Page 146 of The Moon's Fury

“Who is expecting you to check in?”

Wilzad knew, in this moment, he would not survive the night.

“You’ll kill me anyway.”

“Yes,” the man agreed. Wilzad was surprised he’d admitted it. “But how merciful I am, that’s up to you.”

“I’m supposed to take the new recruits to Shahbaad next week.” The man was silent, likely calculating how long it would take for someone to realize he was missing.

“Where are you staying?”

He was going to die. Desperation curled in his bones. “Please,sahib. I have a wife.”

His captor sighed, sounding almost disappointed. Leaves crunched underfoot, and Wilzad heard footsteps heading behind the tree. The tip of the blade pressed against another fingernail.

Wilzad couldn’t bear it. “No! No, please. At the Mahabaar Inn.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when the man removed the blade, checking the knots tying his hands together.

“What are you—mmph!” The gag was stuffed back in his mouth. Wilzad heard his footsteps growing fainter as he walked away.

“Mmph!”

Was he going to leave him?

He tried screaming through the gag, but nothing escaped save the sad, garbled sounds of a man marked for death. Wilzad screamed and cried and raged until he had no more energy. Tears streamed anew down his face, and the stench of his own piss filled his nostrils.

It was no use.

He must be too far out for anyone to hear his pitiful sounds.

Wilzad lost track of time. It might have been minutes or hours. He might have dozed off, he might have remained numb.

Eventually, the man returned.

His footsteps were silent—Wilzad didn’t hear his approach, just thesnicktof an unsheathing blade.

His captor was right beside him.

“Plth,” Wilzad tried to beg, but the man didn’t remove the gag this time.

If nothing else, his captor was a man of his word.

The cold, sharp blade kissed his throat for only a moment, a warm rush of blood seeping into his tunic.

Then, there was nothing.

57

Itwaswellpastmidnight, and Zarian still had not returned. Layna paced anxiously, wringing her hands. Worry wound a tight leash around her heart, and in response, it thundered rebelliously in her chest. She did six more circuits around the cramped room until the creak of the door pulled her attention.

Zarian trudged in, his footsteps heavy. He shut the door behind him and managed a tight, pained smile. Her eyes scanned him from the tips of his unruly hair down to his muddy boots.

He was unharmed.

Physically, at least.

His hazel eyes were haunted, pain and guilt and resignation warring within their glimmering depths. With a start, she realized she’d seen that look in his eyes before—the morning after he’d interrogated Varin in her palace’s dungeons. She’d been so consumed by the eclipse and her own worries, she’d never bothered to ask about it.