Page 174 of The Moon's Fury

Fuck. Layna often forgot her face spoke to him before she did.

She hesitated for a heartbeat. “How did you learn to swim?”

He worked his jaw, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “I was seven, maybe eight. There was a large tank. They threw me into it every day until I learned.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, squeezing his hand.

He shrugged. “I learned to swim,” he said quietly. “Some didn’t.”

Later in the afternoon, they headed into town, pockets weighed down with gold Zarian had hidden in the villa. As they entered the market, she tugged at his arm and whispered, “Are we Zem and Ahna?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, just Layna and Zarian.”

They visited nearly every shop, buying new clothing, sandals, lotions, and other necessities. Layna picked out new furnishings—wooden panels, carved with swirled patterns; cloth tapestries in hues of cerulean and navy; sweet-smelling coconut shell candles; a basket filled with colorful seashells.

They’d garnered a crowd of onlookers by the time they were done. Most of the islanders eyed them with curiosity, and some of them already knew Zarian.

One man approached them, eyes full of mirth as he clapped Zarian on the back. He was a few years older than Zarian, and his eyes had permanent crinkles at the corners, as though he spent most of his time laughing.

“Me ha mea laa e nahay ana oe, e malohini.” The man smiled broadly, his face friendly.

“Ae,” Zarian responded. “Maakou e hana iya Ashra i ko maakou ghar inaa ae.” The man’s smile widened, and he shook Zarian’s hand. He gestured toward her, and Zarian said, “O keiya koyu akoha, o Layna.” The man bowed to her, hand over his heart.

More people came up to them, men and women, all eager to listen to the foreigner speaking fluentjazirluga. Zarian spoke to them all, his hand a comforting weight on her back, as a small crowd formed around them.

There was one man toward the back whose dark eyes were hard as he watched them. Did he know Zarian? Or was he just wary of strangers? The man left the gathering shortly afterward, stalking away.

Zarian borrowed a large wooden cart from one of the men, promising he’d bring it back the next day. The man readily agreed, and they loaded their purchases and headed home.

72

Dawnwashoursaway,and she had woken to a cold, empty bed. Layna descended the steps, sleep still holding her captive in its tempting clutches.

Her gaze scanned the first level of the villa and found no trace of him. The house had transformed from an empty structure to a warm, lived-in home. Decorative wooden panels stood guard behind the sofa—the swirled carvings made beautiful shadow patterns on the woven palm mat during the day. Colorful seashells neatly lined the windowsills, some from the market and others plucked from the beach. Her gaze fell to the kitchen, where her ocean-blue mug rested beside Zarian’s white one.

It was the smallest of details that made a home.

A month had passed quickly, then another, and Layna found herself thinking of the Isle of Ashra as home.

But it wasn’t the Isle, really.

Zarian could have chosen any corner of the realm, any distant, forsaken land, and she’d feel the same—becausehewas her home.

She checked the back courtyard next. Opposite the garden, Zarian had strung up a large burlap bag filled with sand—he was on his third one. He spent at least thirty minutes pummeling it every day as if it were solely responsible for every pain he’d ever endured.

A small smile tugged at her lips. He was happy on the island, at peace and content. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since their rickety boat had landed on Ashra’s shores.

But the Medjai’s claws were still deeply embedded within him. Zarian still trained every day, until he’d released all his pent-up aggression. She’d spar with him sometimes, but their matches would always end with her on her back. Though sometimes, when Zarian was feeling particularly benevolent, she’d come out on top.

One day, he had coaxed her into accompanying him on a run—but didn’t tell her he usually ran the circumference of the entire island. She could still remember the smirk on his face as he offered to carry her the rest of the way. She had taken him up on it.

He even still meditated every morning.

Which is why Layna was surprised when she didn’t find him sitting cross-legged near his punching bag.

Her gaze slid over the rest of the courtyard. There were chairs and a small table in the center; they often ate dinner outside when the hot sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

And the garden was doing well—Kylah had shown her how to care for the flowers and root vegetables and herbs. Layna was proud that she’d only managed to killoneplant—a poor hibiscus bush.