Page 161 of The Moon's Fury

After about an hour of furious riding and Layna feeling like her wrist had fallen off, Zarian stopped Najoom by a large outcropping of boulders.

Steady hands helped her dismount, guiding her to sit against a rock. He unwrapped her wrist, examining it in the moonlight. It was swollen, her skin mottled with shades of red and purple. He pressed on it gently, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured, even as his eyes blazed with anger. Pain throbbed through her, a sharp whisper of hurt. Zarian, shadow and light, sat across her, splinting her wrist. His rage blanketed them, his expression thunderous, a muscle in his cheek still pulsing with untamed fury—yet his hands on her were as gentle as a soft desert breeze. He uncorked a dark vial and drizzled minty liquid onto his palm, rubbing his hands together before massaging it into her wrist. The pressure hurt, but the pungent liquid seeped into her skin with a cooling numbness. He aligned a thin piece of wood with her arm before wrapping it tightly with thick gauze.

A deep cut marred his cheek, purpling bruises dotted his jaw, but it was the storm in his eyes, fierce and protective, that captured her breath. She reached out, her movements slow, tentative, attempting to soothe the maelstrom within him. Zarian paused, his stormy gaze locking with hers. His jaw unclenched ever so slightly, the angry muscle in his cheek stilling under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Now that they were out of immediate danger, a whisper of shame breathed hot against her ears.

His brows furrowed. “For what?”

“Back at the library. The things I said. What I did—”

“What you did,” he interrupted, “was save our lives.”

Layna struggled to put her convoluted feelings into words. The heady rush of battle had left her, shame and sorrow andregret and relief fighting to take its place. “It must have been devastating for you. I wish there had been another way. I feel so—ashamed? That you had to see it.” Would he remember that moment, her kissing Ruslayn, every time he kissed her? “I can still hear the pain in your voice. When I—” Her voice cracked, eyes filling with tears.

Zarian was quiet for several heartbeats, his fingers skimming a gentle path from the inside of her elbow to the center of her palm and back. “What would you say to Soraya if she were in your place? If she did what you did to save her life while Almeer watched. If she felt as you do now. What would you tell her?”

She closed her eyes, picturing her sister in her mind, her bright, brown eyes and short, curly hair. Soraya, who could conquer any challenge with a smile. “I’d tell her she’s incredible. She thought quickly and saved both their lives. That, sometimes, women need to fight in different ways than men, but that doesn’t make them any less. Almeer should count himself lucky that such a strong, formidable woman chose him. And if he felt differently, I’d throw him off the tallest wall I could find.”

When she opened her eyes, Zarian was smiling at her.

“Talk toyourselfthat way, my love.Youare incredible.” He cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers. “I knew what you were doing. I overplayed my reactions because I knew it’d distract him. I don’t think any less of you. And I love you even more than I did this morning, if such a thing is possible.Yousaved us, Layna. Not the Daughter. You are a fucking force of nature, and somehow, I have tricked you into loving me back. Sorry about that.”

He bumped his nose against hers until a watery laugh escaped her. She wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but he kissed her tears away as if they had never been.

63

Sorayahadneverbeenso relieved to see a guard in her entire life. The tall, bulky man spoke to Jamil, inquiring about their purpose in Tarakshan. Apparently, there had been a disappearance recently, a traveling merchant of some sort, and the city watch had grown more vigilant. Satisfied with Jamil’s answer of “passing through,” the guard waved them past.

She sagged with relief. She’d sleep in a bed tonight, maybe soak her aching, travel-weary legs in a warm bath.

Jamil led Ahmar through a path carved into stone, and she marveled at the town, etched into the mountainside.

“Have you been to Tarakshan before?” she asked as they walked.

He nodded, a grin widening his lips. Jamil smiled more often now, a fact that filled her with pleasant warmth. “I’ll show you the hot springs tomorrow.”

“Hot springs sound lovely, but…” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Shouldn’t we leave for Thessan? What if they decided to wait there until we catch up?”

Jamil’s face was an apology. “Ahmar needs a few days to rest after the trek through the Mountains.”

“Oh, right!” A hot flash of guilt burned through her, warming her cheeks. Shehadnoticed that Ahmar’s rust-colored coat had dimmed.

“We’ll set off as soon as he’s ready,” he reassured, hand warm on her lower back.

They reached an inn with an attached stable, and Jamil handed Ahmar’s reins over to the middle-aged stablehand, a brawny man with soft eyes. “Thank you,sahib. My brother will get you settled inside.”

He opened a side door for them and ushered them into the inn. Soraya admired the layout—it must have taken a skilled architect to plan out construction within the mountain. They reached the main foyer, and while Jamil squared the bill with the innkeeper, another burly man, she notedzuhurin a clay pot set on the window ledge. The purple petals were drooping, wilted.

A pang of homesickness bloomed through her.

How did herzuhurfare in Alzahra? Her lips twisted, mirroring her knotted heart. She could do nothing for her purple blossoms, but perhaps she might help this one.

She plucked the clay pot off the ledge, examining the petals more closely. From her periphery, she was vaguely aware that the men had stopped speaking and were watching her, but she focused solely on the flower in her hands. Turning, she placed the plant on the innkeeper’s small table, farther from the window.

The man stared at her, then turned to Jamil as if he might offer some answer for her strange behavior.