Page 124 of The Moon's Fury

“Why?” It came out sharper than she intended.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s their culture. I’ve heard tales that when the kingdom was first carved into the Mountains, women would go missing. Some say they were kidnapped by angry mountain spirits. Or that they went mad and flung themselves from the cliffside. Superstition, mostly.” He smoothed the crease between her brows with his thumb. “Change will come, but at its own pace. Swaying minds takes time. Hearts, even longer.”

They weaved through the slow-moving crowd until they reached an inn. The arched doorway was sunken into the side of the mountain, square windows on either side. To the right, there was a large, gated opening, wide enough for three horses to pass through. Bales of hay were stacked opposite four wooden stalls, where a stablehand was sweeping.

“Do you have room for him?” Zarian asked, hand on Najoom’s side. The stablehand turned, his blond hair gleaming in the slatted sunlight. Worn breeches and a white tunic hung loosely from his gangly limbs. The blue-eyed boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but he regarded Zarian as an equal, chin tilted and eyes narrowed.

“Hello to you, too!” the boy greeted with a sardonic smile. “And, ekhh, I’ll need more feed for him. Will cost ya extra. If yer fine with that, then sure, I’ve room.”

Zarian scowled at the boy’s tone. “I’ll square it at the desk.” He handed the reins over, and the stablehand warily accepted them, eyeing Najoom with apprehension.

Smart boy.

His hand was warm in hers as they entered the inn. There was a small room with stairs on the right, beside a narrow foyer that led down a long hallway. A window was carved into the rock, and a small desk was pushed up against it. Behind it sat a young woman, deeply engrossed in a book. She looked around Soraya’s age, just a few years younger than her, freckles painted across her cheeks and nose.

The woman looked up, appraising them.

Her interested gaze sharpened on Zarian. She ignored Layna.

“Welcome! I’m Nylasha. How long are ya staying?” Her tinkling voice echoed off the tan, rock walls.

A simple woven rug muffled their footsteps as they approached the desk. “Five days. And we have a horse in the stable.”

Nylasha’s blue eyes lingered on their joined hands. The corner of her mouth dropped.

“How many rooms?”

“Just one,” Layna said stiffly. The woman reluctantly met her eyes, a scowl marring her pretty face.

“I’ll need yer names. Twenty gold coins for a regular. Window room is double. Meals are included.”

“Zem and Ahna,” Zarian said smoothly. “We’ll take the window room. And the stablehand said it’ll be extra for our horse.” Nylasha nodded, giving “Zem” a bright smile.

“Nylash. My younger brother. I’ll make sure he takes good care of yer mount,” she simpered.

The chair scraped against the floor as she stood, snatching up a ring of keys. With a flick of her hand, she motioned for them to follow, tossing her thick, golden braid over one shoulder as she ascended the stairs. Layna resisted the urge to strangle her with it.

Nylasha, or the new bane of Layna’s existence, led them down a long hallway lined with wooden doors and torches, carpeted with woven rugs matching the one in the foyer.

They stopped at the end of the hall, and Nylasha opened the door. She pressed the keys into Zarian’s hand, lingering as she said, “I’m just three doors down on the other side. If you needanything.” Before Layna could utter a word, she glided away, calling out over her shoulder, “I’ll have Lash bring up hot water from the springs.”

The room was more of a cave, round with a low, rough ceiling barely a foot above Zarian’s head. Rugs covered nearly the entire floor, and woven tapestries lined the walls. A window was carved into the mountain wall near the small bed.

Her narrowed eyes drilled into Zarian’s back as he set down their bags. He must have sensed impending violence in the air, because he turned and raised his brows.

“What?”

She scowled. “You know what.”

“I don’t,” he insisted with a lazy smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Enlighten me, love.”

“IfIweren’t here with you, you’d be makinghertea in the morning,” she said hotly, arms crossed over her chest.

His lips twitched. He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, but she refused to melt into his chest. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “You stand ready to impale any man who dares glance at me. That girl blatantly offered herself to you on a platter.”

“Bad luck for her. I’m more interested in gettingyouout of these clothes and into that bed,” he murmured. Her breath hitched as he deftly spun her around, her back flush against his chest. His lips found her fluttering pulse, while his fingers worked their way under her tunic. They slid higher, dancing across her ribcage—