Page 152 of The Moon's Fury

It turned out, he didn’t need to say anything.

When they lay down to sleep, Soraya pushed him onto his back and claimed his lips in a fierce kiss. His hands gripped her hips, desperate lips moving against hers, parting her mouth with his tongue.

He greedily swallowed her gasps and moans, the loveliest sounds he’d ever heard. His kiss grew more demanding, teeth nipping at her lower lip. Deftly, he flipped her over, settling himself between her thighs.

She smelled incredible, like rare, fresh rain in the Oasis.

Her lithe body writhed beneath him as he set kisses along the column of her neck, memorizing every inch of her skin. Her hands pressed into his back as he skated his lips against thehollow in her throat, over her chest, down to her stomach. His fingers reached for the hem of her tunic—

“Wait,” she breathed, stilling against him.

Immediately, he froze, eyes finding hers in the dark.

Had he mistaken her intentions?

“We don’t havesilpharoonleaves,” she whispered, raking her fingers through his hair.

With a groan, he dropped his head against her stomach. He nuzzled her belly, and her throaty laugh made his uncomfortably tight trousers feel even tighter.

He lifted her tunic and pressed a kiss against her navel, tongue dipping in.

“We’ll make do without it.”

59

Awaveofhomesicknesswashedover her as they meandered through the cobblestone streets of Thessan. Of all the kingdoms they’d traversed, Thessan reminded Layna most of Alzahra with its sand-colored buildings, children darting through alleys, and the loud din of life bustling around them.

But, moons, it was massive.

Alzahra City was a fraction of the size of Thessan’s capital. They’d passed through the city gates nearly an hour ago, and Zarian was still leading them through streets that had no end in sight.

“How much farther?” she murmured in his ear, arms tight around his waist as Najoom trotted deeper into the city.

“Another fifteen minutes,” he answered, his back rigid against her. He stared down a man that happened to glance in their direction. The man hurried off, and Zarian added, “There’s an inn with a stable fairly close to the Grand Libraries.”

The streets were teeming, filled with men and women draped in flowing thobes and vibrant abayas. Some women veiled their faces withniqabs, while others covered only their hair. A fewmoved about in trousers and tunics, their heads uncovered. Layna blended in seamlessly in herniqaband loose-fitting trousers.

They passed shops selling parchments and scrolls and quills, nestled beside stores selling only particular types of books—history, poetry, folklore. There was an entire shop carrying only books for children. Where Tarakshan had valued brute force and sharp blades, Thessan was a kingdom of knowledge.

Perhaps they could explore tomorrow. Soraya would love a new agricultural text—maybe one detailing the kingdoms and their plant life, now that she had traversed the continent.

A large, slow-moving crowd strolled leisurely ahead, and Zarian was forced to slow Najoom to their pace. As they passed a street corner, adolescents clutching stacks of books were engaged in a fervent debate—one side arguing for deposing King Ebrahim, one side against.

“He took the throne by force,” said a lanky boy, a wispy beard struggling to grow on his youthful face, his second-hand thobe a tad too long for his frame.

Layna held her tongue, tamping down on her immediate outrage, her desire to defend Ebrahim.

“That is hearsay,” retorted a tiny, bespectacled girl from the opposing side. “Queen Layna may actually be ill.” The other side began to mutter, but the girl raised a queenly hand and silenced them. “We’ve heard the rumors about her powers, her own people wanting to oust her. For moon’s sake, they held a festival after she vanished! That must take a toll on anyone. Perhaps she’s recovering in private.”

Layna’s heart began to race, her breath escaping in sharp pants.

“He instated the leader of the Children of the Pure as the new master of war! What about—”

She heard nothing after that because Zarian dug his heels into Najoom’s sides, forcibly parting the grumbling crowd ahead.

As the dark night curled around them, two shadows made their way to the Grand Libraries. Zarian had wrapped his chainmail baldric twice around her narrow frame before fastening it, insisting he would have a proper one made for her at the next opportunity. The weight of her dagger and sword was comfortable, and throwing stars lined hidden pockets, though she didn’t know how to use them.

She hoped she wouldn’t need to.