught me killing his comrade during the last battle.

I grab War’s dagger and unsheathe it.

Uzair smirks at the sight. He pulls his own sword out, which is much bigger and longer.

Fuck me.

In fighting as in sex, bigger tends to be better.

Never going to win this way.

My eyes sweep over the street—over the combatants and the carnage. Far in the distance, I see War. He’s hard to miss on his red steed. But this far away he can’t possibly recognize me in my black pants and dusty shirt. I’m just another civilian about to die.

My attention returns to Uzair, who’s closing in on me again.

Screw it.

I turn on my heel and take off in the opposite direction.

“Fucking coward!” I hear him shout, followed by the sound of him sheathing his sword. “Come back!”

It’s too good to hope that Uzair will just let me go. I mean, I do hope it, but I’m not surprised when I hear the pound of his heavy footfalls behind me.

If he gets ahold of me, it’s game over. He’s a better fighter and he has a better weapon and a longer striking range. And he’s undoubtedly had much more practice than me at killing.

I pump my arms and legs, running towards War, even though he’s far away. Too far away.

To my right are several burning buildings. Making a quick decision, I dart for the nearest one, dashing through the gaping doorway.

Inside, the air is hazy with smoke, but I catch sight of stairs just as I hear Uzair closing in behind me. I sprint for the staircase, coughing as I breathe in lungfuls of smoke.

“You’re not getting away!” Uzair calls after me. “Not today. Our warlord can’t save you out here!”

I take the stairs two at a time. When will this asshole give up?

As soon as I reach the second floor, I stagger a little at the sight I’m met with. The hallway stretches out in front of me, and the far end of it is blazing, thick plumes of smoke rolling away from the flames.

This was a bad idea.

I charge forward anyway. So long as Uzair hasn’t given up the chase, I need to keep running.

I squint against the thickening smoke and the blistering heat; I can barely see where I’m going.

Behind me I hear the phobos rider’s persistent footfalls.

Fuck.

Run, run, run!

I flee down the hall, where the fire is worst. I don’t know what I’m doing. By the time I realize that I might be able to jump out of a window, I’ve passed the rooms still intact enough to do so.

I don’t hear the metallic hiss of Uzair’s sword when he unsheathes it behind me, but I feel the tip of it catch the back of my neck when he swings, the blade slicing open my skin and loping off a chunk of my hair.

I trip, sprawling out across the ground, the arrows in my quiver scattering. The floor is hot to the touch.

He tried to behead me!

I can feel my blood dripping down the back of my neck, the heat evaporating most of it. The rooms to my left, my right, and ahead of me are all engulfed in flame.

Trapped.

I flip onto my back as Uzair looms over me, swallowing down my rising fear. I still have my dagger gripped tightly in my hand, but it’s next to useless at this point.

This is my end.

Wife. I can almost hear the horseman’s voice in my head. Don’t die on me now.

“War won’t forgive you for this,” I say. This might be the first time I’ve openly acknowledged what I think I mean to the horseman.

“He’s not going to know it was me,” Uzair replies.

I suppose he won’t. War might not find my body at all. The thought sends my pulse thundering. I’m not sure why it bothers me, only that it does.

I take a deep breath and stare up at the phobos rider, my forearms braced against the scorching ground.

Uzair pulls his sword back, the blade already caked with blood.

He swings downward, aiming for my neck, his attack controlled. I watch that blade fall, and I almost let him get me.

I’m not ready.

There are things I haven’t said to War, things I haven’t done and things I still haven’t even admitted to myself.

I roll away, barely missing the blow.

The phobos rider swings again at me, and this time, the edge of his blade opens my arm and trails across my chest. And Goddamn, it hurts like a bitch.

I bring my boot up and kick Uzair’s wrist. The impact jars his weapon from his hand, and the sword clatters to the ground.

He reaches for it, bending down within striking range. And that’s when I lunge.

I plunge my dagger into the rider’s neck, grimacing when his blood spurts out like a fountain.

He stares at me, furious, like that wasn’t supposed to happen. I was just a helpless, defeated woman.

Uzair tumbles forward, next to me. By the time his body hits the ground, he’s all but dead. I pull my dagger from his throat and stagger to my feet.

Need to move. The walls are on fire and the ground is becoming unbearably hot, even through the soles of my boots.

Now that the fight is over, however, I move slowly, my muscles leaden. I heave in several deep breaths, but I can’t seem to pull in enough air. Instead, smoke burns my lungs.