Page 112 of The Moon's Fury

And she hated it.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she pulled the sword free from the tree bark and sat by the fire. Wordlessly, Zarian handed her a whetstone, and she began sharpening it.

“When do we leave? I’ve rested enough,” she said, her hand rhythmically dragging the whetstone over the blade.

“You’ve done the opposite of rest, actually.” He arched a brow at the splintered tree bark.

“I feel fine, Zarian,” she sighed, setting aside the sword and cradling her head. “I slept for three days, remember? I’m ready.”

He studied her for a beat, then came and sat behind her, bracketing her with his long legs. Muscled arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his solid chest.

Zarian surrounded her completely, until she could feel and see and smell nothing but him. She buried her face in his neck, familiar sandalwood and spice enveloping her senses.

It didn’t soothe her as it once might have.

“Do you still want to go to Thessan?” he asked softly, trailing his fingers up and down her side.

“Yes,” she replied immediately. “We go to the Grand Libraries. I need to figure out how to get my powers back. There must be some scroll, some Medjai tome that can help me.”

“And then?”

“We return to Alzahra.” His hand stilled against her. “I’ll reclaim my kingdom, whether my people like it or not. And I’ll destroy the Medjai. All of them.”

Zarian was silent for several heartbeats.

“All right, my love,” he said finally. He tilted his head, staring at the trees overhead. “From here to Tarakshan is about three weeks. Abrutalthree weeks trekking across the Mountains. Then maybe another two weeks to Thessan, give or take. I’ve never crossed the entire range.”

“Can we descend and travel across the Shahbaad flatland?”

He shook his head. “The Medjai will be hunting us. We’re better concealed here.”

“All right,” she agreed. “We leave tomorrow.”

His arms tightened around her.

“My sword is yours to command,” he murmured so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

They set off the next morning. Surprisingly, Najoom allowed her to ride while Zarian walked beside them, holding the reins. It was slow moving—a slower pace than they’d kept during the entire journey so far—but the dense, uphill forest demanded careful steps and precision.

The thick greenery had taken her by surprise. On the Navrastan side, the Mountains were burnt orange, dotted with sparse handfuls of trees. Zarian had explained that was true on the dry, desert side of the range, but as the land grew more fertile across the continent, the same change was reflected on the Mountains. Trees and shrubs grew in abundance, thickly carpeting the landscape.

Weeks ago, she might have appreciated it. She might have stared at the new species of trees in awe, marveling over the strange, needle-like leaves. She might have asked Zarian if they could climb the tallest peak and gaze out at the continent, foolishly hoping to glimpse the sea.

But that was before.

Before her mother was murdered in front of her eyes.

Before the light she’d come to depend on had abandoned her.

Now, the thickly packed greenery only made her angry. If not for the stubborn, unyielding trees, they could travel faster. They’d reach Tarakshan, and then the Grand Libraries of Thessan sooner.

The Libraries were the largest on the continent. Maybe the entire realm. Therehadto be something about her powers.

And how to get them back.

Sheneededto get them back.

It was a strange thing—she had despised her powers before, fervently wished them gone. And now that they were, it felt like a part of her was missing. A deep hollow was carved within her, as if a piece of her soul had grown wings and taken flight.