Page 25 of The Moon's Fury

The door flung open, and Soraya barged in. She was poised to speak, but her gaze landed on Zarian’s stricken face, then flicked to Layna. “Um, I should have knocked. I’ll just come back lat—”

“It’s all right, Soraya,” Zarian said gruffly. He didn’t look at Layna as he stalked to the door. “I just came to tell the Queen I’ll be gone for a while. I’m needed at the border.”

“The border? Why—” started Layna.

The door slammed closed with so much force that both sisters jumped.

12

Laynastoodonherbalcony, gazing over Alzahra City as the sun set over the cobblestone streets. A week had passed since Zarian left—without a word, without even a goodbye. But the pain in his eyes, carved by her harsh words, lingered in her mind like a fresh wound. She had been a fool to let anger rule her. Her temper was merciless, but only when it came to him.

Predictably, her mother had taken every opportunity to thrust Nizam into her path. Hadiyah insisted he join them for every meal, and if Layna attempted to dine in her chambers, Hadiyah would send servant after servant until she relented. When Layna and Soraya took walks in the gardens, they somehow always ran into Hadiyah and Nizam amongst the blooming rose bushes.

Nizam, to his credit, seemed just as uncomfortable as Layna during these encounters. It was clear this was her mother’s doing, and he was an unwilling participant. Her mother’s meddling actions irritated her so much that she could often feel her fingers tingling. She focused on steadying her breathing—so far, it was working.

With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the balcony. Zarian would return in another week.

She would make things right.

Grabbing a lantern, she headed toward the library. Pushing open the heavy door, her eyes scanned the large room—empty. Luckily, the scribes usually retired by the late afternoon. She crossed the vast room and hefted the trap door.

Layna descended the stairs, only to realize at the bottom that she had forgotten to bring extra candles. She nearly turned back before her eyes landed on a large candelabra on one of the tables. It would suffice—Ebrahim or Soraya must have left it.

Settling into an uncomfortable chair with a deep sigh, Layna went to work in the hidden library. She spent hours poring over texts, reading and rereading, trying to find something—anything—that would shed light on her erratic powers. They surfaced in moments of strong emotion. That much was clear. But how could she control them?

Or even better, banish them completely?

One heavy tome, its pages brittle, contained Medjai lore. Brows furrowed, she read through the weathered, sometimes illegible, pages. Before her, there had been the infamous Sun Slayer, a real person, not the monstrous tale parents told children.

And before her, another moon daughter. It seemed the source of power alternated between the sun and moon from one prophecy to the next.

She scoured through other texts until she came across a book so ancient, the title had faded away. It was filled with children’sqissas. Her brows furrowed as she read through them, one of the stories catching her eye.

Long ago, before you or I, before cities had names and maps were drawn, before the Mountains erupted across the land, before the waters rose and carved the sea, there were Shamsaand Qamla, the sun and moon goddesses. They were sisters, the closest of kin, and they loved one another more than anything.

Shamsa, guardian of day, spread her light over the land from her home in the sky. Crops flourished, and the people loved her, built temples in her honor, worshipped her.

Qamla, mistress of night, radiated her glow through the darkness. She pulled the tides, and her soft light illuminated the shadows, and the people loved her, built temples in her honor, worshipped her.

The sisters shared their power, each pushing and pulling from the other, existing in blessed, contented balance.

One day, from her home in the sky, Shamsa spotted a man—the most handsome creature she’d ever laid her bright eyes on. Her heart was enraptured. She spent her days watching him, shining more nurturing sunlight on his crops than anyone else’s. His crops grew and flourished, and he sold them and became a rich man. He was happy, and so, too, was Shamsa.

One night, Qamla laid her starlit eyes on the same man. The sisters shared an essence, and he, too, called to her heart like he did her sister’s. She shone her radiant light on his home, brightening it in the darkness more than anyone else’s. She summoned stars to his doorstep, and he sold them and became richer still. He was happy, and so, too, was Qamla.

Shamsa and Qamla both watched as their beloved, now a wealthy man, drew interested eyes from all the village’s daughters. They vied for his hand, some with beauty, some with wit, and some with wealth of their own.

Jealousy cleaved at the sisters’ hearts, for what they gave to him, they would not share with another.

The man chose a wife from all the women, and they were wed.

Shamsa did not shine on their wedding day, and the people murmured of omens and ill luck.

Qamla hid herself on their wedding night, and again, the people whispered in their homes.

Their beloved and his young, new wife were ostracized and excluded.

But one of the sisters was still not appeased.