Page 126 of The Moon's Fury

“I’ll show you how to work the bath before it gets cold,” she said, walking into the washroom. “You need to connect this hose before you drain the tub. It empties over there,” she finished, pointing to the back.

Zarian stared at her for a moment, then at the hose. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, raking a hand through his hair.

Her shoulders dropped. “You already knew.”

Apology shadowed every contour of his face. “I’m sorry, love. It completely slipped my mind that we’ve only stayed in kingdoms with proper plumbing.” His tone was soft, placating, and it raised her hackles.

She took a deep breath, quelling her embarrassment, before responding.

“It’s all right. Now, I know.”

He still eyed her warily as she kissed his cheek.

She lay on the bed and waited for him to finish bathing. After weeks of traveling, the soft mattress felt heavenly, and the bath had soothed her aching muscles.

But a soft bed beneath her back and a roof over her head gave her mind ample time to wreak havoc.

Her mother’s last moments, steeped in fear.

The last time she’d hugged Soraya, not knowing it was the last time.

Healing Zarian’s split lip with a glowing kiss.

Melancholic, suffocating grief rose up and blanketed her with pain.

She let it.

Her eyes welled with tears as the emotions washed over her, the longing, the pain, the anger. It smothered her lungs until sucking in half a breath felt grueling. She poured a glass of water and gulped it down. Then another. When grief tried to drown her once more, she pictured happier moments.

Zarian gifting her the gold dagger.

Playing cards with Soraya.

Gazing at the stars on the mountainside, nestled in Zarian’s arms.

Her breath came easier.

By the time Zarian finished bathing, she’d managed to quell most of her sadness. He emerged from the washroom, bare-chested and clean-shaven.

He looked so much younger without his usual stubble. She wanted to feel his smooth jaw against her skin and was about to tell him as much when there was a soft knock on the door.

“I’ve got yer meals!”

Nylasha’s honeyed voice had her jumping off the bed.

“I’ll get it,” she said quickly. Zarian had the sense not to breathe a word.

For the second time that day, the woman’s coy smile vanished upon seeing Layna in a doorway. She balanced a large tray brimming with plates on her shoulder.

“I’ll just come set this down,” Nylasha said, trying to brush past. Layna angled herself forward, blocking her entry.

“No need. I’ll take that,” she said stiffly. Nylasha scowled and reluctantly handed over the tray. Even still, her eyes roved over Layna’s shoulder through the gap in the door.

Jaw clenched, Layna clicked the door shut. Zarian leaned against the wall, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“Not. A. Word.”

There was no sofa or table, so she set the tray down on the floor beside the bed. Zarian was particular about eating in bed—she’d learned that in Sendouk when he’d emerged from the washroom and found her cocooned in their sheets, eating leftoverjalebi. His face had twisted into an expression somewhere between suffering and horror, though he hadn’t said anything.